20090114
the year of nonstop motion
My lover and I spent an entire year in nonstop motion. We were both working full time, and we had plans, so many ambitious plans.
We had agreed to shut off our laptops, toss books onto a dusty shelf, put aside our wine and cigarettes. 365 days in motion. After work, she'd be sketching with charcoal, sprawled on the floor. It'd crumble and stick to her skin, cover our hardwood floor with a light gray tint.
Meanwhile, I spent many evenings working at a recreation center for children with disabilities, changing diapers, feeding through straws and g-tubes, rolling wheelchairs, lifting them into showers, playing, laughing, running, reading, teaching, learning...
On Wednesdays, we did yoga. Thursdays were set aside for jogging, and on Fridays we always baked delicious desserts.
Then there were swing dancing lessons on Saturday, and ice skating or rollerblading on Sunday (depending on the season). We were in constant motion. Every night, I would collapse into bed, feeling a healthy, fulfilling sort of exhaustion. My mind was blank. There was no thinking, no worrying. Only doing. Never ending, swirling cycles of motion. Such high velocity, that even my thoughts could not keep up with us. I'd go to bed with images of colors, swirling, swinging. Children's smiling faces. Loving hands covered in charcoal, and then well-deserved, satisfying sleep. Just keep moving. Stop thinking. It is the only way to Live.
We had agreed to shut off our laptops, toss books onto a dusty shelf, put aside our wine and cigarettes. 365 days in motion. After work, she'd be sketching with charcoal, sprawled on the floor. It'd crumble and stick to her skin, cover our hardwood floor with a light gray tint.
Meanwhile, I spent many evenings working at a recreation center for children with disabilities, changing diapers, feeding through straws and g-tubes, rolling wheelchairs, lifting them into showers, playing, laughing, running, reading, teaching, learning...
On Wednesdays, we did yoga. Thursdays were set aside for jogging, and on Fridays we always baked delicious desserts.
Then there were swing dancing lessons on Saturday, and ice skating or rollerblading on Sunday (depending on the season). We were in constant motion. Every night, I would collapse into bed, feeling a healthy, fulfilling sort of exhaustion. My mind was blank. There was no thinking, no worrying. Only doing. Never ending, swirling cycles of motion. Such high velocity, that even my thoughts could not keep up with us. I'd go to bed with images of colors, swirling, swinging. Children's smiling faces. Loving hands covered in charcoal, and then well-deserved, satisfying sleep. Just keep moving. Stop thinking. It is the only way to Live.
20090109
This bullshit has gone on far too long, and I am weary of it. Of course, it doesn't involve me directly, it is the things Outside of My Reach that worry me the most. Engraved permanently in my mind is an image of my mother, pouring a piping hot of tea into her coup, blowing on it, sighing, and quietly mumbling, "Why are you so worried about the world, what is happening out there? Take care of yourself."
It's that selfish attitude that creates all these ridiculous problems, that leads to violence and brutality. "I care only about myself, my land, my people. I am human.. and others are not."
Over and over, we flip from one channel to another. We see bloodshed, gore, destruction. We sigh, shrug, and switch to a sitcom.
We drink tea quietly, unaffected by visions of death surrounding us.
I see myself on television. I see my own body, drenched in blood, sprawled on the pavement. Alone and helpless. Perhaps I am both selfish and selfless at once: feeling so in touch with the universe, so connected to strangers, to supposed enemies, that I can feel my own face bleeding, sense my own children ripped from my arms. Vicarious trauma.
"Do you ever see yourself on television?" I whisper half asleep to my lover, and she looks at me as though I am mad. "Maybe more like reflections of a different version of yourself? We are all connected, somehow, overall... have you ever read Jung's work? The collective subconscious?"
There are stories I can't tell at all, stories about past lives, spirit animals, dying and being reborn.. Stories to remain untold. But these are not really my stories to tell, they are yours, ours, everyone's.
She checks my forehead. But I have no fever. Again, and again, I see myself on television.
It's that selfish attitude that creates all these ridiculous problems, that leads to violence and brutality. "I care only about myself, my land, my people. I am human.. and others are not."
Over and over, we flip from one channel to another. We see bloodshed, gore, destruction. We sigh, shrug, and switch to a sitcom.
We drink tea quietly, unaffected by visions of death surrounding us.
I see myself on television. I see my own body, drenched in blood, sprawled on the pavement. Alone and helpless. Perhaps I am both selfish and selfless at once: feeling so in touch with the universe, so connected to strangers, to supposed enemies, that I can feel my own face bleeding, sense my own children ripped from my arms. Vicarious trauma.
"Do you ever see yourself on television?" I whisper half asleep to my lover, and she looks at me as though I am mad. "Maybe more like reflections of a different version of yourself? We are all connected, somehow, overall... have you ever read Jung's work? The collective subconscious?"
There are stories I can't tell at all, stories about past lives, spirit animals, dying and being reborn.. Stories to remain untold. But these are not really my stories to tell, they are yours, ours, everyone's.
She checks my forehead. But I have no fever. Again, and again, I see myself on television.
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