early this morning, i was cleaning out one of my desk drawers, looking for my box of violet ink cartridges, when i came across a small journal i had kept while reading the writings of c. g. jung. what pleasure i took in becoming reacquainted with my thoughts from days long past and believed forgotten! what joy to see the words so eloquently scribed!
i had thought lost
but i remind myself… it is not in writing about them that events are immortalized. it is in coming upon them… uncovering them… discovering them… a second time… and then again… and again... and again.
rebellion. it’s a challenging thing. it’s a necessary thing. the occasional rebellion is just as necessary as the usual one. the small rebellion is just as necessary as the big one. but it’s the small rebellions, it seems, that bewitch the spirit unto somatic… no, HOLISTIC… ecstasy.
though a stack of books cried for connection,
and a clinical paper begged for completion…
i indulged a small rebellion.
rather than sit in my office… at my desk… surrounded by all of the objects and subjects that are such an integral part of my daily life… i went into my kitchen… and cooked up a tempest.
roasted whole chicken with herbes de provence. potato and onion wedges with fresh lavender buds. cracked black pepper, fleur de sel, and generous swirls of extra virgin olive oil over everything. orzo with homemade tomato sauce, basil, garlic, and yes… more extra virgin olive oil. fresh garden salad with raspberry walnut vinaigrette.
and though it is not winter,
but sparkling summer,
while i cooked,
i indulged in one of my favorite drinks…
one tablespoon of valrhona cocoa powder.
two dollops of belgian candi.
one cup of piping hot full cream milk
(yes. full cream. nothing else will do).
one wild carousel ride with the spoon.
one small respite (patience is bliss)…
while a delicate skin formed at the top of the brew.
one sprinkling of cayenne pepper.
one pinch of sel gris de guérande.
one large plunge into the lap of luxury.
these were my humble… and heady… pleasures for today!
i was at a used bookstore, browsing the shelves in the mental health section, my hands caressing the names of the authors imprinted on the spines. satir. and perls. and lowen. and the voice of norah jones entered my consciousness. and the music seeped through my flesh. and... in the face of self-consciousness... and social propriety... my body rocked. rocked. rocked. at the mercy of nothing but the virgin drive of its own voice.
my inner critic tried to divert me from my flow. and my inner judge called me 'silly.' but my joy knew joy. and what can step in the way of that? what, i ask?
i did not allow those voices. there was no place for them. there was only room for movement. euphoria. and trance. there was only room for self inside a world of limitless dimensions. there was only room for body. and breath. and bones.
how leisurely the rush of words, this morning! a liberation… like looking out of a window and recognizing that, outside of me, there is another dimension, one that becomes integrated into who i am just as soon as i’ve acknowledged its presence. just so are the words, and the emotions that gave them birth.
but, no! this is not about emotion. this is about something much more primordial than that. this is about… sensation…
i feel the symphony of that word.
i let it swim inside my mouth… embrace the rims of my tonsils… tease the tip of my tongue.
yesterday... driving in a full-blown storm blinded by silver sheets on the windshield i navigated, as though the road were made of silkworms, working their magic beneath the falling sky i did not only hear but listened with presence to voice and strings alchemize and fly, with intention, and strike, with precision, their target
yesterday… i met a beautiful person. shy. quiet. unassuming. and… colored with a vapid hue of fear. as we sat and talked, i wondered just what forces had brought us together. what does this person need from me? i thought. and… what do i need from this person?
but then… the veil dropped. my curiosity faded and was replaced with acceptance… and contentment. i didn’t know what to expect, and neither did that person. but it seemed we both knew that whatever was going to be… it was meant to be.
it’s so beautifully… amazingly… peculiar how certain people drift into our lives at certain moments… and how we drift into theirs… and how it all happens in precisely the way that it does. i sometimes pause… and ask… why? but the truth is… it doesn’t matter at all.
nor does it matter if the relationship be good… or bad. what matters is that the experience be nourishing… and teaching… and filled with blossoms. and all manner of blossoms are welcome, as far as i’m concerned. the poisonous and the innocent are equally appreciated… and equally nourishing.
as rumi says: “this is love: to fly toward a secret sky, to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment. first, to let go of life. finally, to take a step without feet.”
oh, how diaphanous it is to just let be… and let free!
i have been writing. and reading. reading diaries. reading letters. reading journals. i prefer to read the unexpurgated versions of all of the above. i don’t like reading writings that have been cleaned up and made “appropriate” for the general public. my take on it is: if you don’t want to read about someone’s sordid private life… don’t! we all have the choice not to make that investment, after all.
i remember when vaslav nijinsky’s diary was first released… the diary of a man who had lost his senses. except. his writings had been cleaned up. scrubbed of all the madness. and oh, how the words glowed with perfection! then, after a spell, the publishers got their wits about them and released the original, uncut version. a masterpiece!
why would anyone take the liberty of censoring the words… the life… the essence… of another? i find it ridiculous when adults try to protect other adults… or children, for that matter. no one can protect anyone from the truth… from reality. even children will seek out their own truths, and they will read whatever they hunger to read… secretly.
we all seek the learning experiences we need in order to grow in the way we need to grow… and be. we all find what we’re seeking… somewhere.
it all begins with desire… uninterrupted… unfiltered.
and nothing is more desired… more uninterrupted… than what is forbidden. nothing.
this is what happens when all the latent layers of who you are are touched by fire incinerate flutter curl back rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.................. rrrrr a o and s one... by one... by one... and f a l l . . . u o n in a m d citing what was uttered by the air verbatim verbatim verb... atom existence movement persistence wor(l)d without end
Sitting with you and others around a table, listening to you talk about the void inside your core, I felt the urge, for one moment, to reach out across that smooth field of solid wood, and touch your hand. The pain was so red in your proudly blue eyes. The hurt was so vivid, so electric, so bright. But that was my urge to deliver something… perhaps because it was something I too wanted delivered to me. After hours of being present with words… through silence… words… silence… I craved the tangibility of… oh, touch!
Do you want to know the truth, though? I am ever awkward in the presence of another’s giving. I am a fumbling mess when someone extends their gift-laden hands to me in offering. But then… when you looked me so fully in the face, so fully in the eyes, gripped my cold fingers between yours, stuttered as your tongue angled shyly over the rims of your lips, and said “Thank you, Nevine,” so shudderingly… how could I not receive?
What joy! What blood! What tremors of absolution! What communion, my friend!
Tonight, though my body is depleted, my spirit is full.