wrote this last night but blogger was suspended for maintenance...FWIW, here's wot i wrote...
it's now twenty past one in the morning. i can't honestly say i've had dinner, but i did eat... loads of toast with dulce de leche and a pot of tea being the main components. and i'm hosting tuesday group tomorrow night (poor daniel has chicken pox), and i looked out the ingredients for dinner, and that involved interaction with food. so that'll have to do. i don't need any extra energy when i'm still up at this hour and feeling alert.
no idea what happened to my evening. just seemed to disappear. hours feeling like ten minutes. so here i am. back at the kitchen table and still awake. not alert enough to try and articulate my current musings, and as it is i should be saving them for a piece on ::longing:: i'm preparing for the greenbelt website, which by pure coincidence is a big part of the next ikon monthly gathering is...but with tom waits crooning me into sleepiness and some hot chocolate i'll ramble til i feel the eyelids getting heavy...stay up with me if you want...you can burn the midnight oil with me as long as you will...
i'm realising i consider inarticulation an enemy, as much as it is a frustrating signifier of the things i'm yet to make sense of... had a moment of extreme tongue tiedness this evening. i have these moments when i feel for all the world like the geekiest girl in the class...
you know the one...always walked along with her chin tucked down behind her armful of
folders and tried not to make eye contact with anyone and when she did attempt to hold her head up and look confident she was still part of the nerdy rejects and behind a typically frozen smile was terrified of being noticed...and if ever confronted with requiring actual interaction with her peer group, frequently found herself in 'i carried a watermelon' moments too excrutiating to recall or count...i wasn't the geekiest girl in the class... i reckon i was in a tie for third place...
i have said in many a conversation of recent times that i feel very much like i am 18 again...this time around i am surrounded by all these grown ups... i don't have a clue how to move in this adult world... i don't understand the rules... or the expectations... but to all the world it looks just like school corridors... but with mortgages instead of uniforms...
i see groups of girls who can't be a day over 18... always in threes it seems... identikit down to last detail...flawless...projecting an image that says seems designed to tell you they've never known a day's worry in their lives... and i shudder at every giggle...and i feel older than my years with the weight of life's experience... and i wonder if they have any idea what lies ahead... and at what point they'll get bored with impersonating perfection...
and then there are those moments when i feel like i'm 6...sometimes they are the darkest and most frightening...and yet also, the contrasting brightest...when i shrug off any attempt at cool and just climb the tree...
it was a good weekend. i'm grateful i can say that even though saturday was spent almost entirely in my own company (resulting in daily deliveries all this week from amazon (and yes a book on origami is in there)...i've been feeling lighter... thanks to all those who shared the past few days...
for conversation, for sharing your time, your fears, your passionss and favourite places, supplies of coffee beans, text messages from silent retreats, phone calls for no reason than to say hello and check in, for making yourself at home, for poetry, for welcomes worthy of Cheers and service with a hug, for knowing what makes me laugh and sharing the joke, comfortable silences, comments posted, for being interesting...
someone said the other day, we know a really fucked up group of people... i count myself as one them, and you know what, i wouldn't trade it for the world...
for every inarticulate stumble, we take a step in hopefulness...
so here's a treat i've been saving... chris has written a response to Padraig's poem.... you should know by now i wouldn't post it if i didn't love it...it darn took my breath away...
sleep well. keep shining.
x
::
Another Reading from the Book of Exile
by Chris Fry
Chapter 7
This is not an exit…
Chapter 8
Everything here is backwards
This is not an excuse – but it is
Chapter 9
Irony is playing with playing
And so not really playing at all.
The game is on,
A fight even
But the sideline is crowded.
We ironists are just spectators
Saying nothing and then consuming that nothing with more words
Meta- detachment
Self satisfied
Starving to death
Chapter 10
A glimpse of joy
Did you see it?
The dolphin’s momentary graceful flight
The glory of the iris against the light
The tingle of desire
Sunsets bleeding
Hearts on fire
Winter cold receding
Don’t stop looking
Chapter 11
The narrow path hurts like hell
(Which, of course is ironic)
And conveyor belts are not conducive to conversation
Movement is their calling
So they push on
Delivering their victims to the jaws of heaven
There to suck on the eternal breast
So much for transformation
The future is just the past
Chapter 12
This book might have many authors
You will make us one for your canon
Chapter 13
Canons are instruments of war
Chapter 14
This one breath
Breathe it in – it is the truth
That you are alive
That God is love
And love is God
And radiance is not a piece of luck but a choice
You are shining
::
sleep well friends.
x.
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