Sunday, July 30, 2017

Held in Beauty

I woke up this morning with questions popping in my mind like BB guns. Uncertainty, lack of clarity, fear rattlers. I am tired of them, my daily alarm clock.

But fortunately, I am taking care of Kipling at the moment, which necessitates a morning walk before my day becomes entirely solid. I donned the floppy hat, clicked on the leash, shut the gate with a heavy thwack, then turned in the opposite direction that I usually take. My feet having decided in advance of my still rollicking head.

It was late, the sun was already high; the wind had lifted but it was raspy as smoke. Perhaps it was instinctive to trace the tree line, hop-scotching between the whitened dirt path and the promising peace of shade. But it was also deeply reassuring to be under the wings of something so much bigger than I. Trees as tall as a house, backs straight yet arching skyward.

"I would like to be a tree," I thought. And somehow that did not seem lyrical or fantastical but the cool relief of a simpler truth. As Kipling would sniff, I would stop to listen. Not only to the brushing of branches but the piping birds hopesong and the ciglales rattling their summer thrum.

It arrived several times within those moments of seeming stillness that I actually felt uplifted by the life around me to the point of being held. In beauty. Or by it, so strongly that the edges of my skin dissolved. How different from a human embrace, given from one and received by another.

I felt only a coursing of love, so complete and expansive as to silence all questioning.

During the return, Kip and I passed the parking area where camper vans spread out like satellites. A man who resembled a late Picasso (the person, not the paintings) was seated hunched over his guitar and strummed out slowly the chords of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah." *

Under my breath as if half-consciously, I picked up the tune and sang lightly as I continued on.

*I chose this version as I remember crying very hard with tears of joy while watching it live for so many reasons.
Equality for all.
Thank you for being here,


Monday, July 17, 2017

What I don't know about Venice

I no longer want to hunch over my dreams, hands domed over them as if to keep the flame from going out. I want to spit them in an ark as if a dolphin fountain grinning. Or toss them to the admiring crowds as scatters of confetti. 

So I went back to Venice. 

I could not afford it. I couldn't afford not to. 

It is high season, during the Biennale. I was aware that I was pushing the circumstances. Yes, the crowds tripped over my feet unapologetically. The heat burned. My clothes hung heavily like weights. And some of the art was puzzlingly, mockingly bad. 

And yet. This dream cannot be tarnished just with a bit of brash and dust. So I walked and walked. At times nearly as if backwards slowly spooling out a thread so that I could eventually find my way back to who I am when not there. 

Because it is all that I do not know about Venice, and most likely never will, which calls me to celebrate without needing to understand.




It was a very short visit but such a wonderful one, bringing joy to every corner of me. 

I have only begun to shift through the photos taken. I don't think that they are anything exceptional but I will share some nonetheless. This time I just wanted to remain open to take it all in without needing to go to that inside place that captures, something which seemed too similar to protecting my dreams rather than setting them free...

I have missed you all.
How is everyone? Please, do tell.
With Love from Provence,