7th Day

If someone, even a gypsy woman with a glass eye working a fortune telling booth at a May Day carnival, were to tell me, in 1981, that I was going to go to prison for killing my best friend, I wouldn't have believed him or her, not even for a second. If someone were to tell me, in 1981, that upon completing my prison term, I would begin a butter blog, I would have laughed in his or her face, and then asked: "What's a blog?" Life is peculiar. That's for sure.

If there's one thing I've taken with me from prison, it's the idea that everyday is the first day of my new life. Every morning, I am born. I live. Every night, I die. That is my philosophy, it is what made the days pass in prison. It is what makes me look forward to the next day now.

"We can never know what to want, because, living only one life, we can neither compare it with our previous lives nor perfect it in our lives to come."

-Milan Kundera

At first, this quote was very difficult for me to take in. Never? I thought. But it makes perfect sense. Envision this: A perfect life is a circle. It is complete and continuous and most importantly, harmonious because it is a circle. But a life that is not perfect, the life we all lead, is a circle that has been caressed, and when caressed, the circle's shape turns vicious. The shape, though tenderly caressed, will never be a circle. The shape will long to be a circle, but having been some other shape, will have forgotten what being a circle means, and so, it will be caressed even further. I hope that made sense...

When Belle, the sister of the man I accidently killed, called yesterday, I was surprised. Although I had not heard her voice for two decades, I knew it was her. It was difficult to speak with her, so much regrettable things have happened between us, but I've changed and I know that I've changed, and that's what counts.

I'm sorry if this entry has been overwhelming, but I just needed to get some things out. NOW, I'm going to make some more butter...perhaps with cipollini onions and garlic.