there's nothing in the way to prevent a clear shot between this realm and the next one. it's a new landscape, inner and outer, and the view outside the door is a wall and another wall straight ahead, but a straight shot in either direction north and south. this is the kind of view that can make worlds open up, or change the eye just enough to get it out of itself and into something more connected.
it's sort of all right that everything got so very calm, and no one comes pounding on the door, and there's only the faint sound of a crazy woman laughing. she does that at least three times an evening, and it's not worth wondering over for too long. people have interesting tastes.
the nights are not cold, the room is not cold, and the sweat seems to get into the cracks already. things happen here in these buildings, and in this city, and today i feel like i'm a part of that. this is where i live right now. everyone complains about extremes, but everything is extreme, and there's always a break when a friend starts sending messages after midnight, and this place is connected to so many other places, and faces that still haven't changed their area code, even though they've been away from here for awhile.
this is the rough part of the year for us.
that feeling of losing everything and starting over started to lose its thrill after the second shed in the middle of a very heated day, and i was starting to see that it was possible it would be a move where i discover that i've taken everything i don't want with me, and i'll be stuck living in that.
it's hot here, but i can see the weight of the years on some of these objects, not the kind that makes me want to wish i had not done the things i did, but the kind that takes energy from another life, another pair of hands to hold them and make discoveries from the patterns they make visible. my body is a patten, my thoughts are a pattern, and the things that happened in the course of a year make a pattern, and i don't have to understand it all right now.
but this is where things start to become more important than a feeling. there's a brother, one i never met, one who didn't live very long, and i knew he was somewhere close by. so when i'm talking to my mother after watching my daughter and her grandaughter dance divinely hiphoppy hippily gyrating hipness, my mother mentions that we are close to the place where she first moved her with my dad, and the place where they made, birthed, and lost my brother.
it's always been too much to talk about, because it still hurts after all this time, and i don't want to press it when it's seemed too tender, but this was a good night for it. cats opened up doors, and cats know things, and this cat had the pulse of its paw on something we needed.
in the middle of a parking lot by the hospital, then, i find myself getting out of the car and putting dirt into a bag, and i remember something about memory and blood and ancestors, and i eat some of the dirt, trying to suck it down fast enough so that my daughter doesn't see me with dirt on my chin. this would be too much to explain after a dance concert.
this daughter sees spirits, or knows when they're around, she's got something, all right, she'll be very good at this some day. it might be sooner than later.
and on the drive to a yogurt shop where everyone is pretty and pretty much starving to death, i think i hear this brother telling me about things that i wish he could have told me when he still had flesh on his bones. but bones can speak louder than flesh, so i don't write it off as something i want to make up. but i can't help but wonder what it would have been like to have two, and if he could have walked my other brother through some things that would have made his road a little less tormented.
the dead brother seems to agree, that this is a very good question. and maybe, just maybe, if i have to keep living in this body where my stomach doesn't take anything easy, and experiences pain vicariously, because it loves pain apparently, just maybe i could cry with this brother when there's no one else to cry to.
it's sort of all right that everything got so very calm, and no one comes pounding on the door, and there's only the faint sound of a crazy woman laughing. she does that at least three times an evening, and it's not worth wondering over for too long. people have interesting tastes.
the nights are not cold, the room is not cold, and the sweat seems to get into the cracks already. things happen here in these buildings, and in this city, and today i feel like i'm a part of that. this is where i live right now. everyone complains about extremes, but everything is extreme, and there's always a break when a friend starts sending messages after midnight, and this place is connected to so many other places, and faces that still haven't changed their area code, even though they've been away from here for awhile.
this is the rough part of the year for us.
that feeling of losing everything and starting over started to lose its thrill after the second shed in the middle of a very heated day, and i was starting to see that it was possible it would be a move where i discover that i've taken everything i don't want with me, and i'll be stuck living in that.
it's hot here, but i can see the weight of the years on some of these objects, not the kind that makes me want to wish i had not done the things i did, but the kind that takes energy from another life, another pair of hands to hold them and make discoveries from the patterns they make visible. my body is a patten, my thoughts are a pattern, and the things that happened in the course of a year make a pattern, and i don't have to understand it all right now.
but this is where things start to become more important than a feeling. there's a brother, one i never met, one who didn't live very long, and i knew he was somewhere close by. so when i'm talking to my mother after watching my daughter and her grandaughter dance divinely hiphoppy hippily gyrating hipness, my mother mentions that we are close to the place where she first moved her with my dad, and the place where they made, birthed, and lost my brother.
it's always been too much to talk about, because it still hurts after all this time, and i don't want to press it when it's seemed too tender, but this was a good night for it. cats opened up doors, and cats know things, and this cat had the pulse of its paw on something we needed.
in the middle of a parking lot by the hospital, then, i find myself getting out of the car and putting dirt into a bag, and i remember something about memory and blood and ancestors, and i eat some of the dirt, trying to suck it down fast enough so that my daughter doesn't see me with dirt on my chin. this would be too much to explain after a dance concert.
this daughter sees spirits, or knows when they're around, she's got something, all right, she'll be very good at this some day. it might be sooner than later.
and on the drive to a yogurt shop where everyone is pretty and pretty much starving to death, i think i hear this brother telling me about things that i wish he could have told me when he still had flesh on his bones. but bones can speak louder than flesh, so i don't write it off as something i want to make up. but i can't help but wonder what it would have been like to have two, and if he could have walked my other brother through some things that would have made his road a little less tormented.
the dead brother seems to agree, that this is a very good question. and maybe, just maybe, if i have to keep living in this body where my stomach doesn't take anything easy, and experiences pain vicariously, because it loves pain apparently, just maybe i could cry with this brother when there's no one else to cry to.
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