Disappearance Again

In this odd silver sliver of day when the afternoon sunlight is filtered by coastal fog and a choir of bees is humming in the orchard and an open book lies beside me on the couch where I dozed off and just awakened, in this odd silver space I turn again to that theme of disappearance.

But I’ll be lazy today and simply print out the words of my favorite discourse on the subject, The Art of Disappearing, by Naomi Shihab Nye:

When they say Don’t I know you?
say no.

When they invite you to the party
remember what parties are like
before answering.
Someone is telling you in a loud voice
they once wrote a poem.
Greasy sausage balls on a paper plate.
Then reply.

If they say We should get together
say why?

It’s not that you don’t love them anymore.
You’re trying to remember something
too important to forget.
Trees. The monastery bell at twilight.
Tell them you have a new project.
It will never be finished.

When someone recognizes you in a grocery store
nod briefly and become a cabbage.
When someone you haven’t seen in ten years
appears at the door,
don’t start singing him all your new songs.
You will never catch up.

Walk around feeling like a leaf.
Know you could tumble any second.
Then decide what to do with your time.

And now, for a walk up the canyon.