molten marrow and the face of joy

there was an unusual man who wandered into my store on occasion. to use the restroom, to sit in a comfortable chair and listen to the conversations going on around him, to drain the last drops from the abandoned starbucks cups customers leave on tables and counters. he was always polite and friendly. his smile - warm and porous. and when he laughed, which was often, his tongue stuck out and between his teeth. in those moments, i think he defined 'joy.'

he made people nervous. but he almost never spoke to anyone and he never stayed long. and he always cleaned up the bathroom a little and pushed in his chair when he was finished. and he always took his empty paper cup with him. (which was more than i can say for anyone else who ventured in.)

despite protests from staff and customers, i never asked him to leave. in fact, i was likely to hover nearby and help him keep his peace. (sometimes, i'd slip him a bottle of water or sneak him a doughnut from the kitchen. it was the least i could do, he was quite generous with a smile.) we never spoke, until one day last year, just before i moved away.

as i passed by him, he reached out to me. his touch tender, despite the roughness of his hand. and when i turned to him, he looked directly into my eyes, like he was looking for something in me ... i'm not sure what, but i could hear my heart slow as he did. and when he'd found whatever that was, his hand squeezed my hand and he said, 'you used to be ... and people still mistake you for ... a comet. but really, you are a volcano. and your eruption will be powerful. and beautiful. and true.'

and then he was gone.

and i couldn't quite move. i felt suddenly undone. i couldn't, in that moment, completely grasp what it meant, but i knew that it was important, for a million different reasons, not the least of which was that he took the time to look at me ... look inside me and through me and to connect. to give me this little gift of his insight. unexpected and curious.

it's been with me for awhile now. i turn it over and around in my head as i move into my new life, wondering what he meant and when i'll feel what he felt in me. i've been waiting. and a whisper in my mouth, in the deepest, darkest part of the night finally convinced me he was right. i was a comet ...

a small body, something out of ice and stars (cold and painful), orbiting the sun. my layers melting and evaporating; my tail of dust illuminated by someone else's light. i would appear out of nowhere in the sky and gradually vanish out of sight.

and now, maybe i am a volcano ...

an opening in the surface of the earth where the plates, like thoughts, have shifted. coming together, pulling apart in an erratic dance of history and mystery and magic. a head in gold tipped clouds. steamy pillars rising into blue skies. smoking green lakes. the wild play of colours on the walls inside, once dormant, now showing signs of unrest. heat rising, steam seeping, turning, rolling, spitting, grinding, laying bare my insides. the molten marrow, undiscovered deep below, breaking free into the boundless sky and landing softly on new ground bourne of fire.

unimagined, unspoiled beauty. unbound power. perchance, and weather permitting, the sole true power you want to surrender to.

and i'll never let anyone tell me differently.

just like riding a bike

it's been a long time since i've ridden a bike. a very, very, very long time.

even as i love everything about it ... the sweat, the heavy breathing; the way it messes up my perfect hair and makes my thighs ache; the adrenaline rush, the fatigue, the speed at which i feel i might come apart ... still, i haven't been able to bring myself to climb aboard.

why? fear, mostly. and i don't know the neighborhood. there's a lot of traffic. and i don't have a helmet. or a little bell to signal i'm coming. and i don't know the hand signals or the etiquette and i'm afraid of falling ... of crashing ... again, actually ... and of acquiring new scars. (for a girl of such hardy stock, i am a remarkably fragile little egg. reparation would take at least all the king's horses and all of his men.)

but in this last week, i found myself having trouble walking where walking was once easy and so, when a bike was offered, i climbed on board. and now, it's something i can't get enough of ... like sugar. or music. the sheer joy of it, stealing away my oxygen ... taking me to a place where there are no words and no need to use them ... where hours pass like minutes and i feel the old instincts take over.

and everything aches. my muscles simultaneously rebelling and rejoicing ... from the motion, from the effort, from the absolute excitement of it ... and from the uncertainty of never knowing how far i'll go or how long i'll be gone or exactly where i'm headed.

there is no map to get me from here to there ... there is only instinct. and overwhelming desire. and hope. faint, but powerful.

i'm riding my bike again.

god. i hope i don't fall.



(and if i should, wish for me a spectacular crash - the kind that leaves me shattered, wonderfully, and with only the most interesting of scars.)

amazing grace

i am back. older, definitely. wiser, perhaps. exhausted from my travels...to be sure. once i catch my breath, i will gladly recount my trip; tell the tales of surprises and hidden delights, until then...the sky is my favorite color of blue and the moon has arrived in the shape of a smile. it's cool outside.

i gifted myself this birthday with 'the collected poetry of nikki giovanni.' (it's a conceit of my youth, i admit. i have always loved her work and in the olden days, reciting her poems won me much acclaim and the admiration of more than one attractive debater.)

in the days since i bought it, i cannot put it down. i can flip to any page and always find a morsel of inspiriation. for instance...

'i am cotton candy on a rainy day
the sweet soft essence
of possibility'

see what i mean.

...the perfect description of myself in these last days and hours. and hopefully, in the days and years to come.

this 'essence of possibility' has been propelling me forward; the potential is at once beautiful and terrifying. still, i know this is going to be a very happy year. i have so much to be grateful for...

off-the-cuff compliments, freedom of the press, artistic license...cream cheese frosting, thinking caps...pb&j....adjectives, training wheels, sock monkeys, things not always being what they seem...not being 'too grown up' for anything...polaroids, mickey mouse...earth, wind & fire...being held soft and close...twilight lingering at the end of the day...'accidentally on purpose'...the hokey-pokey, fortune telling, unhurried hours, killer scrabble games...secret hiding places, james taylor, walkie -talkies, holding hands, late-night drive-thru windows...surfer boys, flying dreams, tuesday afternoons...
sneezes, tears of joy, pianos and acoustic guitars… things turning out best for the people who make the best of the way things turn out...the art of compromise...fresh flowers, pedicures, marshmallow peeps, hot coffee, horoscopes, love stories...french blue, armless chairs, cats who come when you call, fireworks...the tiny pancakes formed from batter falling from the ladle...no line for the bathroom...stage managers, brown sugar, being swept away by sheer delight...pale pink light tumbling into morning, conversations on paper, the impossible encounters that live in the imagination and somehow become reality...the knowledge that we are not responsible for those we love - we are responsible for those who love us.

to those who love me, who wish me well and who celebrate my birth - thank you! i have been warmed by you in many ways. talk about 'amazing grace'...

of spring days, quiet certainty and waking with the moon

today was the most beautiful of spring days. cool. bright. blue as far as the eye can see. and in the midst, it was good, to be sure, to come home find letters from friends. they are always my favorite surprise.

i love to write letters. and i am at once comforted and exhilarated to know that i do not disturb, and, on occasion, set folks abuzz. i have a friend who has been absent for far too long. it was nice to know we are intact and it is simply an emergence from a 'quiet' time. and, too, i appreciate that i am not considered among the 'people' who fail to comprehend it.

the stillness to which my friend refers exists in all manner of disciplines. we have it in the theatre (and in oral interp), as well. the truly exceptional - the actual competition - are never the ones who are broadcasting their resumes or reciting their accolades. they are the few standing against the wall, quietly waiting for a turn. it's easy for 'people' to mistake the silence for nerves or arrogance. they just don't know.

they don't know the certainty of a that gift will almost effortlessly manifest itself when called forth; the certainty of the words, how - when spoken with truth and with gentle reverence - they will just carry you along. they don't know the quiet that attends such certainty. and they don't know the energy contained within that silence, how to harness it and reap the rewards.

i know it, though. i learned it from evelyn rodriguez.

we'd meet, sometimes, preparing for competition.  we'd look for poems for the upcoming season; other times, she'd give me monologues or stanzas to interpret to keep my skills honed...but mostly, we'd just sit. she is the one who first convinced me i had a gift and that i could do something no one else could do. i could talk. she showed me i could take complicated thoughts and phrases and make them sound as natural as if they'd come from my own hand...that with the tiniest inflection, i could break your heart. and she showed me how my silence could be more powerful than my voice. i could, she said, (and i think that i can, still) hold an audience on the tip of my tongue.

she would remind me that less is more and that the least obvious choice is almost always the most effective and true. she would implore me to trust my instincts and she showed me how to have determination without and stillness within. and i think she did her best to prepare me to be brave in the face of those who would fear my success.

i was unstoppable that year. and, as she predicted, very much alone. but, thanks to evelyn, i was almost always o.k. with it. in those months, i learned to recognize and treasure true friendship; how to bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray myself. i stood in the center of the fire and did not shrink back. and most importantly, i began to know what would sustain me from the inside when all else falls away.

this, i suppose, is a very long way of saying i understand the 'quiet.' i understand the astrological implications, as well. my pisces friends are a dreamy lot; preferring to indulge in the quiet world of spiritual thought and exotic imagination. their communication is subtle, enabling them to cross the threshold of the material world into the sublime bounty of unknown regions.

i, on the other hand, am a gemini. for us, the whole world is an ongoing cocktail party. we are restless and changeable, curious, talkative and versatile. an entanglement of paradoxes. which may, in some way, explain why people are drawn to me. (that and the fact that i am cute as a button.) i'm surprised that i - in all my gemininity - don't rattle more cages more than i do. or maybe i do and they just keep quiet.

as spring turns toward summer, today was the first in my long line of very early mornings. rising with the moon, feeling the weight of my job as i pour myself into bed later. i love this time of year. (i do not enjoy the actual waking, though...looking at the clock in the dark and knowing i need to leave the warmth of my dreams hurts my feelings a little.)

as this fri-day turns toward evening, dear friends, i hope you are wandering well, riding the edges and seeing around corners in ways that delight. maybe we can 'meet' here again before i leave for vacation.

i'd like that.