In different phrases, it could need to do with William Carlos Williams’s poem “Danse Russe.” However not precisely as a result of I don’t take off my garments to bop in entrance of a mirror, waving my shirt above my head, although I’m reveling at being vertical, wide-awake, and the spirit of the family whereas everybody else, right here and within the neighborhood, is quick asleep. At this level, I’m not a lot drawn to mirrors or nakedness.

It most likely is related to the prospect of beaded bubbles winking on the brim of a glass of wine, however not essentially. As a result of it could actually descend so oddly, with merely donning slippers because the moon silvers a shade or a tremulous tree limb shivers on a window — and I’m roaming within the shadowy home, savoring the bliss, the animation and vibrancy of life, how inexplicable it’s, how completely meaningless and incommunicable and incommensurate.

There I’m, then, my physique seeded with most cancers that has recurred and should return, whereas now the air is nice and quiet, with solely me aware, and I can inch ahead into futures I weave for those I need to go away behind. Might they prosper and thrive via a collection of tomorrows I can’t expertise however cherish envisioning. For they should discover — oh, please allow them to discover! — love elsewhere and abundantly.

Sure, right here I’m, not the item of concern or pity that I’ll grow to be later once more, as earlier than. However at this hour — due to a shivering or a silvering — alight with the frisson of being unknown within the night time’s oasis, hugging my captivated self in order to seize a sliver of exhilaration and convey again a swatch for these circumstances after I might want to bear in mind what it was all for.

Alone however not lonely, I creep down the dim corridor to review images on a shelf: pals, kids, cousins, grandchildren. All of them at varied phases of evolution with their distinctive expressions of expectation or nervousness, curiosity or self-consciousness — standing nonetheless for the intrusive digital camera. Every requires a protracted stare. The place are they going? Will they be glad? Every elicits a smile; tears stream, however tears of pleasure.

There are throngs of onerous to visualise faces as properly, strangers who’ve testified. Women and men whom I’ve learn or who’ve learn me and located the energy to remark with knowledge, irony, grit, caveats, quibbles, disputes, rants, confessions, jokes: lusciously swirling phrases. Editors and duplicate editors, too: the scrupulous sensibilities behind the outpouring. And numerous storytellers, memoirists, filmmakers, poets, photographers, singers, students, activists setting the report straight, working for a treatment, churning up insights.

What is that this inebriated euphoria? Immortality at midnight! An instinct of the rightness and sweetness and uniqueness of these I do know and people I have no idea however reverence from afar in my singular ecstasy of merely feeling wonderful, feeling good, staying in that sense that right here is the genius of fact and the reality of genius as a result of pleasure and exultation pulse now on this contingent place, inside simply this illumined second of being.

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