“To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never to forget.” ― Arundhati Roy, The Cost of Living
It seems that I have been opened up and that the stars are flying through my wants and wishes with ease.
This frightens my old senses because I do not know what comes after. What happens at the end of the rainbow? I imagine it touches the horizon and wants to start over, just for sake of movement.
I feel I am on the brink of getting everything I’ve ever wanted to grasp, to hold, to understand, to love .But what defines Getting? Do I then own it? And with it comes immense responsibility. Over the edge and through the woods, while my little boat sways out at sea.
I dreamt that I died last night. Or I saw it. Then woke up.
I dreamt that I was in a immense dark sea , all alone. I could feel my small body lapping at the surface of the cold waves, and knew my fragile legs were bait to the unknown vultures under them, maybe for fathoms and miles below. I could sense them swimming up, hungrily, deservedly, to overpower my tiny life. I wanted to fight, to cry out in unfairness, but then what is fair? Is my life worth more than theirs? More than the shooting stars over the water, more special than the movement of the currents?
I was swept in a suction and the water grew warmer, I felt the cold depth disappear under me, although I still could not touch solid earth. I felt calm life around me, other living beings, all of us being washed out so it seemed, toward the same destination. I wasn’t afraid.
I wonder sometimes if replaying the events that led to this new view is enough. Or if perhaps it compromises the images. Like the idea of the Aboriginal soul suck of a quiet lens shutter. I understand their worry.
I walk the tight rope through these days between wanting too much and not having enough to hold under my growing fingernails.
Having the awareness of understanding better each moment. Watching the patience grow. Watching the thoughts as they march like mice out of a small hole in the wall. The sense of urgency is the mouse, I feel.
I want to focus on the hole, the origin of the thought.
I want to calmly observe the love, from the eye of the storm.
Life is the uninvited third party in this dance of you and me.
I do not want the memories to set into habits, to retrace like cursive in grade school.
I want to dive deeper than I can say or know how to.
You ask me from far away the questions with the weight of boulders behind them.
You ask me and then hold your breath, fear grazes the green irises as we ignore the whirring and ticking and barking and creaking of the miles in between our dusty screens.
The thickness of lips evade the dull ache
Pixels alleviate my hungry eyes
and sips soften the synapses of calculated clocks,
There is a thing that I like to do when my brain is approaching burnout mode.
It happens when the overheated phone in my mindless scrolling mingles with the pressure of paying bills, calling that relative back, and walking the dog that stares with his innocent and ever-needy brown eyes.
How do we prioritize what is truly important in order to find that inner…exhale?
Close your eyes. Place everything before you that you feel defines who you are. Who you IS.
Then wipe the shit clean.
Look at that blank page.
What matters to you? Write down WHO matters to you.
Write in the things that make you feel alive. Raw.
Write down what your perfect day would look like.
Take a look at that list. It slowly beecomes a bit easier to face the steps
…to have more of it.
We remember. We remember the good stuff. The marrow.
We catalogue those moments where it happened. Where everything clicked.
Snowboard slicing through the treeline runs .
Dancing in a crowd of the faces and friends you love, to the music you love, when time freezes and you feel infinite.
Or when your breath lines up with your running shoes kicking up trail dirt and the muscles in your legs fall into that rhythmic groove of endorphin release.
We remember the heat of a sandy beach from long ago. The salty spray when we finally went out into the waves and got over that first rush of cold on our belly buttons. when we tried surfing and failed miserably but our ribs hurt from laughing.
Place them on a higher plain.
This is what we do the grunt work for. This is what we trudge out into the days filled with bartending, waitressing, desk jobs, deadlines, and meetings, dog hair in our toothpaste, messy periods, missed bills…
to build up the gratitude for those moments when we are aware of our impermanence.
Aware of how fucking special it is to be alive. To just be standing here on this dirty and forgiving ground.