more soon. but for now a short list of wonder:
dreaming with bleeding yew and a mystery essence
watching my octopus teacher with kids and then watching them draw tvs with octopus across all the screens
wishing my drawings could hold all these elements: crying, rainbows, and friendship
i had big plans to do a lot of writing while away for the holidays. i imagined the spaciousness of not home, big, soft, and warm. i knew the sound of tropical birds, ripe fruits, old friends, and nights that tickled my skin would pull out reflections, the kind of undoing that makes me more alive.
i relished knowing that the explosion of noise in tropical dawn would be there, light, color, the unmistakable sound of too fast buses on narrow streets, bells, whistles, songs announcing trash, water delivery, bread for sale. i knew these sounds and knew they would give me the space that i so badly wanted from the quickness and quiet efficiency of my life in northern california.
but as is often the case when we know and when we want, i went and what i knew what something else. what i wanted was not what was there.
it was something else, something more like the inescapable whir of now. a sound of a digital world that never stops. the tinny noise of a phone speaker across the room while you wait at the pharmacy/tire shop/airport.
and without the drumbeat of school/work/life i was there listening. listening to the sound of how these big faceless companies make so many decisions for all of us. listening to the sound of what recourse we have when the whir or screech drowns out each individual voice and instead turns it into a neverending spiral of relating that sounds like this
We completely understand how stressful and disruptive this situation must have been for you and your family, and we sincerely apologize again for the inconvenience caused.
Your cooperation will help us expedite this process and provide you with the compensation you deserve. If you have any questions, please feel free to reach out we’re here to help every step of the way.
i write this because i am curious. i am curious where and how we cultivate space in our minds, our hearts, our becomings that dip in and out of this noise.
i can only hear snippets of my life and here is where i get curious about the whir. what happens if i learn and re-learn how to listen. what are the listenings of a year past in so much noise?
a dog, small, blonde, smiley who arrived in our life from Mexicali
the row of tiny olive trees nearly surviving the deer
a girl who can swim underwater until she gets so cold that her whole body vibrates blue
the touchof the desert rain on the second of july, pine, juniper, aspen
a jar of preserved lemons from the tree down the street where a neighbor cut the fence for the laden branch to grow
a photograph or maybe a memory of childrens faces caked with sand at the beach after a party with oysters and cold wine
falling into the forever of the afternoon clouds while drving across the reach of the valley
mostly, i don’t know how to listen with the noise but i am practicing. and really i practice because when i do, it is exquisite.
to listening more in this new quiet month.
Loading more posts…
