Energy of place. Stuck in that in between. "I want to live my life like a river flows. Like a river flows." But even the fastest flowing river has pools. Where water circles. And debris collects. And anyway, I don't want to be a raging river. Chaotic with the melting snow. I want rapids. But also slow going bends. I want dark depths collecting pollen under overhanging trees. I want water bugs to have a chance to tiptoe. "I want to live my life like a river flows." Those turning, stagnant pools get washed away. They get brought in eventually. Stagnant - I haven't brought my dictionary with me traveling. Stagnant - something turning sour. Going off. Becoming unpleasant. Beginning to decay. Those are my definitions. I am not stagnant. I can feel it. I am flowing. I'm just a pine needle in a current, making round shapes and patterns in a small, but open space.
Paul. Without putting him on a pedestal. He is a rock. He is a wood thrush, tucked in below the bottoms of trees. He is an anchor. A meter - giving out a steady reading of "okay." I am okay. He is okay. I doubted our friendship before going to New Jersey. Couldn't see my place among so many college friends and childhood buddies. But 8 days there. Those were 8 days where time moved slowly. Like a fading summer stream. I don't doubt where I fit now. Doubt. I close. I open. Like the hummingbird's fluttering wings. That constant buzzing. Paul. He has helped my heart grow big. I could watch him. My pupil's dilated and I could see. Him getting frustrated when we couldn't find his Australian photos. When I ejected his camera's memory card from the computer unsafely. And twice. He'd tell me not to do it again. But I stood witness. To his head leaning back against the computer seat. To him trying. Not to throw a fit. I can't give him new eyes. I couldn't then. I can't now. I could only sit back. Give him space for tension and annoyance and the poking, protruding signs of grief. I told him. At night, from our respective beds, "Hey Paul, I want to tell you something now, because I'll probably be too teary tomorrow... I am so grateful to have you in my life. To be such close friends with you. And I don't have words to express... how happy I am that you are okay. That you came back to us..." Paul, I am so glad. For my sake. For yours. Your family's. For all those thousands of people. Strangers, acquaintances, close, dear friends. Because every 21 seconds - some one's life changes. Every 21 seconds - some one's brain is traumatically injured.
Australia is a far away place. All those tucked away, blooming, cat-filled Melbourne streets. The eucalyptus trees and wallabies. My brilliant Otesha stars. So many miles, all those kilometers away. But at certain curves in the river, you can still see. You get that perspective. Your face then. Swollen. Bruised. Bloody. Now. With color. Filled in. But you still have that 'no-bone' sign on your forehead. To remind us. Of your fragility. Your need for delicate handling. Your heart. Then. Always beating. Only coming out verbally for brief sections of time. Now. You are most cuddly and lovey in the morning. Bringing your mom over for a hug. Waking me up with songs, or me doing that for you. "Wake up P-funk, I think I've got something to say to you. It's late in the mornin' and I really should be eatin' grape-nuts. All you do is roll over in your bed. Put your arms up above your head." Your half smiles. And the full ones too. Thank you. I see so much light surrounding you. So this is what love looks like. Somewhat detached - as in - not clinging. In letting you feel. Struggle. Heal. Love. Compassion - which is equal parts intention and action. You are very much a star in my universe. Even when it's cloudy. Raining. You are still there. Still shining. All of your hopes and dreams. Hopes. And dreams. I love you, P-funk Bailey.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Monday, March 15, 2010
Home. Bellingham Style.
I was talking with my dad last night. Blogs came up. Well, blogs started the conversation and then lead to other topics. We were talking about 'continuity' and I thought I would give that a go now that I'm home. I don't mean that I'm going to update every day. But maybe once a month. Maybe less. Hopefully more.
So. My one year visa for Australia expired on January 8th. Consequently, I left the country. To postpone my entrance into the Northern Hemisphere's winter, I hiked around New Zealand for two months with my friend, Ya Ya. I spent an enjoyable week in San Diego with my grandparents, feasting on cheap Mexican food and root beer floats. The abundance of SUVs, freeway lanes, and large meal portions took some getting used to, but were offset by reconnecting with a dozen cousins, uncles and aunts.
And now I am in the place I have labeled as "home." Bellingham, Washington. Very northwest corner of the United States. No, not anywhere near Washington DC. And you know what, its pretty okay.
For one, I get to see this on every clear day from my parent's driveway:
That's Mt. Baker. Which holds the world record for the most snow fall in one year (95 feet/29 meters).
And, I finally got to meet this little guy, who was born one day after I arrived in Australia:
That's Aidan Maloney. My 14 month-old nephew. People keep asking me if seeing him in all his smiling, giggling, peek-a-booing adorableness makes me want to have one of my own. "No." And "No." But aunt-hood is suiting me just fine. It helps that Aidan seems to like me. Similar to my relationship with my cat, Spike, I think I will be his play friend. He's got Grandpa and Mom for cuddles, but Aunt Kelsey and Aidan have got tag and outdoor exploration covered.
And I've got a lot of exciting things coming up in the not too far off future. I have a week bike ride around the San Juan Islands planned with my soul-gardening friend, Rachel. My Dad and I are taking the RV (American sized campervan (don't tell the eco police)) and our bikes down to the Oregon coast in April for some wild beach walks and scenic coastal bike rides. Ya Ya is coming up to visit later in April when we will eat copious amounts of Mexican food and ice-cream and watch all the movies we talked about watching while hiking in NZ. And this last thing is big. I get to go work in North Carolina (East Coast USA). Taking kids on nature walks, searching for birds, and leading creative writing workshops. Yay. But, that is not until May, so more on that later.
I have made a few goals in order to keep myself feeling happy and productive during the next 6 weeks of unemployment.
-Build my parents a functioning compost bin.
-Learn how to play Ultimate Frisbee.
-Compile my most likable and meaningful (to me) poems to consider putting in a Zine or some other self-published form of distribution.
-Ride my bike.
-Go on walks.
-Dance.
-Pet the cats.
-Cook and bake.
-Read.
-Write.
-Yoga.
-See friends frequently.
-Play games like 'balderdash' and 'in the name of that adverb.'
-Sleep. A lot. Because I missed a lot of hours during the last 14 months somehow.
-Reacquaint myself with North American flora and fauna.
I think that is about it for now. Its a sunny, chilly day. I think I will work on my reading and cat petting goals.
So. My one year visa for Australia expired on January 8th. Consequently, I left the country. To postpone my entrance into the Northern Hemisphere's winter, I hiked around New Zealand for two months with my friend, Ya Ya. I spent an enjoyable week in San Diego with my grandparents, feasting on cheap Mexican food and root beer floats. The abundance of SUVs, freeway lanes, and large meal portions took some getting used to, but were offset by reconnecting with a dozen cousins, uncles and aunts.
And now I am in the place I have labeled as "home." Bellingham, Washington. Very northwest corner of the United States. No, not anywhere near Washington DC. And you know what, its pretty okay.
For one, I get to see this on every clear day from my parent's driveway:
That's Mt. Baker. Which holds the world record for the most snow fall in one year (95 feet/29 meters).And, I finally got to meet this little guy, who was born one day after I arrived in Australia:
That's Aidan Maloney. My 14 month-old nephew. People keep asking me if seeing him in all his smiling, giggling, peek-a-booing adorableness makes me want to have one of my own. "No." And "No." But aunt-hood is suiting me just fine. It helps that Aidan seems to like me. Similar to my relationship with my cat, Spike, I think I will be his play friend. He's got Grandpa and Mom for cuddles, but Aunt Kelsey and Aidan have got tag and outdoor exploration covered.And I've got a lot of exciting things coming up in the not too far off future. I have a week bike ride around the San Juan Islands planned with my soul-gardening friend, Rachel. My Dad and I are taking the RV (American sized campervan (don't tell the eco police)) and our bikes down to the Oregon coast in April for some wild beach walks and scenic coastal bike rides. Ya Ya is coming up to visit later in April when we will eat copious amounts of Mexican food and ice-cream and watch all the movies we talked about watching while hiking in NZ. And this last thing is big. I get to go work in North Carolina (East Coast USA). Taking kids on nature walks, searching for birds, and leading creative writing workshops. Yay. But, that is not until May, so more on that later.
I have made a few goals in order to keep myself feeling happy and productive during the next 6 weeks of unemployment.
-Build my parents a functioning compost bin.
-Learn how to play Ultimate Frisbee.
-Compile my most likable and meaningful (to me) poems to consider putting in a Zine or some other self-published form of distribution.
-Ride my bike.
-Go on walks.
-Dance.
-Pet the cats.
-Cook and bake.
-Read.
-Write.
-Yoga.
-See friends frequently.
-Play games like 'balderdash' and 'in the name of that adverb.'
-Sleep. A lot. Because I missed a lot of hours during the last 14 months somehow.
-Reacquaint myself with North American flora and fauna.
I think that is about it for now. Its a sunny, chilly day. I think I will work on my reading and cat petting goals.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
"And I'll write you a letter. With everything I know. About the weight of the world. And the way things could go."
February 24
Close my eyes. Music. Mine. After five weeks. 35 days. Is that all? Through waves and forest and bleeding hearts. Fourteen months. Of being away. But, in all effect, I am very much the same. Feeling, everything. Needing a release. I made a play list for the upcoming airports, planes, and trains. It's pretty much 'go juice.' Sad, emotional - but go juice. Because leaving, arriving...it's never not been sad. "Happy Sad." That's what I'd tell Dana and she'd know exactly what I mean. I try to make other people into a Dana. The letter I'll write to Patrick, as I imagine it now, I'm writing it to a Dana. I guess everyone holds 'used to be' components of her. Because that's how I strive to be. The Kelsey I was with her. Open, complete, sharing everything. The ones I wrap around me. I want them to see this version. Some will always squint. Others will stub and erase. Make me feel like my words and movements are written in pencil and not a slower to fade ink.
Places. Eyes closed. Anna's kitchen. Tash's kitchen. Five Rhythms Dance Hall. Tasmanian shades of eucalyptus green. Orange Kieszonka. Mt. Ruapehu changing in view. Touches. Patrick's finger on my back in that cellar dweller club. Ya Ya's hug lifting me off the ground. Sleeping on her shoulder. Tash's cheek kisses. John and Libby holding me in their firm grasp. Sitting on Paul's bed. The giggling. Leaning playfully, lightly, into his delicate body. Ida, in my arms, not to be released, not by me, not that night. Patrick's head, Patrick's hands, Patrick's stomach. I fell in some kind of love. With a person who will never give me the essential things I need. But knowledge doesn't make the missing and hurting less than it is.
Hugs. Friends. Stories. Swims. Bike Rides. Hikes. Clouds. How do I measure it? How do I convey so many days to the people that'll be passing through and around me? Wait! Hand to chest - just stay there. Can you feel? Stop rushing. Dad, stop talking. Lets just sit here. Can you feel this? No. I know. Because I'm a feeler. Who still wishes she could trace the waves and gullies of it. But then they are only lines. It's hot in this hostel lounge room. Filled with flies. And tomorrow I'll be in Auckland, the air, LA, and on the train for all that cosmopolitan in between to San Diego. With Gram. Needing and trying to be brave. And there I'll be. Needing and trying to be brave. Saving the roller coaster of feeling for Rachel. Heather. My new 84 cent journal and OJ's matted and dandruff filled orange fur. But he'll hear it. In between purrs and roll overs.
And damn it. I fell in love. I shouldn't curse it. Even though, right now, it only pinches. Only burns. Because Tash isn't here. I can't climb in bed with her. Lay there. Talking. Not talking. Be is not knitting next to me on the couch. She's not showing me the different masses of her calves. And Libby's in another town. With Anna and Pip. I'm not with them. Not yoga-ing, dancing, crying, laughing. And Ya Ya's there, reading. I've been exhausted and irritable all day. Not how I'd like to be on my last full day. But it is. Because I'm sad. And needing. And when she's not singing songs behind me. Not making weird noises because "ITS........pretty good I guess." When she's not listening to these very words I'm writing. Well, I'll feel it then. Too. Because I keep falling in love with the people making up my life. For 35 days. 14 months. Even six nights. Because I'm wearing his jeans tonight. And I threw away the last cigarette filter. It kept escaping that scraps of paper filled plastic bag anyway. Because, then, I thought, I should be letting go of this. But, now, I could be tempted to dig it out. To put it in these pants' pocket. That's where its supposed to be. His memory. My memories. Bleating, temporary. All those glimpses of turquoise sea. Tinkerbell's silver belly. Steep Wellington streets. And duck tails. And foggy mountain tops.
I don't think I try desperately to hold on to any of you, the people or the views. Because. Because. I'm still open to today, to tomorrow, to everything fluctuating and happening around me. But I'm still holding you. That's what you get with me. Your memory, it stays. In a building with rooms built for each of you. Containing that big or tiny piece that I ate of you. I want Patrick to hold me. I want Ya Ya to share with and listen to. I want Tash to bum massage. I want Be around. Me. All the time. I want Libby's creative dancing. And baking with Anna in her kitchen. And Pip with coffee or tea. And Julia peeing her pants next to me. And Bindy. Dylan. Dianne. Annette. John. I have to stop. My southern hemisphere list goes on and on. And Paul, you are still here, in between everything.
Close my eyes. Music. Mine. After five weeks. 35 days. Is that all? Through waves and forest and bleeding hearts. Fourteen months. Of being away. But, in all effect, I am very much the same. Feeling, everything. Needing a release. I made a play list for the upcoming airports, planes, and trains. It's pretty much 'go juice.' Sad, emotional - but go juice. Because leaving, arriving...it's never not been sad. "Happy Sad." That's what I'd tell Dana and she'd know exactly what I mean. I try to make other people into a Dana. The letter I'll write to Patrick, as I imagine it now, I'm writing it to a Dana. I guess everyone holds 'used to be' components of her. Because that's how I strive to be. The Kelsey I was with her. Open, complete, sharing everything. The ones I wrap around me. I want them to see this version. Some will always squint. Others will stub and erase. Make me feel like my words and movements are written in pencil and not a slower to fade ink.
Places. Eyes closed. Anna's kitchen. Tash's kitchen. Five Rhythms Dance Hall. Tasmanian shades of eucalyptus green. Orange Kieszonka. Mt. Ruapehu changing in view. Touches. Patrick's finger on my back in that cellar dweller club. Ya Ya's hug lifting me off the ground. Sleeping on her shoulder. Tash's cheek kisses. John and Libby holding me in their firm grasp. Sitting on Paul's bed. The giggling. Leaning playfully, lightly, into his delicate body. Ida, in my arms, not to be released, not by me, not that night. Patrick's head, Patrick's hands, Patrick's stomach. I fell in some kind of love. With a person who will never give me the essential things I need. But knowledge doesn't make the missing and hurting less than it is.
Hugs. Friends. Stories. Swims. Bike Rides. Hikes. Clouds. How do I measure it? How do I convey so many days to the people that'll be passing through and around me? Wait! Hand to chest - just stay there. Can you feel? Stop rushing. Dad, stop talking. Lets just sit here. Can you feel this? No. I know. Because I'm a feeler. Who still wishes she could trace the waves and gullies of it. But then they are only lines. It's hot in this hostel lounge room. Filled with flies. And tomorrow I'll be in Auckland, the air, LA, and on the train for all that cosmopolitan in between to San Diego. With Gram. Needing and trying to be brave. And there I'll be. Needing and trying to be brave. Saving the roller coaster of feeling for Rachel. Heather. My new 84 cent journal and OJ's matted and dandruff filled orange fur. But he'll hear it. In between purrs and roll overs.
And damn it. I fell in love. I shouldn't curse it. Even though, right now, it only pinches. Only burns. Because Tash isn't here. I can't climb in bed with her. Lay there. Talking. Not talking. Be is not knitting next to me on the couch. She's not showing me the different masses of her calves. And Libby's in another town. With Anna and Pip. I'm not with them. Not yoga-ing, dancing, crying, laughing. And Ya Ya's there, reading. I've been exhausted and irritable all day. Not how I'd like to be on my last full day. But it is. Because I'm sad. And needing. And when she's not singing songs behind me. Not making weird noises because "ITS........pretty good I guess." When she's not listening to these very words I'm writing. Well, I'll feel it then. Too. Because I keep falling in love with the people making up my life. For 35 days. 14 months. Even six nights. Because I'm wearing his jeans tonight. And I threw away the last cigarette filter. It kept escaping that scraps of paper filled plastic bag anyway. Because, then, I thought, I should be letting go of this. But, now, I could be tempted to dig it out. To put it in these pants' pocket. That's where its supposed to be. His memory. My memories. Bleating, temporary. All those glimpses of turquoise sea. Tinkerbell's silver belly. Steep Wellington streets. And duck tails. And foggy mountain tops.
I don't think I try desperately to hold on to any of you, the people or the views. Because. Because. I'm still open to today, to tomorrow, to everything fluctuating and happening around me. But I'm still holding you. That's what you get with me. Your memory, it stays. In a building with rooms built for each of you. Containing that big or tiny piece that I ate of you. I want Patrick to hold me. I want Ya Ya to share with and listen to. I want Tash to bum massage. I want Be around. Me. All the time. I want Libby's creative dancing. And baking with Anna in her kitchen. And Pip with coffee or tea. And Julia peeing her pants next to me. And Bindy. Dylan. Dianne. Annette. John. I have to stop. My southern hemisphere list goes on and on. And Paul, you are still here, in between everything.
the nubbins version of new zealand with ya ya and kelsey
Cape Reinga Walkway: Four days of cliffs, sea swims, mosquito death squads, uncrissed trails, and sun.
We picked up some lovable Germans on our way back to Auckland (see below, not above). Rather, they picked up us. Meet, from left to right, Patrick, the 'unfillable' station wagon, Jack, Sabine, some goon you probably already know, and Thomas. Luckily there are no photos or videos of our karaoke night, oh boy!
We picked up some lovable Germans on our way back to Auckland (see below, not above). Rather, they picked up us. Meet, from left to right, Patrick, the 'unfillable' station wagon, Jack, Sabine, some goon you probably already know, and Thomas. Luckily there are no photos or videos of our karaoke night, oh boy! Mt. Ruapehu: 6 days hiking around a volcano guy. Volcanic scree, mud slips, and a familiar return of an old friend (see photo two: when hiking over 5 hours a day, at least 6 tablespoons of peanut butter and 6 tablespoons of nutella are required to maintain adequate mental and physical well being)
After a brief respite at the home of a hitch-hiker friendly commercial chicken farmer/porcelain doll maker/teddy bear stuffer, we headed to Mt. Taranaki. The knee breaking, fog swirling, eroded trail finding mountain of all mountains.
And then we got sidetracked from taking scenic photos while camping near rivers with a certain mustached German, hitching our way around the isolated east cape, summiting Mt. Hikurangi in the fog, and relaxing in Opotiki.
The end :)
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