Everything made sense because I tried not to make sense of it.

“Everything was quiet then. I had yet to wake the children. My husband was gone. The dogs were resting. The slightest snow fell to the ground dusting, just dusting the world beyond. I had yet to open the curtains, yet to turn the computer on, yet to have a sip of hot tea. The notion that I lacked nothing settled upon me as the snow outside the window settled on the frozen ground. Everything made sense because I tried not to make sense of it. For the moment, in the still dark room, I sat and listened.”

This is from a beautiful essay by Bridgett Jensen on Oregon’s late great poet: William Stafford and the Tao: Follow the Golden Thread.

Jensen is a creative writing teacher who works with troubled kids and adult learners in Ohio (more on that work here).