Long time no write/see/read/etc!!
Hi, everyone and anyone who might stumble across this!
It’s hard for me to jump right in to what I need to say, because It’s slightly mindblowing and entirely incredible. However, I’m going to attempt this jump regardless, because it makes me brilliantly happy to write.
IT IS SUMMER. I AM HEALTHY. I AM HAPPY. I AM LIVING FOR MYSELF. CUANDO ME LEVANTO, ME SONRIO! I write and play tennis and run and blow bubbles and eat and drink and plant daylilies and kiss without worrying about this and this and that and that. I feel better. I feel like that freshman girl who bounced into Social studies every morning and received compliments about how happy she always looked.
Today I had a doctors appointment, and I was told that not only are my “numbers good” but I seem happier than my doctor has ever seen me before. I love knowing that I can step into my boyfriend’s – who has been with me all this way- car and know I’m me, and no one else, I can change and have and will.
“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, Change the things I can, and the Wisdom to know the difference.” -Slaughterhouse-Five, Kurt Vonnegut.
During the morning I eat breakfast, maybe play tennis, go for a walk, pet my dog. I read, read, read, check my email, play some harp, and read some more. I have lunch when I get hungry, then I read and read and listen to a lecture and read, for my own enjoyment, my own sake, my own learning. Afternoons are either friendship filled, or abra caddabra relaxing filled, or a thunderstorm balls itself up just for my appreciation. I watch the rain come by from my porch.
“For Me” (June 22nd)
One of the slow nights, with intermediate weather and nothing planned. Time for yourself: to read, bathe, glow, dance, think. You don’t choose this dusky activity, you body does for you. Mine chose to sit by the phone, reading, slowly, mere paragraphs per minute.
You could sense it was one of those nights: where you want to write, you’re filled with the words, but the glue you’ve been using to stick them together is missing. Your mind is lying still, and allusions, syntax, shrapnel from the book you’re half in spin around you. Galaxies of diction, splashing colors, aeons of dedication, sailboats, dreams of diving and mudslides and truth, truth, galaxies of truth, moving gently around you.
Your body might shift every so often, because bits of you fall asleep. But all positions are comfortable: sprawled on your stomach, simply sitting, or a bound up pretzel-like yoga pose that is somehow stretching muscles you forgot you had. They are all comfortable, because your mind is.
It gets later, later, but the time glides. Still mentally rock climbing through your book, you remember, plan, imagine, and forget, draping your thoughts over an invisible stand. What is the result? A few words, jotted down, because you know you’ll need them to capture how this feels. You want, carefully want, to write it all down, maintain it: you don’t want to solidify it. And so you bookmark your place and scratch about seven words, quickly, so the night doesn’t fall apart while you’re concentrating too hard. Your senses, so vibrantly aware of the world any other time, are sweet and calm and mellowed: It doesn’t matter that you smell strawberries. It doesn’t matter that your window is open and the air blowing fairylike through is exactly one degree cooler than your humid room.
Sure, you look around and see the poetry books, and know there is magic in the world. You could step into the bathroom and look into your own eyes, see them flash, and know there is magic. You could turn on the radio and hear distant magic strained through your ears. But you don’t, because this is magic, right here, right now, but with the gliding time effect, there is never a present. The moment has already been created! You are alive forever because this is your magic, and you are reliving it, over and over! It is always in the past: the minute you imagine a present, it is gone! You love it: time is nothing, because all it creates is immortality.
You feel like staying up late and sleeping at the same time. You wish you were more alone, outside, mixing up the stars and lightning bugs. But it would be alright, too, if you were in someone’s arms. Luckily the magic makes it so that there is nothing you desire; why should you anyway? This is the first summer night where you feel as if everything is shining, silvergold and glazed and holy.
You feel wildfire, spitfire, life-love-time-fire in your back; you want to sprint forever because your body is spread out and trembling, ready, waiting. But you stay, lying on your floor, tasting imagined lemon drop… and everything is ancient.
You feel quietly dazzled, you feel lovely, and calmly brilliant. Ready for anything, but knowing there is nothing to be ready for. You can do what you like, think how you want! But all we do, because it is all we need to do, is roll over, and read another page of the book. The night is too perfect, sweet is the night air, tomorrow is never tomorrow, and by the time you finish this page… you know exactly, exactly how it feels.
Posted in Venting