I think I forgot to breathe today. And yesterday. And the day before :-/ I've been extremely busy and, well, dare I say...stressed? BUT, I cannot complain because I am busy and stressed with wonderful things and soon the tension will deflate a bit. Just need to get my feet on the ground. I'm a lucky girl.
Yesterday I was walking home late at night, caught up in my own little bubble of Julia-ness. There are different Julia-ness bubbles. They range from glittery, to dull, from alert to aloof, from ecstatic to depressed, indifferent to hyper-focused, etc. This was a non-stop think bubble. Thinking about everything I had to do, how to do it, what resources to use, who I was meeting up with later, what events to attend, where I was going to fit in a couple hours of sleep, how I was going to read 4 books in a week, etc. etc. My version of...stress. BUT, literally within ten minutes I walked by a series of disabled people. Two women having a conversation in sign language. A man with metal crutches. An older woman roaming the streets, having a very high-energy conversation with an invisible companion/enemy. A guy about my age with a fake leg. A little kid with glasses and a hearing aid. OK, sometimes we just need to put things into perspective, eh?
I have a fully functioning body, my mind is sharp, I have an incredible family/support system, wonderful friends, great job, I live in the city. Um, yes. This was my little "get over it, Julia" message.
but I could still go for a hug....
***********************************
Not just any hug. A hug that allows me, invites me, to completely sink and melt onto and into the other person. A hug that says, "it's ok, just let go, forget everything, even if just for a minute". A hug that lets me be liquid and sturdy brick at the same time. A hug that smells like a camp fire and warm rain tumbling onto open dirt.
That's all.
***********************************
Reminds me of a Thom Gunn poem. I shall share:
["I shall share" sounds funny if you say it out-loud 10 times fast...not that I just did that or anything]
This is the 2nd half of the poem...
I dozed, I slept. My sleep broke on a hug,
Suddenly, from behind,
In which the full lengths of our bodies pressed:
Your instep to my heel,
My shoulder-blades against your chest.
It was not sex, but I could feel
The whole strength of your body set,
Or braced, to mine,
And locking me to you
As if we were still twenty-two
When our grand passion had not yet
Become familial.
My quick sleep had deleted all
Of intervening time and place.
I only knew
The stay of your secure firm dry embrace.
--Thom Gunn, THE HUG
*******************************************
ABout ten times now I have visited a bookstore solely to peep into one book. I guess by "peep", I mean sit down in a cozy corner and get lost for hours in the surrealistic, etherial beauty of the neighboring words.
Something about this poet. He knows. And I feel his every phrase, every sentiment.
I finally splurged ($20) and bought the book on Sunday. Definitely on my "top 10 best NY purchases" list. I'd say it hovers around spots 3 and 4.
*********************************************
A few people and events in my life have shown me why poetry exists. Some things can only survive in verse. They will escape, disintegrate, perish, if forced into any other form. And, for me, some things will only survive internally. Can only be spoken to one's own heart. I find, with my deepest, most intense verse, the words will only thrive within the fertile soil of my soul. That sounds a little odd, I know. But sometimes transcribing them onto paper is just another form of death...some things are meant to remain inside, forever coursing through our blood stream, where they can literally flow through our hearts, our brains, limbs, bellies, legs, and toes.
*********************************************
Have you ever missed somebody so much that your body seems to enter a sort of shock state? Where silent wailing is the only option? And what about when you know you can never see that person again, but the only thing that will stop the pain is seeing the person? And how many kinds of death are there? And can you ever really lose someone? And will every wrong turn naturally find its way to right? And what about magnets? And...well, refer to the image at the top of this post. Words escape me...for now
*********************************************
Ange is 22 today! I always like when it's his birthday because for 3 1/2 months, our ages hold hands. He's 22, I'm 23. Then when I turn 24, I hold hands with Justin's age, 25. But only for 2 weeks, as his birthday is 2 weeks after mine. But still, a cool time! It somewhat satisfies the wish I had as a child: that we were triplets. Lucky for, well, all of us (parents included), we are not.
*********************************************
Writing this has actually loosened me up. Thank you. I just realized that for the first time in days, my breaths have been long and deep, as opposed to sharp and staccato.
*********************************************
I will leave you tonight with this:
Oh, the flight from the mirroring water,
a thousand bodies aimed at a beautiful stillness
like the transparent permanence of the lake.
Suddenly, all was racing over the water,
movement, sound, towers of the full moon,
and then, wild wings, which out of the whirlwind
turned into order, flight, realized vastness,
and then absence, a white shivering in the void.
No comments:
Post a Comment