Monday, November 06, 2006

Dear Mike


friend. whoah. what a week last week was. i feel thrashed. lowercase 'i' kind of thrashed. last night i was in bed and all of a sudden just started heaving and sobbing. no particular reason why. just a buncha stuff all shook up by an intense week - poor chris had to just hold me in silence. there wasn't anything to say. it was nice to find your letter amidst the end of it all . . .

there are so many things that i want to tell you. i don't know where to start, the little things perhaps: a homeless woman asked me this morning to sing at her wedding, she knew the words to one of my songs; the drummer of our supporting band on friday night threw his whole fucking kit out in the street in front of thee parkside in a rock star rage (it was amazing); yerm ahm is not done yet . . . this issue is taking the longest yet, but it's ok. just a zine. no stress, right?

the bigger things are bigger. they'll take longer to explain.

i also feel the lingering longing for something i can't identify or explain. it has moved into my body. maybe it's part of living in a city. san francisco is so much kinder than new york no doubt. for one the winters here include new growth, greening parks, and a whole slew of new flowers. for another, people say hello to each other, often know each other, or know people who know people who know each other etcetera. it's a small city.

still it's a city. and there is concrete in over-abundance. and i step out my front door onto a bustling street, and have to lock both it (the door) and the gate behind me. i have to not-look at certain things on account of who-knows-what-crackheads-do-if-you-interupt-their-cracking etc. and also there is an overwhelming absence of pleasant smells, (like cut grass, rotting seaweed, wood stoves burning) and of subtle sounds, (palm fronds slapping, an oar's bellowing smack against a canoe's side, impenetrable darkness). and i think people like us miss this.

another thing that i miss - against my will - is God. and i wonder if the insatiable longing is for God again to be able to answer my questions. there is a space in me ripped open by rejecting religion after so many years - leaving a feeling of brokenheartedness, an idyllic lover's palpable absence. you know? i was so in love with God. and now i'm trying to speak that name in a way that unlocks faith from my doubting mind - i want to believe that there is someone, or something somewhere that can answer all of this. that has a key to all of the confusion, mystery, and unexplainable. that knows how it makes sense somehow. the war, the dirty campaign ads, the smile on that homeless woman's face, the five inch hand of a boy who touched a wooden dolphin just to be SURE that it was not real. i don't understand.

the wanting pushes me to create. and for that i am grateful. but i doubt my own ability to differentiate between the voice of my Intuition and that of my fear. they both speak quietly and clearly these days. i can't tell whether the longing for more is a fear of the present, and the obsession with the empty spaces a fear of the fullness.

today i have the word GRATITUDE written on my wrist in pen. cause i keep forgetting about that. incidentally you should go here and look at, among the others, assignment #16. this guy, Rob Brezny, has coined this new term "Pronoia" which is basically the idea that the world is conspiring to make your life wonderful, and fulfilled. the assignments are "Experiments and exercises in becoming a mysteriously truthful, teasingly healing, fiercely magnanimous Master of Impartial Passion."

there is SO much more to say about all this, but i've blown off about three hours of work at this point and should really get to it. i do love my job.

much love to you too, (and celine)


Post a Comment

<< Home