“Do you know," Peter asked, "why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.” ~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

12.17.2009

A Little Christmas Scat

Still no tree, still no presents purchased.
Well, one more, so that makes two.
No cards made or bought or sent.
They will all be late.

And you know, it's okay.
Finally, I feel okay about it all.
No idea where that okayness came from,
but here it is and I'll take it.

That almost done I talked about the other day had an accent on the almost, but I didn't know it at the time, and just now I found myself deleting the word talked, typing wrote about in its place, then deleting that and re-typing talked because it feels like I'm talking - feels also like you're listening, thank you very much, thank you more than you know because when I started this post I felt empty of words, comparing myself in my head to a new blog I just found, hearing that person's cadence, feeling awkward with my own, that third line stopping me over and over until I finally just left it alone, left it the way I'd first typed it, and moved on, the moving on being the key, and right now, right at this very moment - right now exactly - I finally, finally get it about journaling, thank you, Stephanie - I finally get it about writing by hand and just keep writing, don't go back, just keep moving. An epiphany, and not the Christmas kind, but what perfect timing, it being about recognition and gifts; once I was in Mexico City in early January and was showered by small gifts and candy during a Three Kings Day festival way off the tourist trail, and later that night found myself in a voodoo club, all dark Afro-Cuban jazz and not until this very moment did I realize - I swear, exactly right now! - but there was a tree in the very middle of the dance floor, exactly like I want a tree in my studio, no Christmas lights or fairy lights on its branches, but spider-web thin tracings of paint that shimmered and glowed under a black light, each branch, each tiny piece of bark, all painted in just tiny, tiny swaying lines, and that music in the background, the swaying of our bodies echoing those lines as we danced around the tree. An image always in my head, I see it all the time, that tree, but until typing out the words I never saw its influence, and I am almost speechless and I think I should go back and find another image to illustrate this post and there. I did.

Much more the thing.
and all that jazz

5 comments:

  1. Love your stream of unconscious thought..and how it brings you right around and back to the beginning. Gorgeous colors in this image. What a treat!! Am so glad I've found you and your blog!!!

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  2. Wonderful! I am glad that you are embracing your okayness with everything! Keep scatin'

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  3. love
    the photo.
    your honest words.
    the scratching of pen to paper here.

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  4. I love how you can write about whatever spontaneous thought is happening inside you at any given moment. It is always full of depth and meaning. Every time.

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  5. well ditto all the above. i was going to say just about the same thing. i love your train of thought and how it flows here - it IS like you're talking and yes I am listening.

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come. sit under the emma tree & let's talk. i have cookies . . .