Sometimes, usually, I want my life to be filling in each moment so I will be full. Somehow, often, when I begin to feel that the fullness of my life is near the top, I want to let it all go, so I may be as empty as living will permit, yet go on.

At other times, in other modes and moods, I lose track and want both; to be full, to be empty, in the same, in each, moment. I used to think this seeming paradox was about fatigue: to do, to become tired, to sleep, to become renewed, to do, to…

Now, older: too many fatigues, too difficult to explain as some linear process. Now, older: too many fatigues that told me I would be more empty than I now am.

Full on empty, I remain open to everything that is, that I can hear and feel and see, each day anew. Full on empty, I may yet afford to pander to the curiosities of experience.