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Vanish. pass into nothingness: the keats line that frightened her. fade as the blue nights fade, go as the brightness goes. go back into the blue. i myself placed her ashes in the wall. i myself saw the cathedral doors locked at six. i know what it is i am now experiencing. i know what the frailty is, i know what the fear is. the fear is not for what is lost. what is lost is already in the wall. what is lost is already behind the locked doors. the fear is for what is still to be lost. you may see nothing still to be lost. yet there is no day in her life on which i do not see her.
-Joan Didion
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Vanish. Pass Into Nothingness: The Keats Line

Joan Didion
Vanish. pass into nothingness: the keats line that frightened her. fade as the blue nights fade, go as the brightness goes. go back into the blue. i myself placed her ashes in the wall. i myself saw the cathedral doors locked at six. i know what it is i am now experiencing. i know what the frailty is, i know what the fear is. the fear is not for what is lost. what is lost is already in the wall. what is lost is already behind the locked doors. the fear is for what is still to be lost. you may see nothing still to be lost. yet there is no day in her life on which i do not see her.
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Wall Night Blue

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This book is called "blue nights" because at the time i began it i found my mind turning increasingly to illness, to the end of promise, the dwindling of the days,the inevitability of the fading, the dying of the brightness. blue nights are the opposite of the dying of the brightness, but they are also its warning.
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I know what the fear is. the fear is not for what is lost. what is lost is already in the wall. what is lost is already behind the locked doors. the fear is for what is still to be lost.
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We walked on the beach, fed blue corn ships to the seagulls, and munched on blue jelly beans, blue saltwater taffy and all the other free samples my mom brought home from work. i guess i should explain the blue food. see, gabe had once told my mom there was no such thing. they had this fight, which seemed like a really small thing at the time. but ever since, my mom went out of her way to eat blue. she baked blue birthday cakes. she mixed blueberry smoothies. she bought blue-corn tortilla chips and brought home blue candy from the shop.
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It is this nothingness (in solitude) that i have to face in my solitude, a nothingness so dreadful that everything in me wants to run to my friends, my work, and my distractions so that i can forget my nothingness and make myself believe that i am worth something. the task is to persevere in my solitude, to stay in my cell until all my seductive visitors get tired of pounding on my door and leave me alone. the wisdom of the desert is that the confrontation with our own frightening nothingness forces us to surrender ourselves totally and unconditionally to the lord jesus christ.
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Everyone has doors in the living room of their lives that they assume are locked. doors that lead to artistic expression. people say "i have no talent -- i can't dance or sing or paint or write poetry or play an instrument." more often than not the doors are not locked, just closed. one may turn the handle, open the door and pass through into a larger life space.
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This is a valley of ashes--a fantastic farm where ashes grow like wheat into ridges and hills and grotesque gardens; where ashes take the forms of houses and chimneys and rising smoke and, finally, with a transcendent effort, of men who move dimly and already crumbling through the powdery air. occasionally a line of gray cars crawls along an invisible track, gives out a ghastly creak, and comes to rest, and immediately the ash-gray men swarm up with leaden spades and stir up an impenetrable cloud, which screens their obscure operations from your sight.
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