Certainty
This trip [to Cuba and Haiti] has been transformational. I've realized that I never want to be certain of anything in fear that I will limit my potential and the potential of others. This mindset of "I believe in everything, nothing is sacred... I believe in nothing, everything is sacred" floats my life along a river of curiosity, experience, challenges, and ultimately love. I am in a constant dichotomy, a tug-of-war between cynicism and trust, disbelief and belief. If I ever become bored or am left with no thought/intention, I am dead. I don't want to be an expert--experts are brain-dead, they've hit a wall where they try nothing new (ironic that "experi" means "to try"). I'd rather stay experimental, experiential.
What am I?
smart. willing. love. creative. multicolor. dirty. travel. red. goat. cheese. wine. bread. brother. peace. plants. invisible. friends. water. trees. art. food. dance. songs. singing. language. useful. finding. patterns. people. silence. noise. crying. laughter. baths. candlelight. camping. oddities. rare. trinkets. Gypsy. tinkering. world. multiverse. making. happy. aliens. conspiracy. politics. policy. morals. righteousness. experiences. maturity. dare. indulgence. self. giving. extending. handy. interests. pillows. escargot. crepes. mountains. rains. stories. histories. random. esoteric. knowledge. act. performing. conscious. aware. unaware. fear. love! crafting. fate.
LCR Sentiments
I'm excited. Will I discover the unexplored territories of my mind? Pull out the invasives and plant something new in the scarred soil? Map out the contour lines of my own mental watershed?
I'm nervous. Who will read this? Mom? ("I must soften the truth"). My self in 10 years? ("I must try to sound as mature as possible").
I'm a teller, not a show-er. I have created stories upon stories in my head; yet I tell them not with the emotion and artfulness that a storyteller would but with an air of self-importance. How do I talk about myself without talking about myself? What sounds presumptuous?
The Unlearnings of Lies
Because of this "digging in, figuring out" process, I've been attempting to apply superlatives and absolutes to my character. This OP writing has coincided with the beginnings of a relationship with a friend who is intent on unveiling and undressing (figuratively) my multi-faceted person. We have spent 3 days exploring my motives, my short-comings, my fear of transparency. In an older poem, he wrote, "It has become an issue of cessation. / Of altercation and revision. / It has become an issue of misrepresentation." I have discovered that I craft and mould stories and situations based on my assumptions of others' feelings. I learned this skirting around truth from a young age out of fear of repurcussion from my mother. I learned to lie about things that were pure and unadulterated.
I am in the process of unlearning this technique of altercation. If the truth hurts, so be it. The hurt will be less than the complicated web of emotions knotted with lies.
I am from...
I am from Earth--
I am from Woman--
I am from Granite, Moss, and Pine;
Maples and Moose;
Hemlock and Herons.
I am from the oldest mountians, though belong in the youngest.
Ye Olde White Mountains, New Hampshire (October, 2013)
Hail! to the olde mountains
Hail on the White Mountains!
Let prevail the oldest mountains as we
Sail under its fountains.
For Adam, Kaikoura, New Zealand (January, 2012)
Hills, pushed through the ground
At incredible speeds--until they found
That the sea was way far down
And they believed that they should meet.
So they dove and formed a mound
Of black sand, how it warms our hands!
Like two gloves, now I understand
The definition of falling in love.
I am from love: a tough love, a quiet love, and a round love.
I am from Papa's squeezebox and bagpipes, from Mom's strong heat and hugs that release, from Brother's windy sails and guiding light.
For my Never-changing loves (May, 2012)
My Mother nurtured me,
My Father natured me,
My Brother nourished me,
And You, you nurture my nature in the most nourishing of ways.
I am from patterns and meaning, learning and teaching, being solid like the tree and fleeting like the wind.
I am from my mind, a garden planted with invasives overgrown, competitors aplenty, tilled earth and weeds.
I am from gardening my own mind,
pulling the roots of the persistent, the poisonous, the pointless.
I am from the riverbed, tumbling with the rocks
tumbling
thrown to the bank until lifted storm waters carry me on
I am from a bed of clouds
put I've peeked down
from mountain peaks--it's not about the climb, it's about using your feet
I am from Queens of Swedes, from Butchers in Bretagne, from Sages of Old.
I have no class and I have no class.
I am from believing in everything : nothing is sacred ::
believing in nothing : everything is sacred.
I am from chaos and love. And love and love and love.
I am from Me, past present future Me. Cycling through and through, never just one but many.