if morning must come

                                                    

 For the Artist at the Start of the Day

~ John O'Donohue ~

May morning be astir with the harvest of night;
Your mind quickening to the eros of a new question,
Your eyes seduced by some unintended glimpse
That cut right through the surface to a source.

May this be a morning of innocent beginning,
When the gift within you slips clear
Of the sticky web of the personal
With its hurt and its hauntings,

And fixed fortress corners,

A Morning when you become a pure vessel
For what wants to ascend from silence,

May your imagination know
The grace of perfect danger,

To reach beyond imitation,
And the wheel of repetition,

Deep into the call of all
The unfinished and unsolved

Until the veil of the unknown yields
And something original begins
 
To stir toward your senses
And grow stronger in your heart

In order to come to birth
 
In a clean line of form,
That claims from time
 
A rhythm not yet heard,
That calls space to
A different shape.

May it be its own force field
And dwell uniquely
Between the heart and the light

To surprise the hungry eye
By how deftly it fits
About its secret loss.

its suspected he's reading a magical book series that never ends...o to be a gnome

dirty laundry

a vivid memory remains in this newly forgetful brain of mine. i remember being taught how to operate the washing machine and clothes dryer. two adults and four children sharing a home adds up to some serious piles of laundry. our laundry room was in the basement. it was dark there. it was cold and scary. but i was thrilled to be given this very adult knowledge.  finally i was deemed mature enough to operate appliances! the truth is, my mother couldn't keep up with it on her own and frankly just needed us to wash our own damn clothes. the first few times down in our strange smelling underground basement i maintained that tinge of excitement. one day i realized i was merely doing laundry. it was a chore and it was not fun.

fast forward to present and you would find me with just that slight new adventure glow of one who lives in the "big city" and has to go to the laundromat. a magical place where (if i'm to believe television and movies) philisophical conversations and romantic song montages are acted out.  the first time is so strange and new it doesn't seem like an item on the to-do list.  then comes the day i fight for a dryer. the moment i realize my quarters are still at home...catch the creepy guy staring at me as i show the world my dirty underwear. the moment arrives when it's just a chore to get done and i can't even do it in the privacy of my own home. 

falling night

a sense of relief floods over me as the sun sets. i can't explain it so i won't even begin to try. a perfectly wonderful day can be coming to a close and i will still feel as though a small load is lifted once it's dark. on the harder days, this is hightened. living in a city like los angeles makes nightfall even more welcome. the garbage strewn sidewalks are hidden in shadow. traffic becomes an endless tail of twinkly lights. a city that in the harsh noon sun can look hard, fast, dirty and mean becomes magical and charming as happy hour comes to a close and the real parties begin. i'm not at those parties. but sitting in my little studio with the windows open to the clean air, i can finally breath in a way that was impossible until now.  i love sunshine. no, no i need it. but even after an incubator day... my heart slows and my mind stops spinning as i watch the stars come out.

what's in a name

name something and it no longer holds power over you. that's the lesson i first learned from Harry Potter. yes. yes i read HP. i also read the Huffington Post so i feel that it balances out. when Harry uses Voldemort's name out loud, he stripped it of fear.

i discovered last week that i have a mouse in my (subletted) house. i couldn't sleep all night after seeing it skitter across the floor. my bed is on the floor. the next day i just got mad about it. i referred to it as "that effing mouse" and suddenly he had a name. Effen.  almost immediately i wasn't afraid of him anymore. Effen and i have been happily cohabitating for a week now. 

other things in life go unspoken and maintain a hold with that unnamed fear. call it what it is. say it out loud to someone you trust. maybe not all at once, but slowly Voldemort will lose his hold. my dear friend reminded me this morning..."keep in mind, Harry defeated Voldemort in the end".

now where did i put my wand...

the plot

new city. new people. some of these people continue to shock me with just how shallow a human can be. these "hipsters" look as though they sit around discussing literature and philosophy and how to save the planet. so far i've only heard conversations that include words like "nipple" "celebrity" "party"... i heard a large portion of a conversation between a guy and a girl at wholefoods the other afternoon. he felt the need to use the phrase "my minor celebrity" and was obviously one of those people who would stay up all night talking just to hear themselves talk. he was trying to explain to his friend why a celebrity would cheat on their wife due to the fact that after so many days of women throwing themselves at him, he would just cave one day when his wife was being a bitch (or that's what it sounded like he was trying to say). there was a second conversation that was intertwined with this one all about a well known singer who was on the cover of a magazine with her nipple clearly visible even though she claims to be a role model. i have no idea how these two strings were held up at the same time in this conversation considering i'm pretty sure this pair would drown in a thimble of intelligence.

i know i know, i'm being judgy mcjudgerson...

but i do love the sunshine here!

if i were blind

if i were blind, i would always live in the city.  the country being too quiet. i’d have to strain to hear even the distant call of a bird, the croak of a frog. in the city i am harrassed by an overwhelming feast of noise day and night. i wake to the sound of cars being unarmed and revved for their commute. the honking begins. if honking were an art form, angelinos are all the picassos and rembrandts of sound. the buses whiz past on santa monica avenue. helicopters buzz overhead (chasing criminals or movie stars i’ll never know). the sounds almost escalate in the darkness of night. doors slamming, people laughing and shouting in their revelry, bums rummaging, music pounding...all discordant in the night.  the nighttime can seem the loudest. of course, that’s when i’m blind.

true story

scene one: (camera takes in storefront-zooms to interior. very eclectic thrift shop. clothes, homegoods, books. a few shoppers within)

girl one: so what do you think of me in an Audi?
girl two: o ya but what about the Prius?
girl one: ya i dont know about the Prius. i don't feel like a winner in the Prius.
girl two: ya you've got to feel like a winner in your car.
girl one: i know. like i don't even want to say this but...
girl two: o ya i know
girl one: ya like i didn't even want to drive my car to his house but i did and parked in front and seriously, the next morning when we came out he stopped, looked at my car and was all "you're car makes my house look bad".

grungy boy walks over and interrupts the girls saying hello to one of them as if they had seen each other last week.

girl one: o hey where have you been?
boy: o just out of town for like...five years.
girl one: oh man has it been that long? where were you?
boy: ya i just, like, was in portland and oakland and williamsburg. you know, the hipster areas.
girl one: o wow you should come hear me sing tonight at this club. it's called varnish.
boy: okay ya, here's my number
girl one: alright i'm texting you right now so you have my number too.
boy: cool okay ya

camera pans back out to storefront. takes in the dollar rack. the neighboring baskin robins. the garbage on the sidewalk. fades out.

a moveable feast

los angeles is a an aging starlet trying hard to get the part. doing anything and everything. fast and dirty. untrusting and tearing at the seams.  my first night here was spent in a hotel where i opted to keep the blinds closed at all times. there was a pair of discarded men's jeans directly outside on the small landing. they were grungy and forlorn looking and i didn't want to imagine why they were there. as i said, the blinds remained tight. day two found me alone and driving around trying to get my bearings here in the silver lake/los feliz/echo park area.  my internal compass (okay okay my iphone) led me to griffith park and the glory that is the observatory. i wandered for hours remembering being young and so entranced by the stars. i wanted to be an astronomer then. i still do.  after that, i moved into what will be my home for the next month.  fate or luck or those bright stars lined up and led us (me and that man of mine)  to the most amazing studio sublet i could ever wish for. i feel like i've stepped into a small paris apartment. the only problem is that i never want to leave. it's loud and mean out there but simple and peaceful in here. i know i have to conquer this city and start to look for the next place i'll call home. for now i'm going to slow down and have a little wine and listen to NPR and think about tomorrow when i plan on going back to the observatory.  hey, it's one of the only free things to do here and i'm a penny pinching unemployed girl at the moment.

N.Y.S.O.M.

what can i say? i'm in a New York State of Mind....i miss it every day.