Struggle Is What We Remember

by Catherine R. Munch

A wave crashing on shore is of no greater moment Than the stillness of the saltcellar as it rests on the table. A glance, a call, laughter or a sigh are enough. Someone’s notice, or my smile in understanding as you speak, outdistance the great ideas of resurrection or enlightenment. Conflict and remembered wildness are struggle. That struggle, which propels birth and growth, is hurt. That struggle is what we cherish. Not the goal achieved but the almost there, the end in sight. The struggle is what we remember. Cracking the hull, picking out the meats, Eating them is sweeter for the bits of bitter shell.