Monday, February 28, 2005
Part 1
Jesse--I wrote this poem 48 hours ago about our respective relationships to dreams and time. Chella had introduced to me the concept of thin-boundary dreamers and thick-boundary dreamers. This, plus a lot of saul williams' poetry about relation-ships and re memberance, were germinating in my head simutaneously and they kept bumping up against each other. Following Catie's discussion of home in her post Readings, I find that travelling makes one very aware and thoughtful of home. So I was thinking about you and me and how we present a challenge to the thick/thin-boundary paradigm as I understand it.
A la Chella's theorist, thin-boundary dreamers have vivid (maybe lucid) dreams, remember them most of the time and along with this they allegedly blur concious/subconscious thoughts during the day. On the flip side, thick boundaries don't remember most of their dreams, never have control during them and are supposedly more focused and single-tracked during the day. I think of you, Jess, as a thin boundary dreamer (your dreams of death and rebirth and death and rebirth) but you are certainly more focused and single-tracked during the day. Whereas, I think of myself as a thick dreamer ( i sleep sounder than rocks most nights) and definitely blur my conscious/subconscious lines while awake with my poetry-spouting, strange ways.
So I wrote this poem exploring words, paradox, dream, time, you, me. Even though the "truth" about us would be less polar, I was simply using our selves as springboards to more archetypal relationships. It will be followed up with another poem (already written) which brings the circle back together, expresses our sameness in much shorter breath. But first I have to give you your gift from the road. For now:
Time to me, Emit to you
he is always saying structure
structure yourself
aim, achieve
i am always feeling
it out
strangely, he believes
he dreams
i wake up from scratch
dreams, maybe static
he wakes up early
with an itinerary filling his head
~
waking i am startled
shocked
where have i been
where am i
now
he piles up his nows
at the end
of the day
he dreams of his fortune
at the start
i start to feel
the fleeting hour
of time
after the birds
have settled in the trees
the wind left the moon
for the leaves
~
leaves are always changing
cyclically
he points out the circular
stasis of friends
dying to be
reborn
bored to be dying
again
never leaving
he is always leaving
strangely, he remains
he aims from the center
~
the center is my aim
and it seems
so far away
from the points
on the grid
circumference
radius
pi
he draws perfect circles
triangles
fills them in
with color
fits them in a grid
mandala
he sees the lines
i slip through
he points to the center
i flick off the light
~
there, can you see
better
we both fall asleep
with lights on
a book open on his chest
a word half-written
on my paper
i wake up dreamless
and turn the light off
seek the density of day
he leaves his lights
burning
brightening the intensity
~
his days are densely
rowed and columned
on his calendar
color coded
time displayed in space
displaced in time
i play
with a plan
toy with a context
that could land me
at any moment
~
he seeks the next moment
connects the dots
conceives the structure
constructs the plot
dreams a lot
i dream a vacant lot
the leaves are blowing
in circles
weeds crack the foundation
in such a structure
i'll take a moment
at any pretext
|
A la Chella's theorist, thin-boundary dreamers have vivid (maybe lucid) dreams, remember them most of the time and along with this they allegedly blur concious/subconscious thoughts during the day. On the flip side, thick boundaries don't remember most of their dreams, never have control during them and are supposedly more focused and single-tracked during the day. I think of you, Jess, as a thin boundary dreamer (your dreams of death and rebirth and death and rebirth) but you are certainly more focused and single-tracked during the day. Whereas, I think of myself as a thick dreamer ( i sleep sounder than rocks most nights) and definitely blur my conscious/subconscious lines while awake with my poetry-spouting, strange ways.
So I wrote this poem exploring words, paradox, dream, time, you, me. Even though the "truth" about us would be less polar, I was simply using our selves as springboards to more archetypal relationships. It will be followed up with another poem (already written) which brings the circle back together, expresses our sameness in much shorter breath. But first I have to give you your gift from the road. For now:
Time to me, Emit to you
he is always saying structure
structure yourself
aim, achieve
i am always feeling
it out
strangely, he believes
he dreams
i wake up from scratch
dreams, maybe static
he wakes up early
with an itinerary filling his head
~
waking i am startled
shocked
where have i been
where am i
now
he piles up his nows
at the end
of the day
he dreams of his fortune
at the start
i start to feel
the fleeting hour
of time
after the birds
have settled in the trees
the wind left the moon
for the leaves
~
leaves are always changing
cyclically
he points out the circular
stasis of friends
dying to be
reborn
bored to be dying
again
never leaving
he is always leaving
strangely, he remains
he aims from the center
~
the center is my aim
and it seems
so far away
from the points
on the grid
circumference
radius
pi
he draws perfect circles
triangles
fills them in
with color
fits them in a grid
mandala
he sees the lines
i slip through
he points to the center
i flick off the light
~
there, can you see
better
we both fall asleep
with lights on
a book open on his chest
a word half-written
on my paper
i wake up dreamless
and turn the light off
seek the density of day
he leaves his lights
burning
brightening the intensity
~
his days are densely
rowed and columned
on his calendar
color coded
time displayed in space
displaced in time
i play
with a plan
toy with a context
that could land me
at any moment
~
he seeks the next moment
connects the dots
conceives the structure
constructs the plot
dreams a lot
i dream a vacant lot
the leaves are blowing
in circles
weeds crack the foundation
in such a structure
i'll take a moment
at any pretext
Sunday, February 27, 2005
Self Addressed Postcard from the Grand Canyon
Dear John,
I visited the canyon and saw the colorado today for the first time. I wanted to run down into the mouth's river screaming and singing then lay down on knolls of grass on the side of cliffs millions of years deep sleeping and dreaming. A raven followed us. He sat on a post and hungered to speak to you as I hunger to speak to you. The light bright on painted fortress walls far away was cold and distant. The light that shone through a storm and glowed from behind dark cliffs was enchanting. The way erosion pared down the slabs into explosions of colors and rock slides and rivers is the way I want you to treat your skull. A canvas, a cavern, a chasm, a river, a raven, a heaven full of clouds and unreachable horizons. Well, anyway I hope you're having fun. I'm sure you are. Hopefully we can get together real soon. I have lots to tell you.
Love,
John
|
I visited the canyon and saw the colorado today for the first time. I wanted to run down into the mouth's river screaming and singing then lay down on knolls of grass on the side of cliffs millions of years deep sleeping and dreaming. A raven followed us. He sat on a post and hungered to speak to you as I hunger to speak to you. The light bright on painted fortress walls far away was cold and distant. The light that shone through a storm and glowed from behind dark cliffs was enchanting. The way erosion pared down the slabs into explosions of colors and rock slides and rivers is the way I want you to treat your skull. A canvas, a cavern, a chasm, a river, a raven, a heaven full of clouds and unreachable horizons. Well, anyway I hope you're having fun. I'm sure you are. Hopefully we can get together real soon. I have lots to tell you.
Love,
John
Saturday, February 26, 2005
Readings
The child in each of us
Knows paradise.
Paradise is home.
Home as it was
Or home as it should have been.
Paradise is one's own place,
One's own people,
One's own world,
Knowing and known,
Perhaps even
Loving and loved.
Yet every child
Is cast from paradise--
Into growth and destruction,
Into solitude and new community,
Into vast, ongoing
Change.
--from Parable of the Talents by Octavia E. Butler
This is just a couple of verses pertaining to Earthseed, the religion spread by Lauren Olamina---a character from a few of Butler's later works of science fiction. I should write a whole post about the author Octavia Butler--that will come later. Jess already knows about her and I believe has aims to introduce her novels to friends and family :)
Anyway! This particular verse caught my attention as I devoured the book today (yes jess, i've already finished it) because breaking away from "home"--even just the idea of home---has been something I've started thinking about since around xmas time when I was last back in the states. I think even before that I had started clinging to the concept of home--of being with family, a daughter, being a child, having my place in my world set for me....In many ways I've already transcended my teenage years, grown up...but at the same time still felt drawn to same, to the known, to security. This christmas was the first time I acknowledged my own realization that I'll be moving out and onward soon---emotionally at least. I will most likely still spend at least some time living at home in NJ with my parents (financial and educational circumstances withstanding) but now I've begun to see that it will be temporary, a transitory stop on the highway of my life before I move on to the new---geographical? Communal?
I have a long way to go before my final separation is feasible---i've only barely, under the strong guidance of my father, begun to pay taxes, barely understand them really, not to mention finding a solid job of some kind----but I know I want to be a strong, self-sufficient woman. Strong enough to live up to the amazing relationships I've formed with family and loved ones. I don't want to live off of anyone, I want to be able to support my family, support my community, hopefully the wider community as well. Who knows what the future will bring???
This is all written in the furtive haze of having spent the entire day locked in my room, reading reading reading inspiration. I can't spend the whole weekend like this, but I need and deserve private alone time every now and then.
love love love
|
Knows paradise.
Paradise is home.
Home as it was
Or home as it should have been.
Paradise is one's own place,
One's own people,
One's own world,
Knowing and known,
Perhaps even
Loving and loved.
Yet every child
Is cast from paradise--
Into growth and destruction,
Into solitude and new community,
Into vast, ongoing
Change.
--from Parable of the Talents by Octavia E. Butler
This is just a couple of verses pertaining to Earthseed, the religion spread by Lauren Olamina---a character from a few of Butler's later works of science fiction. I should write a whole post about the author Octavia Butler--that will come later. Jess already knows about her and I believe has aims to introduce her novels to friends and family :)
Anyway! This particular verse caught my attention as I devoured the book today (yes jess, i've already finished it) because breaking away from "home"--even just the idea of home---has been something I've started thinking about since around xmas time when I was last back in the states. I think even before that I had started clinging to the concept of home--of being with family, a daughter, being a child, having my place in my world set for me....In many ways I've already transcended my teenage years, grown up...but at the same time still felt drawn to same, to the known, to security. This christmas was the first time I acknowledged my own realization that I'll be moving out and onward soon---emotionally at least. I will most likely still spend at least some time living at home in NJ with my parents (financial and educational circumstances withstanding) but now I've begun to see that it will be temporary, a transitory stop on the highway of my life before I move on to the new---geographical? Communal?
I have a long way to go before my final separation is feasible---i've only barely, under the strong guidance of my father, begun to pay taxes, barely understand them really, not to mention finding a solid job of some kind----but I know I want to be a strong, self-sufficient woman. Strong enough to live up to the amazing relationships I've formed with family and loved ones. I don't want to live off of anyone, I want to be able to support my family, support my community, hopefully the wider community as well. Who knows what the future will bring???
This is all written in the furtive haze of having spent the entire day locked in my room, reading reading reading inspiration. I can't spend the whole weekend like this, but I need and deserve private alone time every now and then.
love love love
Hello from the Southern Rim of the Colorado Plateau
Hey, y'all. Sorry I've been incommunicado for so long. I posted some comments in lieu of entries so you can't be too mad. It's just my brain (and body) are trying to cover a lot of ground right now and each night I've been scribbling raw and furious in my notebook, using every drop of energy and intelligence I have just to get some of the notions down on paper.
But travel writing is a joy for author and audience alike, right? So let me try my best to pare down the last few days to panoramic shots and post-card brevity. I arrived Monday morning in Flagstaff by Greyhound bus. My mind, which had barely endured the dark chicken-coop of the prior night, began to fill with all sorts of happy chemicals as red dawn broke on the flat desert of eastern Arizona. Then my dopimines really got stoked as the bus began its ascent up into the San Francisco peaks which surround Flagstaff. As we made our way uphill the terrain changed from flat, red-yellow and brush covered to a steep ash bristiling with tall pine trees. Into the halo of moisture that has completely obscured the tippy top of the tallest peaks for the entire 6 days I've been here, I rose with the snoring of the man in the seat next to me..
Chella picked me up in a little red civic. Her beaux was at the university where he's teaching some classes and studying towards his masters in english literature for high school education. Her hair is a lighter brown than I remember (your proximity to the sun, I said) but everything else looks like Chella just as we left her. We drove up towards Mt. Elden from downtown flag to where she is renting a beautiful red house with her man, Jacob, and a friend, Chris. There I met Chris and his debutante Ann (a.k.a. Dimebag Dohorety) and the beautiful black lab Molly (a.k.a Honi). After a wonderful breakfast of eggs benedict with shitake mushrooms and home fries at a cafe in town, we jumped in the civic and headed north-northeast out of flag towards Wupatki National Monument. This is a beautiful national park just southwest of the largest rez in the country, the Navajo (almost half of Arizona's acreage therein) and the painted desert, containing within it deactivated volcanic craters, hills covered in ash that can feel like hiking up jello (park ranger verbatim), lava rock flows and Sinagua pueblo ruins. Unfortunately, one of the pueblos that is tagged with 8 or 900 hundred year old graffiti (petroglyphs) was closed. But we did get to visit the 3 stories or so of the Wupatki Pueblo that remain. This was the most populous and important pueblo of its period (1100-1250). 80-100 people lived in its rooms and artifacts from the north, west, east and far south have been recovered there leading archs to believe it was a site of large cultural exchange. I thought the view from this sandstone and mortar architecture down the canyon over the painted desert was beautiful enough that the unusual moisture the area is experiencing didn't have to break into a rainbow, but it did. Wow.
The next day a potential mountain biking trip in Sedona with this dude was cancelled due to a freezing rain that fell from Mt. Elden's frosty halo. Rather than depressing about it, I let the mountains greet me like New England greeted Manning and the Colts this year, but I found a way to connect with Harrison despite the inclemency. I spent the morning/early afternoon doing yoga, push-ups, sit-ups, reading about straw bale houses, petting Molly's belly, drinking coffee, listening to music I normally don't and writing in my journal. Later that eve, I had the best blueberry-banana milkshake of my life on our way to the Siren Iris All Female First Flagstaff Slam. It was brilliant. Of the 15 poets to do battle on stage, at least 8 of them were-- in my honest estimation-- overwhelmingly talented and under recognized authors of american experience. The two mc's, Susan and Andrea (a.k.a Siren and Iris) have been touring the west coast for a month. They perform collaboratively with a call-and-response kinda duet as well as individually. If you dig poetry, look into Andrea Gibson. She is the next shit. After the reading, I made my way to the Flagstaff brewery alone (Chella left slam early) and wrote two poems on umpteen napkins and dropped pints of really good porter and stout. Then I stumbled home, satisfied, weary, with a vague map of flag in my head, hands in pockets to keep them warm from the ballet of tiny frozen dancers pirhouetting down from Elden's frosty beard.
The following day, Wednesday, I made a trip to Sedona with some of Jacob and Marcella's friends while my two hosts were hard at work. Sedona is fantastic, gorgeous. The steep drive down from flag through the oak canyon took us through miles of pine forest with beautiful cliffs and buffs to the west, blue in the evergreen shade of this moist terrain. Downtown Sedona looks exactly like Beach Haven at the Jersey shore with a southwestern motif. In other words, it's all about the shops. Vomit. In fact, the trailhead we picked up northwest of the town center for the first-quarter mile has to skirt the Enchanted Resort--a massive campus of faux-adobe vacation rentals-- placed in the middle of a lush, forested canyon protected from the east and west by long bluffs of red-rocks. The Navajo refused to erect a single teepe in these canyons and referred to the area as the Valley of the Gods. But now you can pay some quack-cracker in a long white robe to drive you to the vortexes in a pink jeep where all your arthritis will just turn into indian ghosts and float up into some painless happy hunting ground. We were on the trail for about four hours and my favorite moment was climbing a rock face nestled in the narrow, upper part of this particular gorge to get a better view of the surrounding cliffs. About 40 feet above the stream and trail below I had some private moments with the redrocks. My heart fluttered. My vision blurred. My guides were very kind and enjoyable. They were interested in blazing up. I didn't need to. Long before they broke out the bat I was literally stoned out of my mind. The area definitely has a powerful vibe-ration, magnetism, power-- take it from a skeptical, wise-ass. My heart was skipping beats and I felt light as air hiking through this gorge. There was a grove off the trail that people have filled with little rock towers they have built out of small red rocks. It's a dense garden of these beautiful dolls imitating the surrounding geological architecture. Sitting on the permiter of this prayer garden, my eyes were filled with a milky light and the entire scene had that soft focus reminiscent of a fungus peak or deep meditation calm. I couldn't rub it from my eyes.
On the hike back to the trial-head parking lot we had our revenge, albeit unintentionally on the Enchanted Resort. Looking up at a bluff to my left, the setting sun directly opposite it really conjuring up its striations and bengal markings, I was inspired to let out a gusty holler that hit the cliffs and slapped off them hard, being volleyed down the valley. Pat, a few feet ahead of me, began a impressive repetoire of monkey calls. Eerily life-like. The two other boys, a few hundred feet ahead of us, joined in with bird calls and terrified/fying screams. As we passed the resort we saw a wedding in progress (woops) and realized that our blood-curtling, sun-setting, canyon-spirit screams were raining down on their celebration like macabre wedding bells. Suckas. One of em shouted up at spirits he couldn't see to shut up.
The last two days I've been exploring Flag. Musuems. Cafes. Bookstores. Thai lunch counters. I met a dude the other day who grew up on the Nav rez just northeast of here. We shared a lot of stories, played a game of chess, and exchanged numbers. I may link up with him after the weekend for some exploring. He is also new to flag having just been released from the fed pen down near phoenix a few weeks ago. He has some very interesting and positive perceptions on a prison system that threw him behind bars for 5 years over some bullshit. Sorry this turned into such a long, rambling entry. I meant to keep it brief but....
|
But travel writing is a joy for author and audience alike, right? So let me try my best to pare down the last few days to panoramic shots and post-card brevity. I arrived Monday morning in Flagstaff by Greyhound bus. My mind, which had barely endured the dark chicken-coop of the prior night, began to fill with all sorts of happy chemicals as red dawn broke on the flat desert of eastern Arizona. Then my dopimines really got stoked as the bus began its ascent up into the San Francisco peaks which surround Flagstaff. As we made our way uphill the terrain changed from flat, red-yellow and brush covered to a steep ash bristiling with tall pine trees. Into the halo of moisture that has completely obscured the tippy top of the tallest peaks for the entire 6 days I've been here, I rose with the snoring of the man in the seat next to me..
Chella picked me up in a little red civic. Her beaux was at the university where he's teaching some classes and studying towards his masters in english literature for high school education. Her hair is a lighter brown than I remember (your proximity to the sun, I said) but everything else looks like Chella just as we left her. We drove up towards Mt. Elden from downtown flag to where she is renting a beautiful red house with her man, Jacob, and a friend, Chris. There I met Chris and his debutante Ann (a.k.a. Dimebag Dohorety) and the beautiful black lab Molly (a.k.a Honi). After a wonderful breakfast of eggs benedict with shitake mushrooms and home fries at a cafe in town, we jumped in the civic and headed north-northeast out of flag towards Wupatki National Monument. This is a beautiful national park just southwest of the largest rez in the country, the Navajo (almost half of Arizona's acreage therein) and the painted desert, containing within it deactivated volcanic craters, hills covered in ash that can feel like hiking up jello (park ranger verbatim), lava rock flows and Sinagua pueblo ruins. Unfortunately, one of the pueblos that is tagged with 8 or 900 hundred year old graffiti (petroglyphs) was closed. But we did get to visit the 3 stories or so of the Wupatki Pueblo that remain. This was the most populous and important pueblo of its period (1100-1250). 80-100 people lived in its rooms and artifacts from the north, west, east and far south have been recovered there leading archs to believe it was a site of large cultural exchange. I thought the view from this sandstone and mortar architecture down the canyon over the painted desert was beautiful enough that the unusual moisture the area is experiencing didn't have to break into a rainbow, but it did. Wow.
The next day a potential mountain biking trip in Sedona with this dude was cancelled due to a freezing rain that fell from Mt. Elden's frosty halo. Rather than depressing about it, I let the mountains greet me like New England greeted Manning and the Colts this year, but I found a way to connect with Harrison despite the inclemency. I spent the morning/early afternoon doing yoga, push-ups, sit-ups, reading about straw bale houses, petting Molly's belly, drinking coffee, listening to music I normally don't and writing in my journal. Later that eve, I had the best blueberry-banana milkshake of my life on our way to the Siren Iris All Female First Flagstaff Slam. It was brilliant. Of the 15 poets to do battle on stage, at least 8 of them were-- in my honest estimation-- overwhelmingly talented and under recognized authors of american experience. The two mc's, Susan and Andrea (a.k.a Siren and Iris) have been touring the west coast for a month. They perform collaboratively with a call-and-response kinda duet as well as individually. If you dig poetry, look into Andrea Gibson. She is the next shit. After the reading, I made my way to the Flagstaff brewery alone (Chella left slam early) and wrote two poems on umpteen napkins and dropped pints of really good porter and stout. Then I stumbled home, satisfied, weary, with a vague map of flag in my head, hands in pockets to keep them warm from the ballet of tiny frozen dancers pirhouetting down from Elden's frosty beard.
The following day, Wednesday, I made a trip to Sedona with some of Jacob and Marcella's friends while my two hosts were hard at work. Sedona is fantastic, gorgeous. The steep drive down from flag through the oak canyon took us through miles of pine forest with beautiful cliffs and buffs to the west, blue in the evergreen shade of this moist terrain. Downtown Sedona looks exactly like Beach Haven at the Jersey shore with a southwestern motif. In other words, it's all about the shops. Vomit. In fact, the trailhead we picked up northwest of the town center for the first-quarter mile has to skirt the Enchanted Resort--a massive campus of faux-adobe vacation rentals-- placed in the middle of a lush, forested canyon protected from the east and west by long bluffs of red-rocks. The Navajo refused to erect a single teepe in these canyons and referred to the area as the Valley of the Gods. But now you can pay some quack-cracker in a long white robe to drive you to the vortexes in a pink jeep where all your arthritis will just turn into indian ghosts and float up into some painless happy hunting ground. We were on the trail for about four hours and my favorite moment was climbing a rock face nestled in the narrow, upper part of this particular gorge to get a better view of the surrounding cliffs. About 40 feet above the stream and trail below I had some private moments with the redrocks. My heart fluttered. My vision blurred. My guides were very kind and enjoyable. They were interested in blazing up. I didn't need to. Long before they broke out the bat I was literally stoned out of my mind. The area definitely has a powerful vibe-ration, magnetism, power-- take it from a skeptical, wise-ass. My heart was skipping beats and I felt light as air hiking through this gorge. There was a grove off the trail that people have filled with little rock towers they have built out of small red rocks. It's a dense garden of these beautiful dolls imitating the surrounding geological architecture. Sitting on the permiter of this prayer garden, my eyes were filled with a milky light and the entire scene had that soft focus reminiscent of a fungus peak or deep meditation calm. I couldn't rub it from my eyes.
On the hike back to the trial-head parking lot we had our revenge, albeit unintentionally on the Enchanted Resort. Looking up at a bluff to my left, the setting sun directly opposite it really conjuring up its striations and bengal markings, I was inspired to let out a gusty holler that hit the cliffs and slapped off them hard, being volleyed down the valley. Pat, a few feet ahead of me, began a impressive repetoire of monkey calls. Eerily life-like. The two other boys, a few hundred feet ahead of us, joined in with bird calls and terrified/fying screams. As we passed the resort we saw a wedding in progress (woops) and realized that our blood-curtling, sun-setting, canyon-spirit screams were raining down on their celebration like macabre wedding bells. Suckas. One of em shouted up at spirits he couldn't see to shut up.
The last two days I've been exploring Flag. Musuems. Cafes. Bookstores. Thai lunch counters. I met a dude the other day who grew up on the Nav rez just northeast of here. We shared a lot of stories, played a game of chess, and exchanged numbers. I may link up with him after the weekend for some exploring. He is also new to flag having just been released from the fed pen down near phoenix a few weeks ago. He has some very interesting and positive perceptions on a prison system that threw him behind bars for 5 years over some bullshit. Sorry this turned into such a long, rambling entry. I meant to keep it brief but....
Friday, February 25, 2005
A Friday afternoon in London
So my boy is back in the air, States-bound. I'm in my cosy room, kickin back with a Newcastle Brown and some Sublime in the backround, a rare afternoon ray of sun streaming into my window. It's funny, the taste of the Newcastle actually brings me back to Mass, sitting on long-legged stools on Jess's back porch in the Noho house. I remember feeling so grown-up then---drinking contraband beer (it was still contraband for me at the time) with my beautiful boyfriend on a warm night outside. You've all seen me expand and solidify over the last three and a half years. Where will we all be in three and a half more?
It seems that with each brief but indulgently bright vacation Jess and I have shared this year it has taken me a day or two to realize, to remember that this wonderful man really, actually does love me. Caitlin. The whole package--the good, the great, the bad, and the gross. Being with him gives me the room and the occasional nudge to believe that I can improve myself, can mold and shape my future. I hope I do the same for him, my love.
I'm being mushy but I don't care. That's part of me too--I get mushy and I cry, whether I'm happy or sad.
The tulips in my room look beautiful--even more so than when I first bought them last Friday. Their petals have fallen open, surrendering to gravity but still clinging to a juicy stem. The petals that have fallen line my windowsill, my sink. I didn't think I liked tulips, but they were purple and now beautiful.
You had taken up my closet, my biggest shelf, half my underwear drawer----now there is space, my dress pants and skirts still pressed to one side, making room for the memory of you, your smell, our smell. We are the three empty wine bottles in the bin outside my door; we are the two separate towels hanging on opposite ends of my room; we are the vitamin J giving to and taking from the vitamin C; we are the sunset-colored scarf you hung in my window.
Till April. Till this weekend when we talk. Till tonight when I dream.
|
It seems that with each brief but indulgently bright vacation Jess and I have shared this year it has taken me a day or two to realize, to remember that this wonderful man really, actually does love me. Caitlin. The whole package--the good, the great, the bad, and the gross. Being with him gives me the room and the occasional nudge to believe that I can improve myself, can mold and shape my future. I hope I do the same for him, my love.
I'm being mushy but I don't care. That's part of me too--I get mushy and I cry, whether I'm happy or sad.
The tulips in my room look beautiful--even more so than when I first bought them last Friday. Their petals have fallen open, surrendering to gravity but still clinging to a juicy stem. The petals that have fallen line my windowsill, my sink. I didn't think I liked tulips, but they were purple and now beautiful.
You had taken up my closet, my biggest shelf, half my underwear drawer----now there is space, my dress pants and skirts still pressed to one side, making room for the memory of you, your smell, our smell. We are the three empty wine bottles in the bin outside my door; we are the two separate towels hanging on opposite ends of my room; we are the vitamin J giving to and taking from the vitamin C; we are the sunset-colored scarf you hung in my window.
Till April. Till this weekend when we talk. Till tonight when I dream.
Day 7, England....
Day 5 -- I was able to convince Caitie to stay in and not go to school at all. It was wonderful. We had grand plans to go to the Victoria and Albert Museum and the Natural History Museum...but you know how that goes, when you've got good books around, music, the Chappelle Show, and nowhere to go but hang in and eat and snuggle. We ordered in from a Thai place, picked up some chips, and a few beers. Awesome day.
Day 6 -- I visited Caitie's school, Laban Dance Institute, with her and watched her Contemporary Dance class and a rehearsal for a small piece that her friend is choreographing. Beautiful building, the school is, and just outside the cute town of Greenwich -- everything in London seems to have stolen their names from places in New York! I've come to discover that there are a number of reasons why New York kicks London's ass (though London has history that New York can never match): London's underground closes at midnight, the pubs close at 11pm, its always cloudy here, its damn frigging expensive, the tallest building in the city is a giant ferris wheel, and we're competing with them for the 2012 Olympics.
Anyway, her school was awesome and her friends seemed very cool too. From there I went directly to the National Gallery in Trafalgar's Sqaure, which is free! and I had no idea about that or I'd have been there everyday. The Gallery is one huge floor of masterpiece paintings from 1250 to the 19th Century, and I mean absolutely gorgeous, huge, perfect masterpieces from Da Vinci, Monet, Raphael, El Greco, RembrantMichelangelo, Botticelli - the list goes on. This museum might be the most magnificent place I've ever been to - the huge 13 foot green marble archways that lined each of the doors were themselves masterpieces. I'll have to come back to this in another post, cause I was blown away by this museum. And its free!
Then I went shopping and prepared a feast for my special lady friend for when she arrived home last night. Guac, salmon, zucc, minty/cuke/yogurt sauce, and kiwis/persimmons covered in honey for dessert. Yummy!
Day 7 -- Today I have to leave :( -- I have to get packing and get ready to get out of here in an hour. The week has flown by, as it usually does when I'm thoroughly enjoying myself. We'll make breakfast and head out to the airport where I have a 8 hour flight back to JFK...Ah well, I suppose the purpose of these mid-year vacations are to renew my strength for the shitty job I currently hold and get me through the rest of the year, though I don't think I'd mind it much if a job allowed me to sleep until noon, wander around an ancient yet modern city all day and write about it at night. I guess my writing skills would need a little touching up, but all the same, sounds like a job I wouldn't turn down if offered to me.
Peace Londontown! I be back in April!
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Day 6 -- I visited Caitie's school, Laban Dance Institute, with her and watched her Contemporary Dance class and a rehearsal for a small piece that her friend is choreographing. Beautiful building, the school is, and just outside the cute town of Greenwich -- everything in London seems to have stolen their names from places in New York! I've come to discover that there are a number of reasons why New York kicks London's ass (though London has history that New York can never match): London's underground closes at midnight, the pubs close at 11pm, its always cloudy here, its damn frigging expensive, the tallest building in the city is a giant ferris wheel, and we're competing with them for the 2012 Olympics.
Anyway, her school was awesome and her friends seemed very cool too. From there I went directly to the National Gallery in Trafalgar's Sqaure, which is free! and I had no idea about that or I'd have been there everyday. The Gallery is one huge floor of masterpiece paintings from 1250 to the 19th Century, and I mean absolutely gorgeous, huge, perfect masterpieces from Da Vinci, Monet, Raphael, El Greco, RembrantMichelangelo, Botticelli - the list goes on. This museum might be the most magnificent place I've ever been to - the huge 13 foot green marble archways that lined each of the doors were themselves masterpieces. I'll have to come back to this in another post, cause I was blown away by this museum. And its free!
Then I went shopping and prepared a feast for my special lady friend for when she arrived home last night. Guac, salmon, zucc, minty/cuke/yogurt sauce, and kiwis/persimmons covered in honey for dessert. Yummy!
Day 7 -- Today I have to leave :( -- I have to get packing and get ready to get out of here in an hour. The week has flown by, as it usually does when I'm thoroughly enjoying myself. We'll make breakfast and head out to the airport where I have a 8 hour flight back to JFK...Ah well, I suppose the purpose of these mid-year vacations are to renew my strength for the shitty job I currently hold and get me through the rest of the year, though I don't think I'd mind it much if a job allowed me to sleep until noon, wander around an ancient yet modern city all day and write about it at night. I guess my writing skills would need a little touching up, but all the same, sounds like a job I wouldn't turn down if offered to me.
Peace Londontown! I be back in April!
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Day 4, England
Westminster Abbey today. Probably the most ornate, detailed piece of architecture and internal monuments I've ever seen. There must be similar pieces in the world to rival it in magnificence, but I haven't seen it. Though, of course, this just might be the Denmarkian fungi talking.
Listening to G. Nash's experience at Wincester suggests that he had a more intense internal surge of awareness, but today's upswell inside the monastary, the cloisters, the Abbey's gardens and vaults brought my time to a standstill and expanded history for me like never before. When I left the Abbey 2 hours later, I couldn't believe that it was still the same day, no less still daylight. I felt like hours and hours had passed while inside the Chapel of Henry the VII, or the Lady Chapel. It was added on to the Abbey in the early 16 C. The roof of the chapel looks like it is hanging upside down, and on the marble floor has been wheeled in an elaborate mirror which when looing into you can see the ceiling. Of course, you can just look up and see the ceiling, but looking down and seeing the ceiling framed by a beautiful wooden frame and nothing else except your own face, while peaking, is quite an experience. That certainly felt like flying, and my stomach began doing summersaults.
I ended up in Trafalgar's Square again, not just for the beauty of it, but also because it is now familiar, and that can be comforting in itself while in the midst of strangers and while seeing things a little wider and broader than normal. In the middle of the square has been erected a temporary building to display a multi-media experience showing off the vision for London's bid for the 2012 Olympics. This was outstanding. Small. But still. You walk in and immediately your standing on a massive, detailed map of the Entire city. There are spotlit circles on the map, on the floor, showing various sections of the city which would be utilized for the events. Implanted into the floor are large screens which cycle through a specific video describing how a certain part of the city (which the screen is directly next, on the floor) would be uitlized, and directly overhead, about 7.5 feet off the floor, is a speaker directed at the viewer so that only a few people can hear it. there are about 7 or 8 of these in this small room describing various new constructions throughout the city. Behind all of this is very Olympic sounding, inspirational music intended to make you jump up and wish you were an athelete competing to get in. Or at least inspire you to want to watch.
After watching all this, or in my case, about half of them, you walk through a screen made of mist, or smoke, on which is projected scenes from past Olympic events, presumably. That made me laugh out loud, cause it looks like you're walking through a wall. And then I went back to do it again. In this next room, there are two large screens above and to the right and left. In the center there are various Olympic memoribilial, and another screen on which is projected an image of a past, probably English, Olympian who introduces the upcoming short video. And it goes on to show you, all with inspiring music in the back, sometimes up front, how having London host the 2012 Olympics will be great for the city and for the world. There were crazy projections of the 5 rings onto the floor as well - at least they looked crazy to me. After leaving this, I wanted the Olympics to be held in London as well. Damn good job.
I had to wait out the rest of my trip inside a cafe drinking tea reading my book (The Parable of the Sower), cause it was so cold out, snowing even. I walked around a bit more, checked out the St. Martins in the Field church and the crypt below (a cafe, not a real crypt), and returned back to Caitie's dorm, where I am now, warm and cozy again.
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Listening to G. Nash's experience at Wincester suggests that he had a more intense internal surge of awareness, but today's upswell inside the monastary, the cloisters, the Abbey's gardens and vaults brought my time to a standstill and expanded history for me like never before. When I left the Abbey 2 hours later, I couldn't believe that it was still the same day, no less still daylight. I felt like hours and hours had passed while inside the Chapel of Henry the VII, or the Lady Chapel. It was added on to the Abbey in the early 16 C. The roof of the chapel looks like it is hanging upside down, and on the marble floor has been wheeled in an elaborate mirror which when looing into you can see the ceiling. Of course, you can just look up and see the ceiling, but looking down and seeing the ceiling framed by a beautiful wooden frame and nothing else except your own face, while peaking, is quite an experience. That certainly felt like flying, and my stomach began doing summersaults.
I ended up in Trafalgar's Square again, not just for the beauty of it, but also because it is now familiar, and that can be comforting in itself while in the midst of strangers and while seeing things a little wider and broader than normal. In the middle of the square has been erected a temporary building to display a multi-media experience showing off the vision for London's bid for the 2012 Olympics. This was outstanding. Small. But still. You walk in and immediately your standing on a massive, detailed map of the Entire city. There are spotlit circles on the map, on the floor, showing various sections of the city which would be utilized for the events. Implanted into the floor are large screens which cycle through a specific video describing how a certain part of the city (which the screen is directly next, on the floor) would be uitlized, and directly overhead, about 7.5 feet off the floor, is a speaker directed at the viewer so that only a few people can hear it. there are about 7 or 8 of these in this small room describing various new constructions throughout the city. Behind all of this is very Olympic sounding, inspirational music intended to make you jump up and wish you were an athelete competing to get in. Or at least inspire you to want to watch.
After watching all this, or in my case, about half of them, you walk through a screen made of mist, or smoke, on which is projected scenes from past Olympic events, presumably. That made me laugh out loud, cause it looks like you're walking through a wall. And then I went back to do it again. In this next room, there are two large screens above and to the right and left. In the center there are various Olympic memoribilial, and another screen on which is projected an image of a past, probably English, Olympian who introduces the upcoming short video. And it goes on to show you, all with inspiring music in the back, sometimes up front, how having London host the 2012 Olympics will be great for the city and for the world. There were crazy projections of the 5 rings onto the floor as well - at least they looked crazy to me. After leaving this, I wanted the Olympics to be held in London as well. Damn good job.
I had to wait out the rest of my trip inside a cafe drinking tea reading my book (The Parable of the Sower), cause it was so cold out, snowing even. I walked around a bit more, checked out the St. Martins in the Field church and the crypt below (a cafe, not a real crypt), and returned back to Caitie's dorm, where I am now, warm and cozy again.
First thing we did was take a nap. The plane ride over the Atlantic was uncomfortable, cramped, lacking music and movies, lights overhead, and the aisles were peopled with conversation. So, I didn't get more than 2 or 3 hours of sleep that night, though I did make an Indian friend who's living in Costa Rica and working as the educational director for an environmental sustainability organization.
As soon as we were done napping and snuggling through the morning and early afternoon, I was wisked away to the east side of Britian, to the cliffs of Dover. Took a beautiful countryside train ride, and walked our way to our bed and breakfast, settled into watching part of a football game - real football - and then went out to the town and had some drinks and thai food. The next morning, Sunday, we had a full english breakfast from our hosts, and then wandered up to Dover Castle, this magnificent, huge campus of a castle from the Middle Ages. The first structure up on the cliffs was actually a lighthouse - a pharos - built by the Romans in the 1st century; crumbling, of course, but still standing. Immediately next to that was a beautiful old church dating to around 1000. The castle itself, the keep, if you will, was built between 1181-1187, and has two concentric rings of walls around it. It was huge and gorgeous. We went through midevil underground tunnels, and retraced the steps of the Normandy siege of 1216, through the rebuilding and strengthening of the walls and turrets. Awesome. Then, on the cliffs, they built really huge underground tunnels just before WW2, where the headquarters of a few major operations took place, particularly the evacuation of over 300,000 men from the edge of France and Belgium in 1940. There were over 5 miles of tunnels built and reinforced in case of nuclear war; pretty impressive. We had a full tour of those. The rest of the castle and grounds we went through ourselves - over 80 acres.
Since then, yesterday, I wandered through a few different sections of London on my own while Caitie was at school. Down portobello road and had lunch (after sleeping past noon), then went to Trafalgar's Square, and Liecester Court, and then into Chinatown, a very small chinatown, but cool nontheless. Today I was thinking about taking a tour of Westminster Abbey, if I can get my ass up and out of bed to do it. There's so much to check out here. Updates later in the week.
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As soon as we were done napping and snuggling through the morning and early afternoon, I was wisked away to the east side of Britian, to the cliffs of Dover. Took a beautiful countryside train ride, and walked our way to our bed and breakfast, settled into watching part of a football game - real football - and then went out to the town and had some drinks and thai food. The next morning, Sunday, we had a full english breakfast from our hosts, and then wandered up to Dover Castle, this magnificent, huge campus of a castle from the Middle Ages. The first structure up on the cliffs was actually a lighthouse - a pharos - built by the Romans in the 1st century; crumbling, of course, but still standing. Immediately next to that was a beautiful old church dating to around 1000. The castle itself, the keep, if you will, was built between 1181-1187, and has two concentric rings of walls around it. It was huge and gorgeous. We went through midevil underground tunnels, and retraced the steps of the Normandy siege of 1216, through the rebuilding and strengthening of the walls and turrets. Awesome. Then, on the cliffs, they built really huge underground tunnels just before WW2, where the headquarters of a few major operations took place, particularly the evacuation of over 300,000 men from the edge of France and Belgium in 1940. There were over 5 miles of tunnels built and reinforced in case of nuclear war; pretty impressive. We had a full tour of those. The rest of the castle and grounds we went through ourselves - over 80 acres.
Since then, yesterday, I wandered through a few different sections of London on my own while Caitie was at school. Down portobello road and had lunch (after sleeping past noon), then went to Trafalgar's Square, and Liecester Court, and then into Chinatown, a very small chinatown, but cool nontheless. Today I was thinking about taking a tour of Westminster Abbey, if I can get my ass up and out of bed to do it. There's so much to check out here. Updates later in the week.
Saturday, February 19, 2005
Yo Quiero Taco Bell
Hola, friends! I am writing y'all from Fort Worth, Texas, typing on Mary's computer while Mike still sleeps in his brother's room down the hall. The Hart family has welcomed me with open arms, feeding and entertaining me and even allowing me to witness/partake in their rivalries. It's been a blast so far. Well, we haven't done that much as we don't have access to a car and their house is located on the outskirts of Ft. Worth, a long walk from anything but strip malls, but it's still been fun.
The mall-ification of Mike's rural hometown is horrifying him and filling him with a bitter malaise. Where once there were fields and forests there are now endless roads of fast food restaurants, 99 cents stores, super wal-marts, home depots and new-construction churches that strangely look like the fast food joints. I wonder how long it will be before they introduce the drive-thru confession: "Forgive me father for i have unwittingly supported sweat-shop worker abuses in our colonies abroad and the sure demise of small business and nutrition here at home in order to save a buck or two for buying ever more useless crap." "It's okay, my son, say five supersized hail marys, swipe your debit card at our Automatic Donation Machine and would you like 32 or 64 oz of holy water with that?."
Mike's immediate neighborhood is still beautiful, though. I'd say they have about an acre and a half of property: maple trees that tangle up the air with their undulations, some thin oak saplings that have been planted to eventually replace the maples for shade and a few scattered pecan trees that, yes, scatter real, live, scrumptious pecans. Their neighbors have two horses and two goats grazing casually in the backyard.
Fort Worth is about 28 miles from Dallas. Dallas-Fort Worth (DFW) airport and the Cowboy's stadium are located smack in the middle in the town of Irving. We explored downtown Dallas yesterday (Mike and I). First we had breakfast at La Madeliene, a cute little French bistro. Then we stopped by the Booker T. Washington Performing and Visual Arts Highschool where Mike studied dance and where his younger brother (Jesse) currently does the same. Booker T was the first all-black highschool in Dallas back in the day and then at some point in the last 30 years was transformed into an integrated school specializing in the arts. In its original state the school's mascot was a Bulldog. It is now a Pegasus (the patron icon of Dallas, the official seal of Mobil Corporation!) . According to Mike, before the bulldog was removed, from a particular angle it looked like the newly installed Pegasus statue, rearing on its hind quarters, was sodomizing the poor, unsuspecting pooch. The school had a wonderful vibe. Teachers were hugging and laughing with students everywhere. Children actually looked eager to learn: running around the halls in their black dancer tights, practicing viola and cello in shadowy corners, hanging their work in a hallway turned gallery.
We then had lunch with two of Mike's former dance teachers who absolutely adored the boy. From the bbq pit we walked to the Dallas Museum of Art and briefly explored the Forbidden City exhibit before it made its return to Beijing. The Forbidden City was a walled-off part of Beijing where a succession of Emperors ruled during the 18th and 19th centuries. Quinlang, one particular Emperor, was the center-piece of the exhibition and he was portrayed as a worldly, cultured and sensitive emperor who oversaw a peaceful period of expansion (what's that?) and great economic/scientific flourishing. They also mentioned that 40-odd consorts produced 26 children to him and that the only men allowed inside his imperial palace were his servant eunuchs. From the DMA we took a long stroll (Dallas is an extremely decentralized city and makes you long for the old metropolises like sweet NY) to one of the gay neighborhoods with a lot of theaters and parks. More food and we hailed a cab to take us to the train station where we met Mike's brother, who at 6PM was just finishing his after school rehearsals, and headed home.
Tomorrow I leave for Arizona by Greyhound. Chella said they just had some snowfall in Flagstaff which sucks because the weather here in North Texas hasn't provided me with an opportunity to wear my shorts yet either. However, this coming weekend we are going to head down to Prescott, AZ where it will be much warmer as well as possibly the Grand Canyon. We'll see and I'll keep y'all updated. I'm fixing to make some breakfast jus about now. Maybe wander with the dog down to the ole barn and see if any of the barbwire fence needs meding. You take er easy now, ya hear.
Peace!
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The mall-ification of Mike's rural hometown is horrifying him and filling him with a bitter malaise. Where once there were fields and forests there are now endless roads of fast food restaurants, 99 cents stores, super wal-marts, home depots and new-construction churches that strangely look like the fast food joints. I wonder how long it will be before they introduce the drive-thru confession: "Forgive me father for i have unwittingly supported sweat-shop worker abuses in our colonies abroad and the sure demise of small business and nutrition here at home in order to save a buck or two for buying ever more useless crap." "It's okay, my son, say five supersized hail marys, swipe your debit card at our Automatic Donation Machine and would you like 32 or 64 oz of holy water with that?."
Mike's immediate neighborhood is still beautiful, though. I'd say they have about an acre and a half of property: maple trees that tangle up the air with their undulations, some thin oak saplings that have been planted to eventually replace the maples for shade and a few scattered pecan trees that, yes, scatter real, live, scrumptious pecans. Their neighbors have two horses and two goats grazing casually in the backyard.
Fort Worth is about 28 miles from Dallas. Dallas-Fort Worth (DFW) airport and the Cowboy's stadium are located smack in the middle in the town of Irving. We explored downtown Dallas yesterday (Mike and I). First we had breakfast at La Madeliene, a cute little French bistro. Then we stopped by the Booker T. Washington Performing and Visual Arts Highschool where Mike studied dance and where his younger brother (Jesse) currently does the same. Booker T was the first all-black highschool in Dallas back in the day and then at some point in the last 30 years was transformed into an integrated school specializing in the arts. In its original state the school's mascot was a Bulldog. It is now a Pegasus (the patron icon of Dallas, the official seal of Mobil Corporation!) . According to Mike, before the bulldog was removed, from a particular angle it looked like the newly installed Pegasus statue, rearing on its hind quarters, was sodomizing the poor, unsuspecting pooch. The school had a wonderful vibe. Teachers were hugging and laughing with students everywhere. Children actually looked eager to learn: running around the halls in their black dancer tights, practicing viola and cello in shadowy corners, hanging their work in a hallway turned gallery.
We then had lunch with two of Mike's former dance teachers who absolutely adored the boy. From the bbq pit we walked to the Dallas Museum of Art and briefly explored the Forbidden City exhibit before it made its return to Beijing. The Forbidden City was a walled-off part of Beijing where a succession of Emperors ruled during the 18th and 19th centuries. Quinlang, one particular Emperor, was the center-piece of the exhibition and he was portrayed as a worldly, cultured and sensitive emperor who oversaw a peaceful period of expansion (what's that?) and great economic/scientific flourishing. They also mentioned that 40-odd consorts produced 26 children to him and that the only men allowed inside his imperial palace were his servant eunuchs. From the DMA we took a long stroll (Dallas is an extremely decentralized city and makes you long for the old metropolises like sweet NY) to one of the gay neighborhoods with a lot of theaters and parks. More food and we hailed a cab to take us to the train station where we met Mike's brother, who at 6PM was just finishing his after school rehearsals, and headed home.
Tomorrow I leave for Arizona by Greyhound. Chella said they just had some snowfall in Flagstaff which sucks because the weather here in North Texas hasn't provided me with an opportunity to wear my shorts yet either. However, this coming weekend we are going to head down to Prescott, AZ where it will be much warmer as well as possibly the Grand Canyon. We'll see and I'll keep y'all updated. I'm fixing to make some breakfast jus about now. Maybe wander with the dog down to the ole barn and see if any of the barbwire fence needs meding. You take er easy now, ya hear.
Peace!
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Seeing that my previous posts have gotten so much response from my loved ones, I feel encouraged to continue journaling my internal life.
Thanks to Damian for a massively increased music collection, of which both Johnny and myself are taking great joy. I'm consistenly making new mixes out of the marvelously organized selection. I still need to explore half of what I now possess. And much of it I know well already, and have spent hours reviewing what I haven't listened to in years, namely the Zeppelin collection, Cat Stevens, and CSNY. ohhh, so good.
Crazy busy week, but thankfully there is a goddess at the other end awaiting me in Londontown. A full week off for 'winter break', though today especially it feels blissfully like spring. I had a meeting in downtown Brooklyn this morning and had the opportunity to walk around the borough hall district in sunshine and have lunch on a bench with my jacket off, people-watching with a view of the Manhattan Bridge in the background. I have yet to experience it, but I imagine that springtime in Brooklyn is nothing to rush through.
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Thanks to Damian for a massively increased music collection, of which both Johnny and myself are taking great joy. I'm consistenly making new mixes out of the marvelously organized selection. I still need to explore half of what I now possess. And much of it I know well already, and have spent hours reviewing what I haven't listened to in years, namely the Zeppelin collection, Cat Stevens, and CSNY. ohhh, so good.
Crazy busy week, but thankfully there is a goddess at the other end awaiting me in Londontown. A full week off for 'winter break', though today especially it feels blissfully like spring. I had a meeting in downtown Brooklyn this morning and had the opportunity to walk around the borough hall district in sunshine and have lunch on a bench with my jacket off, people-watching with a view of the Manhattan Bridge in the background. I have yet to experience it, but I imagine that springtime in Brooklyn is nothing to rush through.
Sunday, February 13, 2005
The Stolen Branch
In the night we shall go in
to steal
a flowering branch.
We shall climb over the wall
in the darkness of the alien garden,
two shadows in the shadow.
Winter is not yet gone,
and the apple tree appears
suddenly changed
into a cascade of fragrant stars.
In the night we shall go in
up to its trembling firmament,
and your little hands and mine
will steal the stars.
And silently,
to our house,
in the night and the shadow,
with your steps will enter
perfume's silent step
and with starry feet
the clear body of spring.
- Pablo Neruda
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to steal
a flowering branch.
We shall climb over the wall
in the darkness of the alien garden,
two shadows in the shadow.
Winter is not yet gone,
and the apple tree appears
suddenly changed
into a cascade of fragrant stars.
In the night we shall go in
up to its trembling firmament,
and your little hands and mine
will steal the stars.
And silently,
to our house,
in the night and the shadow,
with your steps will enter
perfume's silent step
and with starry feet
the clear body of spring.
- Pablo Neruda
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Communication
There's almost too much I'd want to write about here, and certainly not enough time to do it in; at least, I don't have as much energy as I'd like to put the effort into keeping this going more often. But, I do check here everyday, hoping that one of us would put something out there to share. Thanks Cait for doing that a few days ago; first time in over a month.
You guys know the effort I've had to put into this first year of teaching and the circumstances I've had to deal with. If it wasn't for you guys - John, Damian, and Cait - this would have been significantly more difficult for me. Not to leave out the rest of my family. Aside from my immediate family, who are always there for me if I need something, and who support me entirely, you three have made my time easier, if only by letting me bitch about school and work. And believe me, there's plenty to bitch about - I get to do it with other teacher-friends, but when I'm home and have been discouraged, having you guys to let it out too has helped a ton, more than I can say.
So, let's keep this thing going (not just so I can complain) but because it's a good outlet for ideas cross state and cross continent. Ideas, visions, experiences, whatever. Since having the computer hooked up again, I've had nights and weekend mornings where I've RE-discovered (Damian) the lost art and pleasure of the wake-and-bake. Just this past Saturday, as you guys have each heard, I've found an interest in Montessori education. I realize that private schools don't pay as much as public schooling, but the experience itself would be so much more enjoyable for an educator; even as an administrator, it would be bliss compared to what staff have to deal with in public education. The philosophy of teaching independence and industry from the beginning in a non-competitive environment makes so much sense. Both D and Cait, you guys spent at least one year in a Montessori school, right? And Emma went for her kindergarten year. I also discovered that there are at least 250 public programs, most within a larger, traditional general ed building.
Ahhh...rambling on after 11pm...this is what I get for hitting the...
shhh....
my mind is slowing down...
put the guitar away...
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You guys know the effort I've had to put into this first year of teaching and the circumstances I've had to deal with. If it wasn't for you guys - John, Damian, and Cait - this would have been significantly more difficult for me. Not to leave out the rest of my family. Aside from my immediate family, who are always there for me if I need something, and who support me entirely, you three have made my time easier, if only by letting me bitch about school and work. And believe me, there's plenty to bitch about - I get to do it with other teacher-friends, but when I'm home and have been discouraged, having you guys to let it out too has helped a ton, more than I can say.
So, let's keep this thing going (not just so I can complain) but because it's a good outlet for ideas cross state and cross continent. Ideas, visions, experiences, whatever. Since having the computer hooked up again, I've had nights and weekend mornings where I've RE-discovered (Damian) the lost art and pleasure of the wake-and-bake. Just this past Saturday, as you guys have each heard, I've found an interest in Montessori education. I realize that private schools don't pay as much as public schooling, but the experience itself would be so much more enjoyable for an educator; even as an administrator, it would be bliss compared to what staff have to deal with in public education. The philosophy of teaching independence and industry from the beginning in a non-competitive environment makes so much sense. Both D and Cait, you guys spent at least one year in a Montessori school, right? And Emma went for her kindergarten year. I also discovered that there are at least 250 public programs, most within a larger, traditional general ed building.
Ahhh...rambling on after 11pm...this is what I get for hitting the...
shhh....
my mind is slowing down...
put the guitar away...
Friday, February 04, 2005
Early Morning Dreams...
Hey, has anyone else besides Jess and myself been having crazy dreams in the early mornings lately? I don't usually remember my dreams after I wake up, but this past week I've been able to recall at least vivid snatches of them if not the whole dream. Our sleeping minds have probably been extra sensitive to each other since Jess is coming to London in only two weeks(!). So I was just wondering if anyone else ever noticed patterns in their dream "awareness." Or if they were all just random, a coincidence.
