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It is December (12) the end of the year 2009, it will never be this moment again. The air is icy and crystal clean, every morning is blinding and freezing, triumphant and shining into the shortest days of the year. I'm still riding my bike around town, and all fellow cyclists wink at each other behind their face masks. We of the wind-burned cheeks live wild. Crazy-town, I love you. Ten minutes ago, I took my American Indian History final online and scored one-hundred percent, effectively concluding my first college-credit course since December 2006 at the Maryland Institute College of Art. Remember? Once, just the thought of S-C-H-O-O-L made the ropes in my lower back twist and ail. Once, I thought I would die an art school dropout. No such luck, eh! Thank the Lord for Ristretto Roasters at Williams and Failing. Thank the Lord. I always wanted to turn over a new leaf, and the turning turning all that yearning for another go, got me here, to this frigid town in the Pacific Northwest, where the sun sets at four thirty and all the hens wear their down and shout hurray! Fresh bread! [illustration: aimee wang] | | |
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It is hard to be an adult. I know because I am trying to be one. Everything I want, I have to get myself, and most of the time the getting involves digging, climbing, running, scraping away, and being completely and utterly uncomfortable.
A lot of times, I am surprised in the end by a simple and hard-found gem. But with it in my hand, I am still dirty from the work, still crotchety from the finding, still shaky from the climb, and I am tired and I am longing to take a shower, climb into bed, sleep, and wake up to RECEIVE SOMETHING. Something easy.
This is what I have chosen for myself. For me, to live is to fight against the backward slide. To grow is to cut away at long-tailed fantasy, death wishes, sweetnumbing inertia. I choose to keep pruning back the warm stole of my old self, I choose it in favor of a better life, but to keep rushing FORWARD, to keep reaching ONWARD, to keep edging on farther out on the high wire between the two towers, Birth and Death, is very hard, very lonely.
Moments have been kind to me. Souls have been kind to me.
But I need so much help, and I don't know how to get it all. Even help is something you have to reach for. Quelle surprise. God knows this life, this person, this weeny he made. God reach for me, or help me reach. God let the wire hold strong tomorrow.
[illustration: ruth gwily] | | |
| I slept two and one half hours last night, woke up at 3:45am to shower and dress for work. I was so tired, I felt nauseous, even while my stomach was grumbling for breakfast, breakfast I'd eat while riding my bike one-handed down the great black and vacant MLK BLVD.
Why didn't I get more sleep last night? The main reason is the Sebe Kan African Dance Ensemble performance I attended with friends from home, work, and the West African Dance class I've been taking at the community center. Our teacher, Sekou, choreographed the performance, and his wife was the main dancer. We all gussied up a little and got dinner at Dalo's then car-pooled over to the high school theater, which was practically packed out by supporters, students, and friends. I don't regret going one little bit. It was a brilliant show; the dancers, drummers, and singers were exuberant, and the immense pleasure of movement and music seemed to flood the auditorium. Sitting behind me, a boy yelled to his grandmother, "They's my mom! I see my mom!"
I was proud to be there, proud of Sekou and his vision, proud of the dancers, especially the little girl who accidentally mooned the crowd while climbing off the shoulders of an older dancer. We, the audience, collectively gasped for her sake, but she pulled up her pants and just kept on dancing!
I don't come from a culture of the physical form, I was trained from the inside out. So in the presence of bodies that move like art, like creation itself, I am in awe. What a celebration of what has been given: Strength, Grace, Rhythm, Bone, Blood, Hips, Soles, Teeth, and JOY! | | |
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My sister and her husband have been working on this baby for months and months now. This past Thursday, he finally showed up! Now he is here, he is with us! Our kin, clan member, our boy! All I know of him is what they can tell me over the phone and by email, but already I have loved him for a long time. Isn't that strange?
Sometimes you have to work so hard to love someone, maybe someone you see every day, seems like too often! Blech! You again?!
But I love my nephew without even meeting him, without even seeing him face to face. I hope I can do well by him, I hope to be good for him, I hope to help him know that he is loved by so many people. Congratulations to S & M & J. Happy birthday, oh happy day! And in the words of Josh Ritter: "Baby Chen! You will grow strong and righteous!" | | |
| The signals are flying, flipping, received and sent. Sometimes my eyes are open to them, and all I see are red and green lights: I choose you, I reject you, Yes to you, No to you, I am open, You cannot come in, Stand right here, Stand down, Take three steps back.
For a second, it looks like everything comes down to choice. One or two, two or three. Every moment is the crucial moment, and you are powerful, you are powerful enough to build dams, bridges, to dynamite a wormhole through the mountain's heart.
Sometimes I feel powerful enough to raise an army of flags, and everywhere I walk, people turn to watch the parade. Those days are so weird, I feel my blood in my lips and cheeks. A or B, B or C. A and C. Two and Three.
In my heart of hearts, in the inner rooms, I want an abundant YES. In school, I'm studying the first peoples, American Indians, Native Americans, and these are people who can say, "My ancestors believed..." "My ancestors walked here..." "The first of my people came out of this stone."
I believe, if I went back to the place of my ancestors, if I want to my mother's homeland and my father's homeland, and I found the first root of all of my people in the ground, there would be a enduring soul there crying YES.
GO ON. CONTINUE. COME IN.
*
It's not always true though, some things you cannot choose. You cannot choose to have no tumor. You cannot choose to live forever. You cannot choose to make him love you. You cannot choose to be ten feet tall.
I feel like I spend my days getting onto and off of my knees. Surrendering and taking up the sword. Giving up control and assuming responsibility. I feel tired of it, my rhythm is off. This is a dance I am having to learn, I am wanting to learn, but it is wearing. | | |
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