Thursday, March 7, 2013

Comme des enfants

The reason I am writing this is thanks to Derrick Brown, once again. "The design in the stars is the same in our hearts, in the rebuilt machinery of our hearts." There are so many thoughts going through my head, dear blog, I don't know who I will ever get them down and solidified into gauche words. To use an overused quote, "My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations." I feel as though they have a cosmic glimmer until they go down and become actual phrases and then they lose all of their magic and power. They become words instead of their own, breathing selves.

I don't really want to write about anything, but I feel as though I have to now that I have started. Also, I've been seriously slacking when it comes to writing on this blog. But I've been using other venues and such for my writing so that is why it hasn't ended up on this site.

One of my favorite lines from "A Finger Two Dots then Me" is "If you're wondering if I'll still be able to hold you, I honestly don't know. But I do know that I could still fall for a swish of light that comes barreling  cascading towards me. It will resemble your sweet definite hands. And the universe will bend and the planets will bow and I will say, 'oh there you are. now we can go.'" I don't want the kind of love in Gone with the Wind, Casablanca, or The Notebook. That is nothing compared to what I want. I want  a Love is a Mix Tape kind of relationship. I want someone to love me enough not to wait for me on the other side because they know that I'll make it to them. They will say, "oh, there you are. Now we can go." They are just a finger and two dots to the left of the North American moon.

I will always know where to look for them. Somewhere someone is looking at it and wondering the same thing. Actually, they probably aren't. But they should. They should take the time to look into the sky until they can see the depth of space, the point at which the darkness goes blue.

At another point in the poem, Brown asks what is really holy. That is a good question. To me, to Emily, to the self I am today this is what is holy:
The sea
Rain that soaks me to the bone
The spaces between snowflakes
The photographs I've taken and put on my wall
My favorite hiking sock with the hole in it
The shape of my hands
Spaces created in my heart when I look at a clear, blue night
Warm breezes
My copy of On the Road
Phone conversations with my sister about nothing
Using a big sharpie to finish the mural on my wall
My plaid shirt
Not getting more notebook paper because buying those books was more important to me
Eye contact
Fear overcome
The day I really spoke with my family because we realized who we all were

Those are just a few things that are holy to me, at least right now. I think that if something is holy to someone, then that something is beautiful. There is someone who gets pure joy out of the experience or association with that thing and I believe that moment is beautiful and holy unto itself. What I love more than almost anything is hearing people talk about what they are passionate about. They light up in a way that I've never seen before and it makes me excited about whatever it is. Suddenly I am interested in it because I want to know what it is about that one thing that they find holy, enthralling, and important.

Here are my thoughts right now. Nothing terribly exciting, but I thought I should give you an update.

1 comment:

  1. You don't need terrible excitement all the time. Sick hurry of this century, and the one before it, once panicked some lines out of Matthew Arnold. I will never forget them.
    Listening to other people, and watching them going through their chores gives me a strange kind of happiness. Then, I hit a note of togetherness, of concordance, at peace with myself and the world, in general.