"There are these little moments in Palestine where you forget where you are and are just taken away by the sun, the olive tree groves, and the gregarious small town life of the West Bank. You think maybe this could be everyday—if you don’t look left or right so you avoid seeing the Israeli settlements eating up the pine scented hillsides and if you tune out the cacophony of the sardined Palestinian cities cut apart by graffitied prison walls."
little things upset me more than they should.
like how i just bought new printer ink, and having just bought new ink, i thought it would be ok to print 125+ pages of notes to help me study, and i even sat there and patiently fixed the collation that inevitably gets messed up when i try to print on both sides, and then about 80% through it starts printing only half legible pages and tells me my black ink is low, the one i just changed, and of course, when the woman had offered me a second ink cartridge at 50% off i had declined because i thought, really, when will i need to buy ink again?
and then sometimes
i get emails from beautiful humans.
telling me they hope that i wake with peace in my heart and mind and that they look forward to the next time we get to sit together in reflection and love.
and i sit, and take a deep breath, in and out, and i smile, and i write these words, and i get back to work.
I can’t help thinking of this song when I see this picture.
I see it all. I feel it all.
It’s all happening.
Life, is happening.
And for the first time, in too long, I feel really excited about what that means.
I feel hopeful for things working out.
My commute this morning was filled with my usual angsty bullshit and staring out the window and listening to Royksopp, but my internal mania was interrupted by a regular on my trip.
He’s a college student; I know this because he gets off at the [insert major private university] stop and uses his college ID to travel on the bus. He is mentally ill. The bus drivers know him, too, so chat with him and remind of things.
No one talks to him. No one. He has a bit of a disconcerting look and he’s got a frozen left eye, so I think people look away from him. He’s not particularly clean and he wears the same thing every day. But, for some reason, the bus wasn’t crowded and when he came walking back to my section, I moved my bag and offered him the seat next to me.
He’s awesome. He writes poetry on his Droid to occupy his time and has his weird tics and fidgets, but he’s lovely. He’s very sweet and very sharp. He has a snarky sense of humor and loves doughnuts. So in other words, he should be my best friend.
But I realized one of the reasons I’m comfortable with him is I’m well-versed with mentally ill people. I’ve got my ma and I’ve been to all of the hospitals and institutions she’s been in and so I know how to read cues and suss out behaviors. He has always seemed a little lonely and I’m lonely, too, so why not talk to him, right?
I learned something today and I probably need to continue to remind myself of it. I need to get my head out my ass and interact with the world. The world isn’t awful, at least not all the damn time. We’re all just people looking for connections. I could’ve sat there, staring out at the ocean, cursing my existence, horrible social anxiety and sagging ass, but instead I forged something a little more meaningful this morning.
I think she has roots in the soles of her feet
and when she walks
she plants herself into the earth
and lets the earth take hold of her.
I think if you listened close enough
for long enough
you could just make out the sound
of those roots in those soles
lifting through the soil
sighing in the sunlight
and digging their way back into the darkness
with each and every step.
I’ve met people who are fire,
all flame and spark and the promise
Without fail and without doubt
I’ve been burned and boiled
and left with nothing but the residue
of the ash they left behind on my skin.
I’ve felt the breezes of people who are wind,
airy and light and always drifting.
They cool the soul and for a moment
you close your eyes and feel their
breath across your face but always,
always, open them sometime or another
to their absence. They always,
always, blow away and you’re left
with tousled hair and the numbness where
I think I am the water and I think I always
have been. I go my own way and somehow
without knowing how, find my way through the
cracks and crevices, the grooves and holes
in the rocks that form around these
I think she is the earth and has roots
in her soles and leaves in her hair.
She curls her toes into the sand and
braces herself against the wind,
defiant against the flames
and holds tight to the world as it
spins beneath her. We spin and only
she can feel it.
I think she has roots and her roots
need water and I am the water and always
have been and know and hold the secrets
to sinking beneath the soil
and giving strength to the growth
that’s been waiting to come.
Some people are fire
and some are wind
but we are water and earth
and through the roots on her
feet and the leaves in her hair
she will drink me and absorb
all I have ever been.
I can hear the sound
of her footsteps
-Tyler Knott Gregson-
i love everything about this.
or sometimes we expect oranges, because we like their juicy tang, but they give us apples because they like their cool crisp.