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Love,
chelsea
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Friday, August 12, 2011
Mind games
These four walls, they were close, in a way that alternately prevented vision and allowed the most prescient discoveries. And so it is the former today, she realized, and she abandoned her guitar for a bicycle, set out in the chill of the morning for something and nothing.
How to find the focus to do what needed to be done, and how to find the patience! The doubts weighed heavy around her, and disturbed her concentration with their whispers, no, their shouts. This whole muddy life could be lost to those doubts, she knew, and yet. The discipline to filter the water, every moment, every moment! To watch and notice, to allow and yet transform, this was the work of living, yes, of course, and yet.
She glanced at her watch. 8:15 and she was already exhausted from these mind games.
How to find the focus to do what needed to be done, and how to find the patience! The doubts weighed heavy around her, and disturbed her concentration with their whispers, no, their shouts. This whole muddy life could be lost to those doubts, she knew, and yet. The discipline to filter the water, every moment, every moment! To watch and notice, to allow and yet transform, this was the work of living, yes, of course, and yet.
She glanced at her watch. 8:15 and she was already exhausted from these mind games.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Ava Maria
The truly horrifying nature of the situation did not occur to them until much later, when they had children of their own. Then, thinking of that little girl pained them almost beyond bearing, almost to the point of exterminating the thought. If memories could be erased like a mistaken tattoo, well.
But every now and again, something would remind them of her, a word, a photo, the surfacing of the copy of Alice in Wonderland they had purchased to entertain her the night that they babysat her. And then they would say, she must be 16 years old now, and, I wonder how she is doing -- not in a tone of curiosity, but with a shudder of grief for the childhood lost to neglect and paranoia, a shudder of grief for the inadequacy of their presence, so close as to almost touch her life, yet still, in the end, completely apart from her.
But every now and again, something would remind them of her, a word, a photo, the surfacing of the copy of Alice in Wonderland they had purchased to entertain her the night that they babysat her. And then they would say, she must be 16 years old now, and, I wonder how she is doing -- not in a tone of curiosity, but with a shudder of grief for the childhood lost to neglect and paranoia, a shudder of grief for the inadequacy of their presence, so close as to almost touch her life, yet still, in the end, completely apart from her.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Death of a chicken
The day was salty, salty like the residue left after evaporation, salty like the beach at low tide. The ocean. So far away, so conspicuously missing. She laid her head on his chest as though holding a seashell to her ear, heard the thush-whoosh of his blood in his heart, the air in his lungs.
Then again, the weather was the least of their concerns today. Yesterday the rain had come up so suddenly, taken them by surprise, and they had scrambled to contain their work under the cover of porch roofs. But now it was contained, nothing left but to do it, to silence the thush-whoosh of 30 beating hearts. There was no more research to be done, phone calls to be made, equipment to be gathered, no more chance of putting it off.
Death. Such a natural thing, she thought. A Nature thing. Beginnings and endings. I've focused on the middle for too long. She sat up in bed, turned the light on, and began her morning routine.
Then again, the weather was the least of their concerns today. Yesterday the rain had come up so suddenly, taken them by surprise, and they had scrambled to contain their work under the cover of porch roofs. But now it was contained, nothing left but to do it, to silence the thush-whoosh of 30 beating hearts. There was no more research to be done, phone calls to be made, equipment to be gathered, no more chance of putting it off.
Death. Such a natural thing, she thought. A Nature thing. Beginnings and endings. I've focused on the middle for too long. She sat up in bed, turned the light on, and began her morning routine.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
And so on
The worlds jumbled around inside her, colliding with each other and brushing up against the remembered guilt, embarrassment, awkwardness of another time and place. As though I could live that all over again and do it differently, she thought. And then what? Because each moment of the past had aligned precisely to bring her to this manifestation of her life, all the steps and missteps, the glorious senior recital and the time she broke her nose walking into the glass door.
And so this moment had arrived, just as each moment before it, filled with potential, yet somehow unique. And she thought, I've burned every bridge. But perhaps that isn't a bad thing. Her jaw relaxed. Past worlds receded and the cafe came back into focus, her laptop sleeping idle on the table in front of her, a couple engaged in low conversation, the metallic chunk chunk of espresso grounds wrenched from compression. And so on, and so on.
And so this moment had arrived, just as each moment before it, filled with potential, yet somehow unique. And she thought, I've burned every bridge. But perhaps that isn't a bad thing. Her jaw relaxed. Past worlds receded and the cafe came back into focus, her laptop sleeping idle on the table in front of her, a couple engaged in low conversation, the metallic chunk chunk of espresso grounds wrenched from compression. And so on, and so on.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Floating
When she thought of all the jobs she had worked in her life, it amazed her how she had wasted so much time, how so much effort could add up to so much nothing. At 25 she held her eclectic, free-spirit resume as a badge of honor, a sign of her anti-establishment, populist leanings. Now it felt debilitating, and each day of her third pregnancy brought with it the continued growth of a vague, queasy fear that she could end up, after years of allowing her children's needs to walk all over her dreams, with grey hair and a job unpacking socks in a backroom of Nordstroms.
Stop. Focus on the dream, she thought. What dream? another part of her replied seamlessly. So many, so scattered, started and explored to the point of fear, then abandoned as too ambitious, too marginal, too irrelevant, too expensive, too boring, too risky, too inconvenient. Too difficult. Ouch. That was the key, wasn't it? The avoidance, it all came down to a fear of failure, a desperate hope that maybe in her next life, she'd learn better earlier faster more completely how to be a good person mother artist. But what if this is it?
Before she could begin to address the terrifying nature of that thought, the light changed and she cursed inwardly, realizing that she had just missed the turn-off for the preschool. Late again. She sighed and swung the car around.
Stop. Focus on the dream, she thought. What dream? another part of her replied seamlessly. So many, so scattered, started and explored to the point of fear, then abandoned as too ambitious, too marginal, too irrelevant, too expensive, too boring, too risky, too inconvenient. Too difficult. Ouch. That was the key, wasn't it? The avoidance, it all came down to a fear of failure, a desperate hope that maybe in her next life, she'd learn better earlier faster more completely how to be a good person mother artist. But what if this is it?
Before she could begin to address the terrifying nature of that thought, the light changed and she cursed inwardly, realizing that she had just missed the turn-off for the preschool. Late again. She sighed and swung the car around.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Gardening
Really, at the root of it all was a lack of patience. She extracted herself from the wreckage of her garden and marched back towards the house to rinse off her muddy boots, taking her regrets with her. The tomato plants had failed to bear fruit once again, the squash was anemic, the loan surviving pepper plant could have been mistaken for a weed. Too easy to blame the drought, or the soil, she thought. No, it's me.
After all, the stalls at the farmer's market were full of tomatoes, cucumbers, basil...but they are professionals, she thought, trying to let herself off the hook. She sighed, turned the water to a trickle and stuck one caked boot underneath. How hard could it be, really, to grow a little food? But she needed instructions! Step 1, Step 2, Step 3, starting with soil -- what kind, how much -- and ending with exactly when and how to harvest the plants.
Maybe those instructions do exist, she thought, rinsing her second boot clean, but I'm just too lazy to find them and read them, let alone follow them. It was a depressing thought, but, she felt, the most honest one she had had all day.
After all, the stalls at the farmer's market were full of tomatoes, cucumbers, basil...but they are professionals, she thought, trying to let herself off the hook. She sighed, turned the water to a trickle and stuck one caked boot underneath. How hard could it be, really, to grow a little food? But she needed instructions! Step 1, Step 2, Step 3, starting with soil -- what kind, how much -- and ending with exactly when and how to harvest the plants.
Maybe those instructions do exist, she thought, rinsing her second boot clean, but I'm just too lazy to find them and read them, let alone follow them. It was a depressing thought, but, she felt, the most honest one she had had all day.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Doubt
If she had known it would come to this, she would never have started down the path. No, she didn't mean that, how could she when her own body had labored for 40 weeks just to manifest the point of beginning. 40 weeks! My god, and it had seemed like 40 weeks in the desert, the uncertainty about the decision, the excruciating doubts concerning her future, her family, her friends, how she would find a place in the world after she arrived on the other side of the waiting.
And then. At first, he had seemed so perfect, so beautiful. But he wasn't! No, he was. Everyone is perfect just as they are, and so with him. She sighed, and wondered how many times her mind would run through these thoughts before she would be able to release their toxic load to the universe, to let him just be without the pity of her doubting. It was just...the torment of his isolation, his suffering, and she just the observer, the beneficent observer, the goddamn observer!
Her lunch arrived and she hid her thoughts behind a polite joke, stuffed the guilt back down where it came from. This is my path, she thought. I have to accept it or I'll never survive what's ahead. She paused, pulled out her Blackberry. One o'clock meeting. Her mind shifted gears and she chewed thoughtfully, reviewing her presentation.
And then. At first, he had seemed so perfect, so beautiful. But he wasn't! No, he was. Everyone is perfect just as they are, and so with him. She sighed, and wondered how many times her mind would run through these thoughts before she would be able to release their toxic load to the universe, to let him just be without the pity of her doubting. It was just...the torment of his isolation, his suffering, and she just the observer, the beneficent observer, the goddamn observer!
Her lunch arrived and she hid her thoughts behind a polite joke, stuffed the guilt back down where it came from. This is my path, she thought. I have to accept it or I'll never survive what's ahead. She paused, pulled out her Blackberry. One o'clock meeting. Her mind shifted gears and she chewed thoughtfully, reviewing her presentation.
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