My Mail comes on Sunday

I feel as if I have been broken open. I feel like I am beginning something totally beyond this world that I thought I knew, and part of me wants to turn back and return to what I know. Surround myself with the type of people I can decode quickly. It's a blueprint I can read. It's easier that way.

I'm sitting in the library and there's a thunder storm. The library's entirety is masked with giant windows, so you can really feel the whole open scene of where you sit. Kind of like a giant exhale.

All of the trees are swaying side to side, brushing eachother's leaves and exchanging small talk. Chattering. It is their tete a tete. And now the path near the creek is changing shades slowly, and now more quickly from the rainfall. Soon it will be sunny again.

It's quiet in here and I can feel change inside my body. In a way, it feels slow, because of the amount of hours in-between each new person, new sound, new thought I absorb. That time, the waiting time, feels so slow. Almost painful. But then something moves beneath my feet, a sort of storm, and these changes feel momentous. As if I shift completely, or at least recognize some new magic piece that I never knew was really alive. And now it's real, because I felt it myself. I feel as if I am about to learn clay secrets, and it's scary. It could be exhilarating. It will be.

But now, I just feel cracked open, as if something will pour out of me and I hope it's not sadness. I don't think it is. Not this time.

I am, for now, a mailbox waiting to be opened and closed, wishing for letters, wondering who will write to me, what I'll send away, what animals will crawl on my frame, leave their tiny footprints beneath my pale petals, my skin.

A Ripening

Usually when I move somewhere, or enter a new sort of organized thing, I drop whatever I brought with me, whoever I knew. I give myself up completely to the new place I'm in. I used to think this would be the best and fastest way of adjusting, but really it was not an adjustment. Rather, it was just like being thrown into the deep end and treading until you become so exhausted, your head goes under. Some part of my brain still tells me that this would be the best solution. The fastest way to make new friends, settle into this new life. Cut off the past. Don't think about it. Like somehow talking to people back at home would be taking away from being completely available to my new surroundings. It would prove I'm weak, unable to be where I am.

Well, I'm doing an experiment. I'm trying something new. Soaking up the sun patiently, holding on to the roots I came with until I'm ripe enough to land on the ground. Picked up and eaten with a juicy grin.

Caw Caw Crow.

Do you see this crow? On top of the building?? That is my school.

Crows have a funny way of coming into my life. They are there at the strangest times. There's something very weird about them and I can't figure it out, so if you know their secret, please, I beg you, tell me.

They appear in my stories, they caw like crystal and make my mind alert, they fly over my head when I'm thinking or not thinking and in peculiar situations. I always feel like something magical is about to happen! I'm not explaining this very well.

Well this crow has the worst attitude. That, or he REALLY wants to be heard. He's got a message for us humans. I mean, the first day I was walking around campus, I had my camera and this fat feathered guy just sat on the tip top of the roof and CAWed at me for like ... sixteen minutes. Finally I took his picture and he shutup. At least for a minute.

Well, this same crow ( I swear it's the same one) just sits there and caws all during my classes. Finally, today (day three of class) I was like for god's sake crow, whaaaat is your deal and I just couldn't stop laughing. I mean, really, he was being ridiculous. I tried to look around to see if anyone noticed. No one! Finally I couldn't stand it. I looked over at the guy next to me and whispered, "whaaaat is up with that crow!?"

Apparently if you say this, you are an alien. At least that's what his uncomfortable smile and shifting position screamed. I guess maybe you shouldn't try and make friends talking about crusty birds no one likes, or whisper your secrets thoughts to strangers on the first day of school.

sigh...

well, cheers to you crow, you are weird and ugly and i like you.

Rusty Bucket

I am a rusty bucket. With an elephant sticker. Seriously. Today I was sitting in the library and it took me an hour and a half to read sixteen pages! WOW. Come on.

Academic reading is a whole different language and I forgot about that. I felt like I was weed whacking blackberry bushes, pulling out horsetails, and then rolling down a dusty hill while trying to stand up in the middle of my decline. My brain felt awkward. I guess that makes sense. It is a muscle and right now it is quite mushy. Poor mush mush.

School is actually starting, and I think fall is really coming. Like right around the corner. This evening I went on a "hike" along the foothills of the mountains. It was beautiful and when I got to the top, well as far as I was going to ascend my lazy butt, I sat on a rock and was quite excited at the prospect of autumn. There was a warm breeze, pink skies, and a big fat giant mountain with a little city all laid out for my blue eyes to see. I also saw four deer. They are definitely on my top five animals.

When I was looking out over the view and sitting amongst the tall blowing grass, I felt like I should hum out an offering to the mountain. I had an idea of some Native American spin off sounds I would make but then I felt a little ridiculous so I just ended up swearing at the crickets who kept jumping six feet up in the air and darting right at my frickin EYEBALL! Way to ruin the moment wannabe Jimminies.

Until next time,

The Rusty Mush

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.