A Fresh Start

Patty Smith was recently interviewed in The New York Times Magazine on the occasion of her 61st birthday.

Interviewer: You seem very sane for a punk rocker.

Smith: I had a very good role model. My mother had no end of tragedy in her life. She would make herself up and go out and do laundry. Hang up sheets. She told me that when she looked at laundry, the sheets floating in the wind, and the sun, it was like a fresh start.

I can just picture that: the woman's elegant courage. For years, and now still, after a bad night, for any reason, I get a sense of a fresh start from the ritual of washing my face and then brushing my hair. Tactile. Simple. Just those two things. I'd like to interview people and find out what their fresh start rituals are.

Enoughness

"Community rather than loneliness will define our lives. We will know that we belong, we are welcome, we have something to contribute—and that is enough." (from the Al-anon Promises.)

Heros

Went with a friend to The Power of One, a photo show at Bumbershoot showcasing the power of ordinary people to perform acts of bravery. The photos of Phil Borges celebrated women in developing countries. Nina Berman's series featured disabled Iraq veterans. I had to keep returning to Borges' photos to draw the strength to let the soldiers and their stories in.

The Seed Burglary

Deb and I watched a squirrel stealing sunflower seeds this morning. Agile as a gymnast, he perched on a twelve-foot plant, making a trail with his teeth across the broad surface of the blossom. The stem swayed under the slight movements of his body as he swung under the flower head, gripping it with both hands as he feasted. Deb captured him in various poses on camera from the balcony and then went down to get a closer shot. Lost in seed burglary, he didn't know he'd been busted until suddenly he saw Deb. A look universal to animal and human: oh shit.

The Flow

"We discover a life of our own and new ways of living that work. We discover the flow and choose a path for our lives. We begin to see the importance of that path. We learn to live life on a spiritual plane, a life that becomes reflected on the physical plane." (From Codependents' Guide to the Twelve Steps by Melody Beattie)

Under the Blossom

An afternoon of rare pleasures. First, a cherry snow cone while skating at Greenlake. Hot and thirsty. The first taste was divine, had to almost close my eyes. My new friend Gregory and I skated two times around the lake. After half an hour, I went into the kind of meditational silence I've experienced while ice-skating. Breathe in. Breathe out. The scent of water coming in my lungs. Scent of sunlight. Shadow. Felt my face drop its shield. Then raced past my friend, laughing. Watched him pass me. Endless time. We topped off the afternoon with a splendid performance of The Tempest by a youth theatre at The Bathhouse. In a cowslip's bell I lie [...] On the bat's back I do fly. After summer merrily: Merrily, merrily shall I live now. Under the blossom.

Without Thoughts

The other night when it was raining, I came out on one of our balconies. The rain was falling on a a street light and on the tree next to it, luminous, like diamonds. I stood there, getting rained on, and watched the light and the rain, the light in the rain. A long forgotten part of me lurched into some kind of quiet, fell forward into beauty. Without thoughts.

Hug Them

"The secret to your recovery is to learn to embrace your own history. Hug your demons or they will bite you in the ass." (From Facing Codependence by Pia Mellody)

Muscle and Bone

Yesterday was the last day of my job, and this morning I danced while making breakfast. Later, I laughed out loud at something I was reading, don't even remember what it was. I feel exhausted, stripped to muscle and bone. Not sure how to walk away from this or where to walk to. But am resolved. To keep dancing.

Chicken Salad

From an email from Recess Monkey, four Seattle grade school teachers, who rock out for kids and just went on their first national tour--about they coped with their road trip. "For instance, Drew [a band member] pledged to congratulate himself at least once every fifteen minutes for his various successes in life. At 7:38, when it seemed that all hope was lost, he interjected, apropos of nothing in particular, "I make really good chicken salad!"

Bless You, Prison

Alexander Solzenitzen died yesterday at eighty-nine. Sentenced in 1945 for making disparaging references to Josef Stalin, he served eight years. Of the experience, he wrote, "It was only when I lay on the rotting prison straw that I sensed within myself the first stirrings of good. Bless you, prison, for having been in my life."

A Best Friend

Went to the Blue Moon Cafe' for burgers tonight with Pat. He picked me up in front of the Uptown after I called him from the bus and told him I'd had another bad day at work. I felt my friend's sideway's glances. Was aware that the clay I had built over my face during an afterwork therapy session was beginning to crack. And here was this man, telling me I looked gorgeous, even though I knew I didn't, telling me how glad he was that I was okay, who came all the way from West Seattle so I could have comfort food. Not boyfriend, girlfriend, a best friend.

How I Find Heaven

Sometimes I get lost in a rush of words. My tone changes, becomes harsh, almost metallic. My language is a train relentlessly laying the tracks before itself. What I want most then is for someone to say, "Honey, take a breath. What are you feeling?" Most often it's fear. Fear is a skinny dude with big guns. I shouldn't personify by gender. Fear is like the dust in Phillip Pullman's marvelous fantasy triology. Like coal, settles in my lungs. Since I gave my notice at my job, have noticed more surges of speech. Breathing is the best thing. Since breathing deeply on my own is not my strong suit, swimming helps. I become amphibian. Last week, spent forty-five minutes by myself in a huge hotel pool in a Wenatchee, the water already warming. Lost myself not in words but water. How I find heaven.

Trying to Explain

Battle mind, words social workers use to describe the mental state of soldiers recently returned from Iraq. Boots to the ground, words the military uses for soldiers just deployed.