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diaryland
all men will be sailors until the sea shall free them
12 September 2008 - 21:07
My house is in disarray. Still, again. It's being reorganized for the new season of our lives, which is ongoing. Someday we'll have it just the way we want it. And then I expect we'll move out.
A suitcase is next to me that I believe used to accompany me to college years ago. The cats have been taking turns sleeping on it. This evening the last sunlight shined on it, and Max soaked up the rays with his glorious white fur. I have many suitcases, although the only traveling I've been doing lately is time travel.
I've been thinking about how much the way I record memories has changed in the last ten years. I have stacks of unorganized photographs and a shelf full of written journals from the early part of the decade, and from this latter portion I have gigabytes of data.
This evening it seems so funny that so many years were hard. The images from them are vibrant -- orange cats and rain washed streets, rugged coastlines, beautiful brick buildings, fir trees and starfish. People who feel like characters for a moment and who then again become people. The girl who looks like an enigma, who is the human form of compelling. The girl who looks like a doll. And that rakish daredevil with the crazy stories that are every one of them true. My memories of emotional and imagined landscapes are as vivid as those we photographed. I know there was a forest with a maze of meandering paths and a sunburst that obliterated an unexpected turn. And I know and can feel in this moment there is a place where everything that ever caused conflict between us seems like a bad dream, and there are only rainbows of light and angles from which to view heaven.
I have meditated on and off at different parts of my life, sometimes for long periods. I've never known what I'm doing. This week I sat for ten minutes at a time and watched myself -- let my thoughts happen but traced them back to their source. What do I think about and what motivates me?
Some moments felt like the first time I'd ever seen myself, been self aware. To see clearly feels like love. My inner gaze is a loving touch.
Oh Max, dear Max. I want to give everything away but my most potent symbols and then arrange those artfully around me.
This room was our first bedroom in the apartment. We've slept in three different places, but this is our favorite, I think. It faces west, and the windows open like shutters, and the late afternoon light is divine. We're going to make this room our storage spot -- for now.
I'm writing this so I remember what it can feel like in here, so that someday this can once again be the room where I sleep.
