The magic of life is that it is portable. Over the years, we have learned what it is that we need and we pack bottles, clothing, our favorite snacks, a light jacket. To become your own mother is the highest honor, but our hearts are cut short in the process.To unravel dresses and zippers in foreign countries where the air tastes different is a vulnerability. I do not know who I am or who I will become. I am at risk of staying. I am at risk of leaving. A lingering gaze is a human universal. No one wants to be alone, but we can never inhabit the same space. Still, we have what we need.
I’m not getting on that plane. never again. the time has past and the skies have fallen. we currently live in the rubble of Florida’s blue skies. and in the darkness, there is a silent nothing.
the stars call to us because they are mute. they shine without speaking, without making a sound and here we are echoing all across the summer in our beer bottles and lawn chairs. the distance between the Earth and my heart is non-existent — they are the same.
I press my ear to the ground and instead I hear gunshots. I hear the violence of every day life. I hear the world breathing, getting bigger and then smaller. her belly doesn’t stop shifting. one giant rock and we are so far. we keep missing each other, missing each other. I move on, the world is dying. we have to prepare for mourning.
on each finger I’ve written a word. om. krim. kalikaye. namaha. my fingernails chant along with me as I sing into the window. the neighbor closes her door, but the birds chirp in rhythm. there is a symphony, a percussion in this distraction and in this opening. I am busy throwing myself into solutions. busy forgetting problems while creating them. there is a always enough trouble in this world.
I feel myself vibrate. shiver. on a Saturday morning I should be happy. my hands look like an extension of my mind. creating, holding nothing. emptiness is the space in which things are made. everything fulfilled. can someone tell me what is patience?
a seed is planted. time passes sight unseen. the life cycle depends on light, on water, on the knowledge intrinsic to our cells, not on witnesses. the body grows and decays all alone, in the light and in the dark. in mirrors. in empty beds. in full beds. with babies or barren. in the winter. in the summer. with good food, bad food, no food, and just enough food. the body withers. the body is resilient.
the seed sprouts. the sun rises, the sun sets. this is a performance for the sake of performance art. the earth needs no audience. I need no audience. you are my audience. together we spin. together we let go. there is a harvest, but I am absent. still, the table is laid.
home is internal. eternal. it is not him. or her. it is the vibration of familiarity in an unknown place. it is stepping one foot in front of the other below the sun. it is knowing how to turn around. it is following the signs to go forward.
we are not bound to land, but to planets. the space is endless and oceans can be crossed. water cleanses. dust renews. laughter is fear being released from the body. we are okay.
this changes nothing. this changes everything. slipping between the cracks in detail, and resting in the metamorphosis between understanding and analysis. I know what these symbols mean, do you? my communication is plentiful, is thought out, is carefully mapped and revealed slowly, like pealing bark off of dying trees. we can cook it and make a tea of what was one the most meaningful sentence in my vocabulary.
but again there are life cycles. time is a series of circles placed one on top of the other. it’s useless to ask how we got here again. I got here again. I’m mapping a way out. the way out, of course, is a circle and I wish I weren’t so infinite.