Things

Andy Goldsworthy 

one.

It is hot and the air is thick. days like these make me miss the rain.

when it rains i want to do things. walk, run, dance, drive... it summons me.

The rain and i go well together. like sunflowers and lilacs. like peanut butter and warm toast.

i must admit though, the flowers smell better in the heat. the scent of roses and jasmine find me in the heat. outside becomes a perfumery.

i walked yesterday and today. taking it in. home may lose its homeyness soon and i'd like to take it in. there is serenity in walking. innate and organic. spontaneous and secretive. nobody knows where i am for those moments. and there is a freedom. i can go anywhere. i can do anything. it reminds me of poetry. dancing. art. innocence. inspiration. . .

i've forgotten what it feels like to be a part of Earth. i|we spend so much of my|our time in my|our car|s and home|s that i|we forget what it means to be human. (i|we. actually just i spend so much time weightless. hovering above. not touching on purpose (because that would be too easy). i've got to float because i will feel|touch less so i can feel|touch more.) One with Earth.

"Nature in its essence is the embodiment of My Name, the Maker, the Creator. Its manifestations are diversified... and in this diversity there are signs for men of discernment."

I wonder what inspired Greats. Bach's Prelude for cello sounds like the life and memoirs of a garden. Chopin's Rain Drops is the sound of the clouds building up and pouring themselves. Klimt paints with beads of sunshine. blooming. moving. and tangible. Satie's Three Gymnopedies is the sound and sights and thoughts of walking. dancing. twirling. Eliot. Eliot's words are the dirt, the foundation and richness of things. birthing thoughts and ideas. leaving its|his traces.

I find myself appreciating classical music more and more. it's a strange attraction. aside from beauty, structure, form and grace. its the communication of Greats. the message from Grandfathers and Grandmothers that knew so much more than i do. teaching me lessons in patience. tolerance. efficiency. cohesiveness. majesty. excellence. outsideofthebox-ness...

two.

i have decided that these body parts go well together like puzzle pieces:

fingers interlocking

palm of hand to forehead

hand to back of neck

arms intertwined. elbows linked

head resting on the curve of neck down to shoulder

three.

static on the outside.

looking inside i see:

my blood is pushing on my vessels.

 it stands at the back of the room,

then runs, gains momentum, and pushes on the doors of my veins. 

do something!

my skin is resisting and i lay. sit. stand. drive. 

the world exists

and life is still happening. 

four.

books from my childhood:

swimmy. le petit prince. fairy tales by e. e. cummings. richard scary's best story book ever. that one book that i probably will never find the name of but really hope to. everything eric carle. charlotte's web. where the wild things are. goodnight moon. the last of the really great whangdoodles. mandy. james and the giant peach. the lion the witch and the wardrobe. the giving tree.

five.

bittersweet. i miss being a child. not knowing certain things. innocence and naivete.

but the very thought of re-doing 20 years = hell no. i like where i've gotten. despite now's collected burdens. and i look forward to next.

six.

more things that go well together:

me and Seattle (rain, markets, coffee, the ocean, clouds, public transportation: the ferry!!!, family, green, mountains, forests, whales, friendly people, galleries, flowers etc etc etc.)

me and my mattress. it is perfect and has never failed me.

grandma e and anacortes. i never knew one without the other, but it seems like they were meant to be one.

those nights when my mom is up late and stove-fresh hot chocolate. special.

buster's iced soy oregon chais and the so. pasadena farmers market. what a pair.

prayers & meditations and tears. i haven't experienced the first without the second.

trees and my arms

berries and pie

pie and my aunts

sleep and quilts. it just feels better.

...

seven.

i want every today to have an extraordinary tomorrow. today, i want tomorrow to consist of journaling, reading, coffeeing, photographing, and the beach. make it happen alex, make it happen.

eight.

an amazing experience:

summer 2003. orcas island, WA. deck. aunts house. i'm sitting with my cousins. we just watched punch-drunk love. we look out the bay window and the moon is huge, full and resting on top of the ocean. we decide to sleep outside on the deck that lies over the rocks that kiss the sea that beds the moon that conducts the water into a symphony that lulls me into the most perfect sleep i've ever slept.

nine.

sometimes i want to sleep just so i can dream. i don't dream those nights. i can't seem to stop that want. i haven't dreamt in a lot of nights. those nights become units of measurement for monochrome nights. i have measured out my life with colorless nights.

ten.

movies that have moved me:

eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, amelie, les quarte cents coups, l'argent de poche, le ballon rouge, la strada, spirited away, punch-drunk love, lord of the rings, turtles can fly, the lives of others, into the wild...

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love.