I will do what I always do, I will write it out out out I will write it all the way out...Truth is visionary, that makes it mutable.
This is scribbled sideways in the hardbacked spiral book Erika gave me for my birthday. My favorite kind of book the kind I use for poetry when I am writing longhand spontaneous download or Duende poems. I was driving to the beach on Saturday in the afternoon, it was gorgeous out blue sky and green sunny fields on the Eastern Shore and the words were coming and I was content to drive 62 in the right-hand lane of Gateway 50 and periodically even 58 alone on my side of the highway in order just to jot down the words. A story came together that was supposed to go on here, on the blog. A story of one of the first times I understood about friends and how everything passes, a story from back then and Crofton and loving a boy called Mudd.
Then I got behind some kid in a old beater Pontiac going 55 in the passing lane and chomping on a gnarly huge cigar. As soon as I got behind him and saw the silhouetted outlines of the map that he was looking at from behind the wheel like a great big story book there goes the tape in my head: Oh sure you come down here to the Eastern Shore to drive around and see all the quaint little people in the quaint little towns that history made-up you sure of yourself hungover got the world by the balls fuck Well we have lives too we have places to get to you know, we use the passing lane too for Christsake and I am off, adrenaline going and the second that happened I admittedly was a little appalled at myself for such pure white judgement, and I sped up, passed his fedora wearing cigar chomping beater driving hipster ass and then got myself back to the right lane, content not to go a minute over 60 in a painfully and also unabashedly aware of myself way of being surrendered to not taking myself so fucking seriously.
The story and the words that were coming were gone though. Later, maybe twenty minutes down the highway, one more seemingly unrelated line came out. Truth is visionary, which makes it mutable. This had nothing to do with Easter Sunday almost 15 years ago, the time I met Mudd's mom for the first time in his front yard on her knees digging in the fresh April green, nothing to do with sameness and differences and where they merge and with understanding roots and how all things pass but also somehow in different forms come again. Or did it?
This morning at work I read some info in an email from the state and just started crying. I have exactly one month, as of today, left at that job, at that job that I've been prostrating to and demonizing then laying down again and again before and on the behalf of for the last eight years. And when, about five or six weeks ago, the tears came like my spirit was an overused sponge not capable of soaking one more droplet off water--tears literally for three days fell from my eyes with out so much as a sob or whimper from my chest, with out so much as a blink or gasp or any form for that matter of automatic physical seizure that otherwise would cause tears--I knew then that something deep, something fundamental in me was shifting. That I was full, my cup was literally soaked with burden, and it was time to empty. At the end of that week I quit my job. Those tears they came again today, without warning, without the trite rhyme, without the trite soul of any sort of reason.
Just an email forward from the state. And I called Gretchen, who is wise woman to me, and I wept on my drive home because I barely had the strength to get in the car that's how spirit-ed the tears were. Wow I sort of barely thought to myself, this really is bad.
You cant change it Kelly she said and then the sobs really came and I knew it was the same thing that was going on five or six weeks ago, the same source of all these today real to me tears. And we hung up and every instinct in me was to pack my shit and walk in the sun down here to a lovely safe corner in the coffee shop window and write and write, and somehow I knew it'd be peaceful here. And when Rudy and KJ showed up I sighed because they are part of it, for some reason lately I've been able to talk to them and so soon enough I was saying it out loud. Because it is huge and important to me not to have it witnessed by another so much as to have someone witness me witnessing it and I felt silly when I said it aloud: I really thought I could change it. I thought I could change the fucked up shit of the world. This is my idealism breaking, this is life is unfair and me finally willing to let go and finally willing and getting it, this is me understanding there is so much you can not change.
Rudy who they call Satva started in on me the way I do on most people most of the times and it felt good to be on the receiving end of some treatment. He went on about his approach to life and he is someone who has good stories and good experiences to pull from and most of all he is like I told him once before a bone collector--he gets peoples true parts. Could just be a flip of a switch in perspective Kel is all he said.
O yea right, I tried to change the world but found the only thing one is capable of changing is them self. Again.
Please Gretchen help me not have to learn this one over.
The World Truth is mutable dependant on the self truth. selfTruth/Selftruth. Yes, visionary. Yes spirit's mutability. Yes to the writing life, the one and only true steps I only ever for sure for sure know is the right step on my path to helping me see.
No comments:
Post a Comment