Sunday, January 30, 2011

how to pack for a mystery

it is raining outside and my heater is broken and I am happy as can be. I am camping out on my bed. I am wearing a warm hat, wool socks, sweatpants and a big sweater my boyfriend gave me. with me on this quilted island I have everything I could possibly need: books, a journal, my guitar and a cup of tea. I'm not leaving until I have a story to tell.

lately I have been craving adventure. the other day I ran into my friend john, he was wearing a marvelous new hat. he said "hello" and then warned that he might smell weird - he had literally just returned from an 8 day journey and was as yet unshowered. he smelled fine. when I asked the nature of his trip, he told me a wonderful tale. a friend of his had told him to be at the airport at 7am and to bring a passport, no other details were given. so when john's alarm went off at 5:15am, he gathered his things completely unaware of what laid ahead.

how does one pack for a mystery?

he settled on the clothes he was wearing, a pair of pants, a pair of shorts, two t-shirts, two pairs of underwear, flip flops, echinacea, toothpaste, a toothbrush, chapstick, a murakami novel, a journal, sunglasses, and one packet of space ice cream (just in case). upon arriving at the airport, he was told by his friend that they would be flying to buenos aires. and so they did, and they had an awe-inspiring time ripe with rooftop sunsets and intoxicated bus rides and hot norwegian girls.

while listening to him, I couldn't help but notice the pulling in my gut for such an experience. why didn't I have a friend buying me a ticket to buenos aires? why didn't I just arrive from an exciting place with these stories to tell? and then it hit me, running into john that day was my adventure. I don't have to go somewhere to experience life. yes, traveling can pry open otherwise sleepy eyes, but I can just as easily force them open with my awareness. I can board a plane or stay in bed, it doesn't matter, as long as I give whatever I am doing my full attention. my life, wherever I am, is the adventure, all I need do is live it.

Friday, January 28, 2011

without you, there'd be no sundae

he left again this morning. you would think that it had little effect on me anymore, but no matter how many times (and oh there have been many) that I have kissed him goodbye and said "come home soon", the soon feels so far away, like some impossible goal. he is going to japan this time, and australia. I am going to be here, like usual, keeping our apartment anchored to the earth. while he flies, I will do my best to stay grounded. yesterday he was telling a friend on the phone how lately life for him has felt like one cherry after another is falling on top of his sundae. it's scary almost, just when you think it couldn't get better, a fatter and juicier cherry flops on the sundae. I told him this morning when the alarm went off, myself already awake in the dark, that I felt like I was once the biggest cherry on that sundae, but it was hard now to compete with all the excitement that was swirling around like caramel in his sweet life. he got still and I could feel him thinking, and then he wrapped me in his arms and said, "no, you're the bowl, without you, there'd be no sundae."

Monday, January 17, 2011


don't use art to get love. don't use your tits or your pouty wet lips either. don't use your eyes and their slow blinking lashes. don't use tired eyes for that matter. don't use lies or excuses, or half-arsed proclamations you may mean at one moment but won't in another. don't use anything but your red banging drum of a heart. let that be the one and only thing you use to get love. then you can use art to talk about that love or the loss of that love or the longing for that love or the crippling strangling fear of that love. only then can you call it art.