Dancing Strings

Sometimes I just want to be done. Like, I remember when I got on the plane to go to Spain on New Year's Eve in 2006. I remember sitting down in my seat, buckling my seat belt, accepting a glass of celebratory champagne from the flight attendant, and thinking, "Oh, shit."

I knew in my gut and heart that I had to go to Spain, get out of my school, get out of the country, learn a language, explore different ways of living, but I didn't want to do it. I just wanted to own it. I was panicking on the plane, now that I think of it. All I could think was, "please go quick, please let's just get this horrible romantic adventure and novel story that I'll get to tell out of the way." I didn't want to be in it because I had no idea what to expect and no idea that I would actually enjoy myself.

It's like we have this idea that once we finish this ONE step, project, whatever we're doing, our life is going to be so much more complete. And it never is. After about five minutes, give or take. It keeps going and going and going and we just have to keep playing. When we're in it, it's sweet. And we feel alive. We've all been there until we start thinking about it. Then that oh shit feeling comes back and it's time to start planning again.

For me, I think I need tools. Ways to remind myself to dive back in and say it's okay. I need an invitation. Cameras are good, sometimes music, dancing if I'm not self-conscious. Story telling, make believe, art, things like this. But what about those times when we really do just have to do things, like collect a bunch of books and papers for class, or find addresses and go to the post office. I have a hard time leaning into these sort of chores. I can't seem to fit them into my idea of what I should be doing. How is this going to get me anywhere? Let's skip it. This part is STUPID! I want to scream and throw things on the pavement and call someone up and say PLEASE! do the work because I HATE it! Sometimes they do...

oops !

Well, I guess if this is my biggest problem right now I should just shutup, but oh, well, this is my BLOG and I can complain if I want to.

This saying comes to mind:

"Start by doing what is necessary; then do what is possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible."

-St. Francis of Assisi

Some part of me really believes I should be immune from this first part, but alas I am not.

String the strings.. play the strings.... dance strings, dance.

Wishes and Ribbons

There's an odd place

Between Wishes and Ribbons

where we Wonder

Who to pick, to blow away

which parts, people, places

to Tie up. Keep like a Ring,

an old String, knotted tight.

There's an odd place

where Wind travels, sings quiet

Hands clap, Hearts meet

Mind Forgets. Moving feet.

There's a place

a Moment before Melting

I'll wait there.

Fighting the Flamingo

My friend sent me this article in the NY Times called "Understanding the Anxious Mind." It's a major longitudinal study of temperament and its effects. Basically, it follows babies along the single dimension of whether they are easily upset when exposed to new things.

Now, I have read several articles and books around this topic, especially having studied Psychology in Undergrad. With this focus, and having suffered from a lot of anxiety in my own existence, it has always been an area of interest. Usually, I dive in with the question, "why?"

Why me? What made me this way? What is it in my brain? What happened when I was a baby? What didn't happen? How can I solve this?

But really, where does this get me?? NO WHERE!

Today, in my first class, Mind and It's World, the Tibetan Lama (in his broken English) said to us,

"In this class, no ask why! Not allowed!"

In which immediately someone inquired, "why can't we ask why?"

He said, " when someone is late, and never shows up all day and all night, then next day you see him and you say,' why did you not come?' But really you are not asking why, you are just saying you are angry they did not show up. You do not really listen to why they did not come."

Same approach.

When I opened this article, I really had no intentions when reading it. To be honest, I rarely read articles or video clips my friends send me. However, I'm still in a bit of a vulnerable and open space here in this new place. I'm not in a class routine, I don't know many people here, and time seems kind of... undefinable right now. So, I read it. "Why not?" was my only real why.

Something about this surrender opened me to a different sort of understanding. Of course, I can comprehend logically that most of my insane insecurities and preoccupations are actually entirely untrue and not really happening. Not everyone in the city is looking at me; not everyone knows what I'm thinking all the time; not everyone can see when I'm irritated or uncomfortable. I know this but I don't know this with my body. When I am the Flamingo- the awkward, pink, one legged bird who is flapping it's wings inside it's stomach, putting it's head upside down underwater to find substance, I do not know this. I'm utterly lost in my own Pink.

When I read this article, something in me opened up. Like a rushing cleanse that sweeps the debris away with it's awe some force. Some part of me actually understood that yes, it's all made up. It's not real. I could feel this, if only for a second.

I think this is good, even if it was quick. I want to get back to that place where my heart and head are fully open to newness, curiosity, and the joy of being alive. I think this is how it's supposed to be here. A place where babies meet puppies and it's all OK.

ME VOY ! Don't forget your Shoes love !

A message from the Center:

So there's no avoiding it now. I'll have to introduce myself to the imaginary people that are not reading my blog. Or at least to my poor blog who I impolitely scribbled all over without a proper greeting. Okay, let me be upfront:

I have a really hard time writing/talking about myself. ME. What's goiiiiing ON. The story. I'd rather sprinkle stardust around and have us all watch the moon, listen to someone else's song. I'll set the tone, but don't make me talk about my stuff.

Maybe it's a fear that mine will sound boring or cliche or you won't really get it. Someone might think I'm dumb. Something like this.

Well, time to step it up sister. Time to just DO IT, for lack of a better expression. Guess Nike didn't go too wrong with that one.

Well, here I am living in Boulder, Colorado now. I moved from Portland (my real home) and didn't know a single person here. I was just becoming comfortable and somewhat ..happy??... in Oregon with everything I was doing.

Now I'm starting a graduate program at Naropa University in Religious Studies. Orientation started yesterday(thankgod) and classes will start on Monday. For the past two weeks, I've been drinking beers with my hometown visitors, wandering around this new city, collecting knick knacks (sp?) for my room, exploring the cafes I'll be living in for the next two years, running along the creek trail, meeting some interesting folks with interesting names, and for the most part, trying to console the little lonely voice inside of my stomach that is shaking and squealing. I really hate the word squealing but, really, it's been squealing. It's scared, it doesn't know this land; it doesn't know these people and worse yet, these people don't know me. That little voice wants to be known so bad. I've been telling it not to worry. I understand, I say. Be patient dear one.

Well, today I was walking to campus to register for my courses and I noticed that I hadn't heard the little voice too much for about a day or so. I thought I'd check in.

"How are you doing?" I asked it.

I say "it" because I'm not really sure of it's gender.

And ya know what? It told me it was snug. Snug as a bug and then flashed me a picture of a small smiling head tucked safely inside a mother's kangaroo pouch, at which I became quite excited at the thought that I might be a very good mother.

So here I am. Me and my snug bug, ready to go. Finally. Ready to consume this new plot of earth, new school, life of mine, journey, stage, brain, heart, and pie-rich story that I'm cooking cooking. Yeah bakers, I'm cooking a pie.

xo

The Heart. It is a lonely Hunter.

"Caress the divine details."

-Nabokov

I'm sitting on the back patio of a cafe. The fence posts are painted sticky fingerpaint blue, except for the section in the corner. Green. Almost pukey but not offensive. And there's also a deer/ sort of camel looking creature painted on that part too. All of the chairs have a different color. Blue, yellow, red, grey,white. They are a perfectly clashing zoo. There are two ladies sitting by me now. I chose the table with the umbrella. There's an entire patio. Like.. maybe seven or eight tables but they chose the one right next to me. I think it's because of the umbrella. Or maybe just the fact that humans like to be in clusters. The woman sitting closest to me has been cats-cradling her cigarette for at least eighteen minutes. More often than not, drifty smoke like that irritates me. But because I'm in the shade and because today is a hot, August, dry day, the curling tail rolling my direction doesn't bother me . I like watching it. It slows me down like a lazy caterpillar.

The other lady has been on her phone the entire time. Except for when her friend brought her an iced coffee at the beginning. I think she's from Chicago. She's talking about "the damn kids" and she's telling this guy, I'm pretty sure he's a guy, that Steve's got the biggest beefiest hands of anyone she's ever known. She just got back. Buried her brother in Turkey and she's pissed, PISSED, that she only got two general admissions to the Mile High Concert. After doing all that PR, that was it. For fuck sake. She's probably going to fly to Italy this month, but she's back to last Wednesday now. She was in the middle of a "fucking Woody Allen movie." She spent the whole day sobbing because someone lost her brother's ashes. But they got through it. Her and her mom. She really misses this guy. I'm sure his name is Jet or something like... Clay or Jay maybe. Heavy. But moldable. He's from Taos. It's beautiful down there.

I've never been.

She's ganna send him the name of the guy that plays the bass. YO-zel. She swears by him. Ooooo, she swears by HIM. It's that kind where you hear ONE note. You're there. Ya know? One note. I just peaked and she's wearing bright yellow sandals. They match her voice brilliantly. For some reason I'm reminded that J.D. Salinger died this year.

She works for the Outlook. It's a paper here? She's ganna put her foot down. GIVE ME A MONDAY OR TUESDAY. Her name is Honey. Perfect.

Well yeah, she tells him. This is the worst weekend of the year. All the parents are in town getting rid of their happy drunk kids. No hotels.

Love you sweetie. She loves him. Bye Jimmie.

A "J". I was close.

Settling

Sometimes you go fishing

and you're standing there

Not even knowing what swims where you're standing

And then if you're really still

You, the You, will remember you are an Animal

And your Liver smiles

and Runs. Free

Until Everything becomes Gold

Sun gold. Like eyes with fire

Back to how you started

Originally

But fishing is just for fishing. No fish.

A few things from Home.

     On Moving

      Keep weaving your webs my dear

My darling, spider lady

There is sunlight today and tomorrow rain

There is comfort in design

In the Unknown, thinking Pain

     Speak to the eggs. The blue ones she laid

    Don't wake them yet. I beg you not

    Please, let me sit with them for one more season  

                           
     It's too late Robin

    The time. It's here

    Going.

   Place down your Petals

   The Fresh and Forgotten

   Pack up