Multiply life by the power of two

Sitting in an airport for six hours on standby gives a woman plenty of time to indulge the wandering and thoughtful mind. Literally, thoughtfull.

How about the incredible success of technology? Without a computer or lap-top, still I have the world wide web at my fingertips. The Blackberry was perhaps a dangerously efficient invention. It allows me to be "plugged-in" and "connected" at all times. What happens to one's love of books when the newer more interactive FACEbook is around? I look around me and see phones even greater than mine... A seven year old child across from me is watching the movie "Up" on her mother's remarkable iPhone.

I find myself straying from topic...

I wanted really to talk about growth, and the creation of families. I had the wonderful blessing of spending the last few days in the lovely Columbia Missouri visiting my childhood friend. Married three years ago a month from today, she and her husband have a new 9 month old baby. Having known Jessica for 10 years, half of which were explosive adolescent years, much history has been logged in and between us. At 25 going on 26 now, the changes do not seem to have slowed. If anything, they've excellerated, but with much greater meaning and more expensive implications.

Children, for one, are at the forefront of such changes. I long for a child myself, but having not yet gone through this particular change do not often grasp the magnitude of the change behind my procreative desires.

What has made my relationship with Jessica such a deep and profound one is the propensity for empathy with one another that allows us to understand eachother - usually without words - to such a degree that my own feelings can sometimes be indistinguishable from hers. This remarkable gift allows me to feel, or empathically grasp, an experience she is having that I have not yet had; in this case, a child.

Of course, there remains some basic level of separation in that I cannot fully and completely know her situation. However, there are definitely moments of enlightenment, moments when the separateness of my experience from hers fades enough for me to become aware of the experience as she is encountering it. The result is such that, in short, I've been blown away.

What does it mean to have a child? Starting your day at 6am, regardless of your own needs. Strict routines, constant watching-out, and countless personal sacrifices. Among these challenges though, there is a joy I've never seen before, except perhaps for rare moments with my own mother. The joy is untouchable, and for the most part unexplainable as well.

The first night there Jess's husband was finishing his nursing precept, which meant he wouldn't be home until early the next morning. To keep one another company, Jess and I slept in the bed together. Like children again, we stayed up long after the lights had been put out, tucked in the covers chatting about boys - old loves, new loves, our mothers, thoughts, lessons. In the morning, like an alarm clock, the baby woke right on queue at 6am. Obediently, Jess went to the baby's crib and brought him into the bed with us. This was the rare moment for me that I wouldn't have ordinarily been able to have... Experiencing what her life is like as a young mother, - the more intimate hours of dawn when her and her husband would be the two lying with the baby. Like a true 9-month old who has first learned to use his arms and legs, Finn climbed on our bodies like they were new mountains to uncover. Baby hands grabbed at my nose, pressed into my stomach and chest. The sounds of his cooing, not unlike a bird's, were the fresh morning sounds I had the pleasure of waking to.

I don't think these experiences have pushed me in one direction or another as far as my desires for motherhood are concerned. I've been more moved by the transformations I see in my best friend and the love that exists between her and her young family - husband, wife, and baby. On a more personal note, I've turned inward and given more acceptance to where I am now in my own life. A single woman in a new relationship. Unmarried. No children. Fresh out of college. I'm still figuring a lot of things out. Simple things, even, like what I prefer to wear to the grocery store: jeans or a skirt? Am I more casual or concerned? How can I meditate more? These kinds of questions are happily at the forefront of my mind.

I always thought the saying "be where you are" was somewhat cliche. But I think I've actually begun to really understand the importance and the gift behind that neo-phrase. Whether I am me or her, embracing where we are right now means opening ourselves to the gifts life has for us each as individuals. I enjoyed this trip immensley, and I am looking so forward to being home with the many awaiting projects. Even sitting in this airport, now in the fifth hour of what will prove to be an eight hour delay, I'm embracing the gift of time - the gift of the present.

(Me and Finn with Mr. Blue Elephant)

Head Over Feet

I found a place! It's beautiful. Well... it will be beautiful after a little TLC. One block from Little Five Points proper. The location just can't get any better than that! The running path is down the street. Not to mention the great shopping... my wardrobe is going to see an improvement for sure. The photograph above is of the bedroom. It is probably 15ft x 15ft. It is enormous. And yellow. Very yellow. (the color of creativity and imagination).


These two photographs are of the amazing kitchen and dining room/office. The kitchen is honestly what sold me on the place. Just look at all those shelves (doubled on each side). mmmm

Interestingly, this is the oldest inhabited house in Atlanta. It served as a hospital during the Civil War, and was burned to the ground by Sherman's troops. A few years after the war ended they rebuilt the house on the same old brick foundation. This place has more than a few stories! And hopefully whatever ghosts are hanging around are kind ones. I'm praying for no "Beloved" type ghosts.

Remember when you were only a child

Dreams. Last night was jam-packed with dreams. I kept waking, slightly annoyed, thinking all my dreams were a little ridiculous. After pondering them this morning however, they're actually pretty telling. In the first series of dreaming I was in a prison with a lot of other inmates. One of the prison walls in my cell had a large opening in it, where we could climb out onto tree limbs that were high above a body of water. This small space of freedom from the prison was all I had. Surprisingly, I did not necessarily feel inhibited, though technically I was. This dream I believe symbolizes the way I feel right now about my brother living at my apartment in Decatur and being confined to Jay's house for this next month, without most of my things. It is a physical limitation of sorts, though I have a small slice of freedom to move about (I can go home if I need to, it's just far less excessible to me).

The second series was more disturbing. I was wandering around an ancient European city where I had just found a beautiful apartment. I was on my way through the streets to go move a friend out of their apartment. To get to this friend's place I had to walk through a dilapidated part of town, where there were many large, very old building but in severe decay. It almost looked war-torn. When I arrived at the friend's apartment I climbed to the top floor and became fearful. I moved my weight from side-to-side to show her that the building could collapse at any moment, for the entire building moved with my shifting weight. I had an image in my mind that the place was made out of plyboards, like a house of cards, and could truly fall at any second. This dream symbolizes the Self, as most buildings or homes do, and because the thing was about to fall means, perhaps, my old Self is in utter disrepair or is near to collapse.

Finally, the third series was like a completion of sorts for the previous two dreams. I was in a car with my entire family, and Josh was in the car with us at first. We were traveling to the "other" side of Georgia, a place we'd never been before. Driving out on a high cliff I could see beautiful mountains, with the most incredible cascading waterfalls that went all the way down the mountains, as far as the eye could see. Everything was lush and green. My heart was exhuberant! When I began to realize the sadness that, although Josh was there, he would not enjoy it with me in the way we would have if we were still together, I grew very depressed. I wanted to move there with him, I wanted to begin dreaming out loud together about ways we could spend more time there. When I turned to speak to him about this sadness, he was no longer there... instead, Jay was at my side, smiling. A feeling of calmness swept over me. I felt both protected and sedated -- warm in my heart. I understood that things had changed, I acknowledged the sadness over the situation, but I also felt at peace with who I had at my side now. Waterfalls in dreams symbolize letting go. How appropriate.

This is the first morning I've awoken with a feeling of renewal, and good/healthy energy to get out and begin the day. For months I've been waking up with a feeling of lethargy, bordering on depression, that didn't offer me any sort of refreshing feelings or even motivation. Today, I feel good. I feel a little closer to healed.

Darling, do not fear what you don't really know

Well, I itched the scratch afterall. He's beautiful.... or, as Jason said, "breath-taking!" It took around 2.5 hours, and didn't hurt too terribly bad. Where the tail crosses over the inside of my elbow is the place that proved most sensitive. Still, it was a bearable pain, and short-lived.

Background on the quetzal: The quetzal is the national bird of Guatemala. Originally thought to possess divine powers, the Mayans sacrificed offerings to Quetzacoatl, a feathered serpent God. The first records of Quetzacoatl's worship appear in writings from Teotihuacan, an ancient Mayan city (circa 500 BCE). Quetzacoatl's archetypal image stood for many things, but was specifically associated with the wind Gods, holding a connection with Venus, known as the "star of the dawn," lording over the arts, crafts, knowledge and wisdom.

When I was traveling through Guatemala I had the great fortune of seeing a Quetzal in real-life. They really are breath-taking, especially the male birds... with their showy display of tail feathers. The lady birds are somewhat less dramatic in their appearance, with a lot more blue in their coloring. Male Quetzals have a vibrant red chest and longer tails.

Tulips

Tulips by A.E. Stallings

The Tulips make me want to paint,
Something about the way they drop
Their petals on the tabletop
And do not wilt so much as faint,

Something about their burnt-out hearts,
Something about their pallid stems
Wearing decay like diadems,
Parading finishes like starts,

Something about they way they twist
As if to catch the last applause,
And drink the moment through long straws,
And how, tomorrow, they'll be missed.

The way they're somehow getting clearer,
The tulips make me want to see --
The tulips make the other me
(The backwards one who's in the mirror,

The one who can't tell left from right),
Glance now over the wrong shoulder
To watch them get a little older
And give themselves up to the light.

.... Oh, what a delicious poem!!! A.E. Stallings, you have my heart. (("Wearing decay like diadems"... how perfect is that line!))

The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs

First thing's first: the tattoo itch. I'm not so sure I'll scratch it, but, if I do, I'd like a Quetzal on my other arm. The Quetzal is the official bird of Guatemala. Here is an image I pulled up from the internet, tell me what you think:

Pardon the poor resolution... this was a camera phone upload. Chicken bruscetta -- a fantastic summer substitution for the classic Chicken Parmesan dish.

Christopher and Laura came over for dinner last night. She is a doll! Sweet and down-to-earth, she's a third-year med student at Emory. She has a very warm and inviting presence. Naturally, I'm thrilled that she's dating my brother. He really needs someone to love, as he himself is a very loving and kind spirit.

The personal research has begun: I bought Border's out on their poetry and writer's magazines yesterday. I've already found one new poet to fall in-love with -- Ange Mlinko. There's a clarity that just reaches out through the pages towards you, a certain vividness, palpableness... its texture is so very alive. These qualities make her poetry stand out among all the others. Also, since I feel particularly inarticulate today, I decided to share a poem by Mlinko that I enjoy:

Win-Win by Ange Mlinko

If an orchidophage's tastebud magnified

resembles an orchid

so my buds indubitably mimic pricking ice cream cones.

Love, little by little it dawned on us the artisanal

ice cream, especially the prizewinning caramel,

would be out of our reach,

like the previous Friday of a Sunday leaving the beach,

in the meltdown.

When you grasp at the soundfile of cymbals

-- "that knitting needle sound" -- through your headphones it kindles

an inkling that in the bongo-playing

you can hear the wedding ring,

ting ting in the liquescence.

When you hear the sound you may smile

to think of the ones and zeros that soundfile

resembling sticks and drumheads,

or knitting needles and drumheads

as the beat gets molten.

When things get molten you may think of fire

made up of a million little matchfires

rendering a house on the Sound

-- belonging to ex-employers -- a bit of char on the ground

as the regrettable outcome of a meltdown.

A thousand hotheads make a Sarkozy:

at the sight of their BMW in a car cozy

a thousand swans make a Sigolene

purring win-win.

The sound is statistical, like the meltdown.

The holes in your socks and the follicles in your leg

are pixelated as a JPEG.

My tastebuds resemble microscopic glasses of gin now, now's

the time to shake and shiver like a maraca in this house.

The many kinds of dissolution.

Well, birds happen forth from feeders like swinging pagodas

against snow, as

the meltdown goes on, a dump of rock salt.

We'll soon be signatories by default.

Crystals of sodium chloride

are made of smaller crystals of sodium chloride.

Let me know their House

is made up of many other people's houses, magnified.

I enjoy the continual reference to the interconnectedness of things, the way life can be broken down and broken down into smaller particles, all resembling one another... like a rock of salt, like a prism, like a hall of mirrors. Then, there is this sort of resolution within the poet/narrator herself, that seems to suggest she has given up some sense of ego, knowing that her life is nothing more than the mirrored crystals of sodium chloride. Anyway, these are the things I've taken away from the first few readings of this poem. I'm sure the more I read it, the more I will uncover... that's the gift of good poetry.

In other updates: I did some remodeling to the blog... obviously. What do you think? It seems unfinished to me... I'm not quite sold on it...

Also! The diploma finally arrived in the mail today!! It's magnificent.

You belong to no one

Current summer reading list: "Write Away" by Elizabeth George; "Kafka on the Shore" by Haruki Murakami; "The Myth of Freedom" by Trungpa Rinpoche.

It's hot again, and I reminisce through old writings... most of them half finished. "Dirty Seashells," a short story of love gone wrong. "Fruit and All Things Nice," a short story about breaking free, and the naive female. Poems. Scribbled notes of other story ideas. Where to begin? All of this sifting and sifting, snatching up little nuggets of gold here and there... but a part of me knows I will stop half way through, when the going gets good -- paralyzed by self-doubts. Every story I write picks up pace, becomes better and better, and as soon as I catch a glimps of its shine I become terrified that I will fuck it all up. The anxiety is great enough to stop the flow of words, every single time. Somehow, I need to overcome this. I need to get out of my own way.

Elizabeth George is encouraging in her book on writing. Each chapter she begins with a quote from her personal diary. These quotes reflect her own struggle with self-doubts in the writing process. Yet she pushes forward, every time. She keeps going.

Florida Atlantic University... this is where I'm setting my sights for graduate school. I want to study poetry with Susan Mitchell. Every time I visit the MFA website for FAU, a wave of intense longing flushes through me. I'm not ready yet, though. Almost, but not quite. I'm not ready to leave this town. I need to stay just a little longer.

The process of looking for a new home has begun. I found one in Cabbabe Town that was adorable, but slightly too small. One closet?? I'm a woman, come on. There were a few places in Grant Park I went to look at yesterday. To put it bluntly, they were all shit-holes. Dark and damp inside. Ratty carpet. Peeling paint. Holes in the screens. The kind of places you can imagine will never really feel clean, no matter how hard you might scrub. And then there are a few places in Little Five... what catches my breath on that one? Oh, that. That's what catches my breath on that one. Cabbage Town might be my best bet.

(The moon in Jamaica)