Four and a Half Ways of Looking at Light

image by snapmatic

I looked out my kitchen window at exactly 5:55 p.m. today and saw the sun reflecting off of a house on the hill, creating a golden spotlight that shone as brightly as the sun itself. There was a rectangular patch of sunlight on the wall behind me. It was the brightest light in the house at that moment.

I took a walk at 6:48 p.m. A thin slice of moon hung low in the sky at the end of my street. I tried to capture it with my cell phone camera, but the glow of the pink and yellow sky beneath it made it digitally invisible.

I sat in my living room this evening, talking on the phone. At 8:13 p.m. the power cut out. I lost the call and could not see a thing for one long second. I was afraid for that one second, but my very large house cat was snug against my leg, and he didn't seem to notice a thing.

As I write this in my studio at 10:16 p.m., white fairy lights outline the window behind me. I can't see them unless I turn around, but it makes me happy to know that they are there.

The Deeper Dream (or, From here to there)

me on Plum Island, MA (photo by James Simpson, taken with camera phone)

There is something there, but I can't quite make it out. It beckons, but I can't see it clearly. It calls to me, but all I hear is a faint hum, an electric rumble in the undercurrent. It walks into the room when my back is turned, so that I can feel its presence, but then disappears before I can catch a glimpse of it from the corner of my eye.

Is this a dream trying to be born?

Is this a secret waiting to be discovered?

Is this my truth longing to be embraced?

*   *   *

I made a list of more than 50 dreams for my latest Mondo Beyondo. Dreaming crazy-big was ridiculously easy this time around. I wish to be on Broadway. I wish to write well-received books. I wish to travel to Italy with my husband. I wish to live in our dream cottage by the sea. The wishes went on and on.

But I could sense a deeper dream, a bigger wish lurking somewhere behind the others. I wondered if the dreams on the list were merely distractions. But that's not exactly it. They're all good and true in their own way. What is it then? Are they merely peripheral to the bigger picture? Are they means to an end, a way to get to the core of things?

*   *   *

I have this sneaking suspicion: That other people see it already. That someone (maybe you) know what it is, but you're not telling me. Not telling is part of the rules. No, not "rules" in the "allowed" and "not allowed" sense; but rules in the "this is how it works" sense. Anyways, it doesn't matter. I probably wouldn't understand or believe you if you did tell me.

*   *   *

(But when the time comes, please speak up. I'll listen.)

*   *   *

I first noticed this feeling seven months ago, in a Manhattan diner. A friend had just finished handing me my heart on a blue plate special. My eyes filled with tears. "I'm so lost, aren't I?" I said. It wasn't a question so much as a confession. But really, it wasn't a confession so much as an acceptance.

We rode the subway back. I felt blind and deaf. Even so, I could sense that electric hum, and it had nothing to do with the underground train.

* * *

Then again in August with the list of dreams.

Build it and they will come.

I believe. But I don't know what I'm building yet.

*   *   *

And now again, in the slate and golden heart of autumn, my most alive time of year.

I think that if: I could just sit quietly and really listen. Or make lists. Or talk to an expert. Then I could: Achieve clarity. As if clarity alone were the goal and the thing to be achieved.

But I know better now. I know that much. I can sit quietly and make lists and talk to people. I can go to New York City. I can go to the woods. I can go to the oceans on both sides of the continent. All of these things are good and true, so long as I don't let them become distractions. The only way to figure this out is to keep doing the work that presents itself to me.

Keep writing the assignments for school because I want to learn.

Keep writing on this blog because I want to connect with you.

Keep writing the essays about the sea because this is what makes my heart swell.

Keep moving in this general direction: blindfolded, but not deaf or dumb.

Marco?

{Polo}

The answer comes from somewhere deep within and all around me. One step. One step. The only way out is through. The only way from here to there is from here to there. The journey is the destination. Platitudes will keep me company, but they won't show me the truth.

I'm working on having the courage of my convictions, like Julia Child. I'm flipping that omelette with gusto! I'm writing this post with abandon! I'm coming. Just wait for me.

Marco!

{Polo!}

Guest Post at Magpie Girl

I have a post up over at Rachelle's blog about overcoming your natural sticking points when working on a project. For me, the hard part starts after the brainstorming, right about the time I need to actually start creating something. This can be troublesome, but I'm learning to identify my sticking points and to work around -- or through -- them. 

I hope you'll hop on over to Magpie Girl for my tips and to share how you deal with your own natural sticking points. Do you have trouble starting? Finishing? Figuring out the middle bits? Let's swap ideas.

Upon Returning Home

my dining room, autumn 2006

What to do after arriving home at 2:30 in the morning, after 15 hours of traveling through four states, a mountainside traffic jam, low-visibility rainstorms, no-visibility fog, and one wicked stomachache that required a layover at a creepy trucker rest stop.

• Unload only what you need for the night, which really, isn't much. Leave everything else in the car until two days later when you finally decide to get dressed in a way that is fit for public consumption and your jeans and sweaters are still in the suitcase. Then you can bring in the luggage and let it sit on your bedroom floor for another day or two.
• Greet the soft, grey kitties with cooing words and plenty of petting. Let them need you all day and all night, and all through the next few days. Let them sleep on your stomach, knead invisible loaves of bread on your thighs, and breathe on your face with their dainty kibble breath.
• Lounge around your house with your spouse for one whole day. Deem yoga pants and tee-shirts acceptable attire. Order food from the pizza place. Watch scraps of movies on TV. Avoid the laptop until the husband starts to watch football, then decide you'd rather check email.
• Feel at home and grounded in your space when you smell your favorite hand soap at the kitchen sink. This is a small thing, but it's good.
• Go to the grocery store when the food supplies are down to cereal and canned soup. This will take about a day and a half.
• Sit in the quiet of the house on the husband's first day back to work, wondering where all of your creative energy is hiding. You swear you saw it around here yesterday, just waiting to be tapped.
• Think about making turkey chili and cornbread for dinner. And chocolate chip cookies. Scheme other baking plans: gooey butter cookies, deep and dark gingerbread cake, maybe a loaf of bread.
• Be glad for the summer and early fall of travel: four trips in four months. 
• Sink into the comforts of autumn at home.

Anniversary: Eight Years

Eight years ago, we said We Do. And we still do, every day. Why do I love him? Because he goes with me to the sea and never questions why I need to stare at the waves for hours. Happy anniversary. Happy us.