Paradox and Wanting

I feel like picking a fight with someone today.  Anyone.  But mostly, it’s God whose bone I most want to strip bare.  Mostly I have been so blasted patient about this whole Self realization business.  But today, I have hit my limit.  I get frustrated, meditating every day and waiting for some kind of reply to plummet from heaven and splat me ecstatic… and meanwhile, toiling away in this world of strife.  Is it really a world of strife, or am I just being dramatic?  It is both.  But God?  Please come closer to me today.

I can’t think of anything to write about.  Honestly, I woke up this morning, thinking I must be living a lie.  I dedicate so much time and care to this blog… at least two hours a day.  And then an average of twenty people read it every day… I wonder why I keep doing it… Why do I keep doing it?  Because these words make me feel real.  Because to me, this life thing is so odd and confounding… and even the most mundane happenings of my sheltered day to day experience seem so far fetched, mostly… and if I don’t write it all down, it will inconspicuously sail down life’s toilet in a great, anticlimactic whirlpool, only to be sucked back into the great, black-assed Beyond, from whence it must have sprung.  Is it just my unconscious fear of death then, that compels me to write?  Because I want to live beyond my fleeting, insignificant little life?  Why am I so existential?  Why couldn’t I have been born normal, like all you accountants and paralegals and milk maids?

I know, I know, you milk maids are anything but normal.  My friend has a magnet on her fridge that says, “The only normal people are the ones you don’t know very well”.  Touche.

I need a savior today.  This needing a savior business is a slippery slope, because usually I try to make Mykael my savior… but truth be told, he makes a crumby savior.  Which I guess is a good thing… since a woman oughtn’t cling to her man like an f-ing messiah in the first place.  Why, you ask?  Because it is a suffocating way to live.  It strangles the relationship.

This is a first:  I actually left café five oh four in mid blog.  Suddenly I couldn’t stand being in the shadows on such a sunny day.  I couldn’t stand the erratic jazz music polluting my ears.  And mostly, I couldn’t stand the cacophony inside me.  I am about to bleed, btw.  I’ve heard other women say that they turn to mush right before they bleed.  You know, lose that gracious mechanism of linear thinking and rational relations with the rules and regulations of the outside world.  Caterpillars turn to mush before their bodies re-form as butterflies.  Maybe women move between fat, squishy worm, chrysalis and butterfly every single month.  That would be nice!  If I was about to sprout big, striking wings that looked like light explosions in the MOMA!

Speaking of light explosions, yesterday evening, Mykael and I were walking down Grand Avenue (wandering purposefully toward Boot and Shoe Service for a second helping of the good time we had the night before, which I’m embarrassed to admit, but I will anyway, because life is too short for me to pretend I’m other than I am.)  Anyway, Mykael pointed to the big, dramatic stormish clouds and said, “Do you see the rainbows?!”  I looked, and was only blinded by the obnoxious sunlight pouring through them.  “Nope,” I answered.  He handed me his sunglasses (I never wear sunglasses, because I like the light too much).  “Here, look through these.”  I did, and the edges of the clouds suddenly looked like oil stained puddles, hosting ostentatious rainbows!  THIS IS NOT AN EXAGERATION.  Sometimes as a writer, I take poetic license, naturally.  Duh, you would too.  But NOT THIS TIME.  I am not just another girl who cried rainbow.  This is for real.

The edges of the clouds looked like they were being ecstatically eaten away by acid rainbows.  Magenta, warm gold, teal, turquoise, lavender… These were no primary colors.  This was psychedelia.  I was ready to stand up on high and loudly announce “MIRACLE in the sky!”… but Mykael was quick to tell me that that’s simply what the world looks like through sunglasses.  I wonder…

Anyway, I really fell out of rhythm today.  It’s two thirty pm and I am blogging on my front porch in partial sun and partial shade as Mykael feverishly sands his spiral laden stone, perpetually filling the air with fine, white dust.  But earlier, after I busted loose (as my mom always says) from the prison also known as Café 504, I did not know what to do with myself, besides wallow in the premenstrual fog, which was making me fold in on myself in an almost lethal fashion, so Mykael dragged me and my typewriter to HIS café.  You see, I finally got myself a typewriter, because I have had a long standing (six or seven years long standing) dream to go out in public with my type writer and be a real live muse.  Sell poems to the masses.  But now that I have my typewriter, I am looking my dream in the face and it is staring me down-doobie-down.  I realize how risky it is to put myself out there like that.  Gimme a V!  Gimme a U!  Gimme an L!  Gimme an N! E! R!  A!  B!  L!  E!

Yes, I feel vulnerable.  But since I am some what of a warrioress, even on my most premenstrual days, I marched my crabby self down the hill and set up shop.  I thought I’d rehearse… A dress rehersal before the farmer’s market tomorrow.  What would I DO if someone asked for a poem about “Paradox and Wanting”???  Would I freeze, or rise to meet the challenge?  I used paradox and wanting as an example, because that’s what the owner of the café asked for.  And the barista girl asked for a poem about blisters on her heel.  Mykael asked for a poem about the paintings of the wolves on the wall.  Jen asked for a poem about beauty and gratitude.

So I wrote my first five poems and I am still alive to tell the tale.  Nice!  Although I must say, that I am NOT the most literal person… So if you ask for a poem about cigarette butts, don’t be surprised when you get a poem about peaches and oven burnt nuts.

1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. k
    May 01, 2010 @ 00:52:20

    I may be only one in 20, but your blog has become a daily ritual. You put so much of yourself into it, it does not surprise me that you occasionally feel exposed, distracted or tired. I am not much for milkmaids, accountants or paralegals, but I dig your prose. Thanks


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