Wednesday, October 19, 2011


It's amazing how many kinds of quiet there are. Silent tranquility (lucidity?). Quiet contentment. And today, a numb void infused with melancholy. So many words left unspoken, so many emotions and urges left unexpressed. And yet I know it's best to suffer through the silence because we can't work. There's no "us" in this world that allows us to continue in these lives we've built. Togetherness would mean separation from everything that makes us who we are. Aliens to ourselves, aliens to the only world we've ever known. And could we truly be happy together apart? The flame burned bright but the wick was too short to last.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011


Describe your memories of a piece of furniture from your childhood home.

I remember a golden upholstered chair with scuffed-up wooden details of unknown origin (for my young mind at least...come to think of it, I've never thought to ask about its past). This chair was the throne for our beloved black Labrador, Stormy. She was the first animal I remember and the ideal dog; calm and sweet and never too bothered by my attempts to ride her like a horse. After Stormy passed away, we got Jerry (granted, I'm skipping a few dogs in between) who was his own man and fantastic in his own right, but Stormy was one-of-a-kind and I will never forget her or her rickety old chair...

First moments

Imagine that you can remember the first moments after you were born, and describe them in present tense ("I feel," "I see," etc.)
My eyes sting like I'm walking on the sun and goosebumps pop up on my arms as I attempt to adjust to the cool delivery room. My eyes begin to adjust to the light and I am bombarded by two large arms which proceed to rub my delicate skin raw with a terrycloth towel. A pat on the back helps me to cough fluid from my lungs and cool air rushes into my lungs. Unaccustomed to breathing on my own, I begin to cry over my exile from my mother's womb. Wallowing in despair, I am a bit surprised to discover the hard table which supported me during my cleaning has been replaced by something a bit softer. Two warm hands gently readjust my fragile frame and I crack open my teary eyelids to look upon two eyes I have never seen before yet know intimately. Mother. I stare, without any concern for propriety, unable to look away from this vessel of love.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Rainy Thoughts

I find that the rain affect my perspective -- as if I see everything from knee-deep in water...rather than as an observer at the top of a precipice. Nature brings me back into myself...that is to say that it frees me to look in. Yes, I admire the majestic beauty of a powerful thunderstorm; however, it only provides so much intrigue when I am trapped inside or on my porch. Much more interesting in hindsight -- in seeing the change it has effected. So here I am, looking in...and what do I see? A woman attempting to gain her footing despite the lingering influence of adolescence. A woman who knows the key to success is confidence and the grease that turns the lock is risk...but still cannot avoid her apprehensive nature so long coddled. The rain has a musicality that is both calming and invigorating -- I ache to join in its song, but cannot find the words. Sometimes I feel so in tune with the world around me, the world coursing through me...and then it's suddenly gone and I am stumbling... Perhaps if I am to learn anything from Nature it is that consistency is a fallacy...just as elusive as a rain schedule that doesn't conflict with my needs and plans...just as elusive as a ceaseless habit, an unfailing self-confidence. Who am I? I haven't a clue. But perhaps I am whoever I need to be -- rainy weather me may never meet sunny day me. But this rift I feel is in my best interest -- to be bisected may be by design.

[undated but probably in 2006-7]