Because I was afraid of worms Roxanne, worms..


In the same way that firework displays shoot forth and gracefully take a form you are able to recognize just before dissipating slowly on the air, so too it happens with the ability to capture and recognize the thoughts that wish to be written or brought forth to the world. They spark, flash and fly out but too quickly fade.

Minutiae of thoughts slowly feed into me, and gathered together can finally be released into one word, one sentence, a congregation of diminutive voices, inclined to sing. Meanwhile the hummingbirds of the world swirl around me, flying, fluttering, so swift I am the unmoving object in their midst. Perhaps I can learn to fold words into an origami bird that will fly about the room and sing the words for me…     

On paper there are myriad ways to say and express either with word or symbol and those words and symbols can trickle out slowly one at a time like the flipbook still pictures stacked together creating form and animation. Speaking has so many more dangers involved.      

A few years ago a group of women I had been exercising with regularly decided we should do the Bay to Breakers. I vacillated between the idea that as a Bay Arean it would probably be good to experience it at least once or conversely, that it might be a complete and total assault on delicate sensibilities. As usual I think the truth was somewhere in between the extremes. While on BART on the way to the city one of the ladies stirs me from these reflections by asking what it is I am thinking so deeply about. All the ladies then looked to me for my answer. I imagine jellyfish might feel this way having one moment been floating along in the deep and fluidly blue waters and then suddenly finding that their jelly self has washed ashore under the desiccating glare of the sun and then feeling the jab of a branch poking through their vulnerable goo-ness. O.k., perhaps a bit more hyperbolic than necessary, but anyway…I made light of the query but she persisted, “I always catch you doing that, I want to know what is going through your mind!” Another joined in, “You should hear what she said when I asked if she watched Desperate Housewives! She said something like she couldn’t watch things with Malevolence and Rancor. Who even talks like that?!” I had to laugh with them at this razzing, apparently my tendency to get too serious not as well kept a secret as I had thought. Olly olly oxen free, come out come out wherever you are…

Open-ended questions set me off into vast arena of space, like casting a net over constellations, and watching it fall through empty space. In between the papillae of the tongue, the filaments in the ear, the refractions of light interpreted by the eye, this is where I dwell. Though perhaps from the same region geographically speaking, it seems as though my neurons sometimes (often?) are careless couriers, sidetracking through the funhouse hall of mirrors or playing marbles against the gutter while I bumble and stammer awaiting their arrival. Obviously anxiety helps not at all in this situation though despite the gacks and splats of these social snafus I have managed to communicate in my own rudimentary way, clacking two rocks together and blowing bubbles in still water.

Feng Shui of language, the relationship of words, their movement from one to another, momentum, tide and rhythm, a conveyance of fierce beauty and piteous despair. The fallow words static, pending animation from the propinquity (yeehaw!) and motion of the ensemble, offering unrestrained prospect to wander, discover and refine.

Only slept 3 uneasy hours … I could write about having a hard time finding that right angle to lay on quicksand to slow the envelopment, how all of this reality today feels distorted, and troubled and shadow laden. Instead though for right now, knowing weary wants a voice and feeling the sinking dread, I will cling to the thought of this all being like surfing. I want to let go, I want to hold on, at times I forget why I am even on the board at all. The water slaps and stings and causes choking, almost drowning in wave after turbulent wave but you cling with a longing and vision of how a perfect ride would feel, the beauty you would see on shore while standing on this lifeboard, no longer suffocating just below the surface but riding high above it, like walking across water, swallowing whole the sky, following suntrails…Intensely surging timeless vitality arising.In the me that wanders the layers in between words and their meanings and lingers in the resounding echo of chords just played, the me that seeks the purity of light and the lightness of love, there is a passionate soul. Long repressed but slowly awakening with a rhythmic pulse distinct from the life it was living. In every way I want to set it aflame, allow it to burn with generous intensity, fueled by newfound freedom and will.  



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