from the neck

i've died twice in my dreams.

the first was years ago. it was a death modeled after my memory of a childhood friend's mother who died slowly at home, each sense slowly fading until only her ability to hear remained. they spent the last day or two of her life playing her favorite musical on repeat. in the dream, i was lying in bed, slowly feeling myself fade. it was like i was leaving layer after layer of myself, inhabiting less and less of my body until i was only this small kernel of existence inside my heart. and then even that was gone and i was cut off, discarding the shell of my flesh as i realized with a little sadness that i had died. a ghostly, diluted version of emotion of my former self. i lingered as a wraith for a few moments, hovering near my body, then i woke up.

last night was not like the first time. this was a sudden death. a death born from violence.

we had been trying to find something, meet up with someone or find a location. i am not sure what exactly, but there was a journey or a search, a sense of going toward something with a goal. and then we were on a train passing stylized houses and buildings reminiscent of images from wes anderson's moonrise kingdom i had seen the night before. after the pressure to do something surrounding the first part of the dream, it felt like a calm and steady ride, peaceful to just be in one place and be taken somewhere. but suddenly the train was stopped and scruffy men in tattered black clothes rushed in telling everyone to get down. my companion next to me quickly complied and maybe even tried to help me {there was concern from me coming from them, i could feel it}, but i wasn't fast enough and as the hijackers fired a shot into the cabin i knew i was hit. they got me at the base of my neck, just above my colar bone and i felt my death as a rush of warmth and red spreading out quickly from my throat. i had just enough time to register the finality of my death, witness it in slow motion replay from outside from the murderer's perspective before i woke up.

i believe death in dreams is a harbinger of change. in order to become something else something must end, a part of you must die. and in a way, i feel like the writing is on the wall, on all four walls, actually, coming at me from every direction as many important people in my life voice the same few words: you need to relax.

yes, i need to relax, breathe deeply, and trust. it's time to learn to trust again. starting here, now, with me. trusting myself. trusting my instincts, trusting my gut even when my brain is yelling to run for safety in the opposite direction. trusting that i've done my best, that my worth is not dependent on anything i am, think, or do. that it is this moment, the one i'm living and breathing into right now. now. now. now. nownownownownownownownownownow is all that matters.

i start my meditation practice today. now.

a little piece

i see that i am a little piece of a big, big universe, and that makes it right. 


hushpuppy from beasts of the southern wild

ocean portraits

highlights of a trip to the water {in no particular order} included {but were not limited to}:

--throwing handfuls of stones at the water and watching the variation in the speed and trajectory of each stone's arch toward the water's edge based off of its unique size and shape

--happening upon a herd of elk

--discovering the water to be tolerably temperatured, stripping down to my swimsuit i had so optimistically donned in the morning, and spending a while being coy with the waves that were flirting all the way up the length of my legs

--finding stories inside myself i haven't told anyone and a freedom to tell them now

ocean orange

i went to the ocean to seek out and bury myself in greys, walk through their tidal strength, and feel them cling in all their sandy vigor to my feet. what i didn't expect to find were the oranges of the shore delivered by the sea, stripped away from the bark of trees and laid bare under the misting sky. 


it was a good day. a very good day. and a necessary reminder to keep an eye on and embrace with warmth what's right before you.

a house of grief

i am pet sitting up in the sammamish highlands in a house i have returned to many times over the past four or five years. and as i drive out here each time, i think of how many of my stories this house has witnessed, most particularly, stories of separation, space and loneliness. how often severance {of varying kinds and importance} has struck while i have been here is almost eerie, but in the end, i have decided that it has been a blessing to be able to leave the grief behind, turn a key, turn my back and let it all rest in the bones of a house i do not inhabit every day. the only thing i have to take away is the adoring eyes of the pets i walk and feed. these are the same pet who often have crept up to my dangling hands, butting their noses into my fingers as i cried. unconditional love at its best. so i guess i am saying there is gratitude here for this space that has taken as much care of me as i have of it.

today i come a little raw, a little worried, questioning some significant parts of myself even as i pull from a steady stream of confidence and certainty i cannot entirely explain. i am grateful to it as much as it scares me as well.

so here i am, writing from a foreign bed, kittens walking across my keys*, curling up to my typing fingers and purring their miniature purrs.

and i am still happy.
still.
still and happy.


so i say goodnight {or good morning} and leave you with a song on repeat for me of late from cocoon. it's called cathedral. lyrics below.







I came from the valley
And you came from the sea
You smell like the sand

How far up the river
Would you go, would you go
To meet me again ?

And I built the cathedral
With the shelves that you held
In the hole of a tree

And I love the words you said
When I told you what the ravens
Sing in my dreams

You pushed on my heart
Every night and every day
To keep me alive

And you kiss my mouth
And I learn to walk
And I learn to try...

Can you hear the horses
It means the seasons changes
It means the seasons changes

When the rivers overflows
I run to the bridges
I run to the bridges

And for now don't be afraid
If the sun never rises
If the sun never rises

There's a time to let it grow
There's a time to let it slow
And a time to let it go..




*one just strolled across the unmute button blasting music suddenly scaring both it and me. 

part of the metamorphosis

one of my closest friends gave me these words today:


nat, you've returned to yourself. i hear it in your voice. you're there again.

and then i asked her how long it had been since me and i, this truest true part of me and the soft machine she animates, were last seen together in such harmony, and her reply was:

months. probably before europe.


and it's true, it has been months.

months.

but for the past three days, no matter how much or little sleep i have gotten, no matter what the pressures or stress of the day, i have woken up with a bit of sunshine pouring through me like a waterfall as i find each day charmed in its own way. and today, while out for two hours on a run along alki beach, i received more waves, more smiles and nods, more high fives {for the record, first high fives during a run ever} and thumbs up from strangers in those ten miles than i think i have ever received in over a year of running. it felt like i was in a mentos commercial or something. seriously. i was almost weirded out by it but my heart was too happy and full to do anything but radiate. except maybe in my mile-9-i-haven't-been-running-enough-lead-legs phase, but then that's when i looked up just in time to see the high five offerings coming my way. my heart was lifted again.

a few weeks ago a friend typed out these simple words to me on skype: are you happy? and in all that welled up in response to those three small words, i realized i have long felt alienated from the grounded sense of wellbeing i used to carry with me pretty much always, and even farther away from that extra bit of beauty and joy that goes along with happiness. but today, now, here, i would love to get that question again.

am i happy?

yes.

yes, i am.

what is it about the nature of happiness...that it came when i was least expecting it. maybe it's a mistake to expect happiness to be a product of the high moments of our lives, maybe it's more like movie music, invisible until a beautiful theme arises from nowhere and surrounds you unexpectedly. like love at first sight. maybe part of its charm is that it takes you by surprise. or maybe it's part of the metamorphosis. another clue that you're on the right path, even when that path is just a walk around the block on a lovely night.

episode 47 of the tobolowsky files.

sleepwalk with me

sleepwalk with me is mike birbiglia's new film. i saw it thanks to SIFF tonight {seattle international film festival} and i spent half the film cringing, half the film laughing, and half the film nearly in tears {yes, that's three halves, it was that good}. it hits a little too close to home on so many fronts: facing failure as an artist, what success looks like as an artist {and more importantly, how it's linked to speaking your own truth truth}, relationships, facing even more failure...i could go on.

but i think what is lingering longest about the film was how it didn't end all tidy and wrapped up in a bow but open, in transition, not fixed or perfect but simply on the right path or at least closer to it. and i am beginning to realize that is all we can really ask for.

i know this probably is a bit tangential, but it brings to mind a quote from the tobolowsky files {which i have been meaning to write about since they came on my radar last fall – it's a podcast by stephen tobolowsky filled with entertaining stories that are the vehicle for little gems of wisdom and prose like the one i'm about to give you}:

relationships are the battleground where we fight for what version of ourselves we become: honest or deceptive, independent or lazy. they reflect all of our potential and all of our weaknesses at the same time. like schroedinger's cat, our relationships are the rarefied super-position where we are all things at once. once you fall in love, you are in the box and your story begins. you never know how you'll react to fortune or jealousy or children. you never know until you open up the box. when you start a relationship, you always have ideas about how the other person will broaden your horizon and lift you up, but truthfully a relationship will always redefine itself around the level of its greatest weakness.

episode 48.

sleepwalk with me.
or just plain walk with me.

milos

this poem was given to me six months ago when i gathered people around for my 29th birthday party. a lovely date {11.11.11} for a lovely party.

at some point during the night my friend handed me a long scroll of brown scraps of paper sewn together and secured with two bobby pins. she said: this is a poem to welcome romance into your life, but not just relationship romance, but romance of all kinds. somehow, i knew the poem was not of that moment, it was not something to unroll and read then, in front of others, and particularly not when i didn't have the proper place to put it. still living as a nomad, i lacked walls to call my own to give it a proper display so i told her i would save it for when i had a home of my own again. save it for some time far away in the spring.

so the winter passed, the play opened, the play closed, the holidays passed and then it got packed up with the last remaining things already not in storage where it would live untouched in a box for a while i traipsed about europe and beyond. as you know, i came back, found a home {or rather it found me} and still the poem waited patiently as i traveled to see thom & the gang. it waited until i came back again. to a home. a place to put things. a place to return to.

but it wasn't an easy transition. searingly hard at times. lonely. scary. weird how something i cried so hard giving up i cried again coming back to. a home. hope. responsibilities. change. these things could break anyone's heart.

and in those first days, i unpacked this scrolled up collection of paper and words, unrolled it, read it and dissolved.

it was perfect. this small time capsule from november, waiting for me on this day, at this time, to remind me of where i have been, where i am heading, what i have to look forward to, and most importantly, how much i need to step out of the tightly reined confines i have built to give myself the illusion of control.

a few days later, a dear friend of mine came to return the plants he had so lovingly tended in my travels, and as he stepped into the space for the first time, as he took it in with a quiet gasp of surprise and awe, i said not of my own volition great things will happen here. not great things that will change the world per say {though i would not mind if that were true}, but great things in my life. great changes, great growth.

later that night over dinner and conversation, i spied the poem behind him and said: i am going to read you something. and spoken aloud for the first time, the words had a weight and cadence i missed on that first read and i knew i needed to speak it again. speak it with an audience to help hold its weight, help hang its phrases from the high ceilings of my new life, shine the words out the windows, and sink its meaning down deep into the floors.

and a few weeks ago, i did. i gathered a few people around me and opened these words up to my life. the beauty, the passion, the false loves, the true ones {oh to be a backwards angel}, the bold recklessness i want to learn in my art and art making, the feeling of being unleashed. we welcomed it all in.


i wish i had recorded the words that night, spoken in my red dress, but i didn't and can't seem to capture it again, so here it is, written for you.






milos by anis mojgani.


let us take a sack of spray paint and spray paint over the paintings
let us dance through paris
kiss in the shadow of the louvre
crawl inside its windows
scroll manifestos over the canvasses
write morse code on the sculptures


roll a sleeping bag on the floor to sleep inside of
tell one another a story by flashlight
unearth everything from before

bury each other inside the other

feed grapes to the ants


light fireworks in the fists of sleeping kings
kill the monarch


break back outside and
find a wall to do all these same things to,
up and upon, against
break the bricks
climb over them


and when the sirens scream
laugh loud
hold my hand
and run fast


run through these streets with me
with a bunch of bottles
a bucket of gasoline
a mouthful of matches
a pocket full of paintings
and a fresh faced batch of policemen
who will chase the fires we are lighting
with a laugh and a shoulder of gold


and i thought that the museums were cemeteries
that the dead paid the walls to hold what we have
so that we could walk through what we once were
where the children take their skulls to turn into gardens
to pluck for forefathers
and farther stars that on some nights resemble an armless mother
praying for her arms to return


every tooth we tear from our jaw
to fling at the black gloved riot soldiers
is another shadow we are trying to lose


where every giggle is filled with lust


let us laugh this night away
and i will fuck you like you were a prayer
that could save me by having my mouth around you


and i will hold you afterwards like
you were the pulpit and i was the sky
and this love that danced between that hardness
was the telephone line of holiness that those two things spoke through


take me into your heart like i was a saint
and you were a face of forgiveness
blooming in a valley destined to sink further







be a river with me





be the storm




the bend in the path




the front porch



the heat in the south


be a boot full of banjo strings

a fist full of written songs

a mouthful of chocolate dust


when they come to take us
stab them between the eyes
do not take your hand from around mine
make a fist with the other
and punch spines like guilt


spit sweat kiss them like a grandmother
howl open mouthed terror love filled


and when they come to cut our hair
and ask to hear penance come from inside of us
say with me loud and trembling
but loud and clear:

i have already emptied myself.
i kissed regret goodbye, took the hands of another backwards angel
and rode backwards into the rain

when the hangman of morrow comes to hang the sun in its daily execution,
say this with me:

sarah

we are apples,
our love is an arrow

i'm unbuttoning my shirt,
painting a circle over my heart

please
just
shoot straight







here is anis reciting his poem {very differently than how i speak it}.

i am free.

i had a dream that a mom at the hospital just up and left her baby. without a backwards glance she left this adorable, dark-haired and bright eyed perfect baby boy. but what's more is that he was left for me specifically. he was mine. mine even before i held him for the first time and mine even as i held him that first time panicking that i didn't have diapers, a car seat, clothing, ANYTHING prepared for him at all.

and yet there i was about to walk out and accept Responsibility for this gorgeous tiny thing.

i briefly thought of a few people that would want him more than me, who are just dying for a child of their own, but even as the thought entered my mind, the clarity that he was mine spoke firmly and without thinking about it again i gathered myself to make the commitment.

i was terrified, but i knew i would be alright, friends would chip in – surely i knew someone with a car seat they didn't need at the moment, clothing that their kids had outgrown. and as the dream ended, the little guy all swaddled and quiet in my arms, i was ready to accept the thing i am probably most terrified of: being a single mom, and an unexpected-out-of-no-where-entirely-unprepared one to boot.


.......................................................
.......................................................


today was not an easy day.

it was a simple procedure for a simple problem, but it involved slicing into my lip to remove the cyst that appeared out of nowhere mid-february and set up a permanent residence despite all my best efforts to encourage it away.

so yes, it was simple and routine and small peas for the skin cancer specialist who did the honors and has most certainly seen far worse than anything he saw while cutting into me. but as much as i can try to put it into perspective, it felt awful, numbness and all. i think i would much rather have had the blinding light of the procedure room than the claustrophobic gauze shutting me out from the world. and despite the numbness, the body knows, the body smells, the body feels through the thick wall of local anesthetic. i was under assault, fists tightly gripping air, compressing it until it was nothing, face splattered by warmth i don't want to think about, nose filled with that acrid smell of my own flesh burning, my whole mouth tasting metallic as they cauterized the opening with a small electric current. it went so quickly, a couple of repeats of zoe's optimist but somehow seemed to take forever as well. the world a little looser on the other side. can't sit up for a long while. blood sugar off. need to drive but can't and i didn't think i would need help. who would i have asked for a mid-day ride anyway...

back at home – finally – after a busy evening mumbling words, gingerly eating and drinking what i can, apologetically explaining the weird lopsided lips and stoic face, and completely exhausted. swollen. needing a day off. needing a day off, for gods sake just needing a day off and not just one to catch up. not just one to do work or bills or cleaning. a day off. off. off.

today was not an easy day.

i am tired, empty, and alone and yet all my brain can think to say is:

i am free
i am free
i am free
i am free
i am free
i am free.

perigee

my first memory of my grandfather is when he showed me the moon through his telescope. i must have been four or five at the time and the magic of seeing the dark side of the moon and her craters with such sudden and unanticipated clarity will always stay with me. central to this memory is the moment i realized the moon doesn't actually change shape in the sky, just merely her appearance.

perhaps most significant of all is the feeling that has never left me since that alabama evening so long ago: taking on to my child-width shoulders the burden that there was so much to the world i didn't understand.

not much has changed in 25 years, particularly not my awe at the moon. and tonight, as she made her pass at the earth – this year's perigee – i spent a few still moments along the shore of lake washington, just down the hill from my place, appreciating her magnificence.

 

optimist

i am coming to the end of two weeks of a controlled fall, where lots of big pieces i held gently in my hands suddenly started unraveling all at once in slow motion. nothing i tried to do was able to stop the momentum and chaos reigned for a bit despite my best efforts. but i am grateful for the warning, grateful for the meandering pace, and especially grateful for the slowness of it all giving me the chance to back up my ailing hard drive, save my unedited europe photos, and resign myself to having this stubborn cyst sliced from my lip that won't otherwise let it go.

i'm not sure where i'm going next, but i'll be carried forward by this music which i had the honor of seeing performed live last night by the breathtaking cellist, zoe keating. the videos below will give you just a taste of the magic that is her music as she records every intricate layer of her song, playing with and against herself in such wonderful ways.


yes, it's easy to be optimistic when this is on repeat:

and since i really can't only pick one favorite from the night, i will leave you with this one as well. the title appropriately embracing a sense of fatalism that is of the moment.

unexpected prophets

i would like to mark how three voices in the past week have stepped forward out of nowhere and spoken to me in tenderness and strength, encouraging me to own my self. right now. as i am.

the first was by way of an anonymous comment left on my blog. as happens about once every six months, some nameless, faceless person stops by and speaks truth into the very thing i need to hear most. usually a thing i already know but am try my hardest to forget. one of those universal truths we all try our best to kick up some dust to veil it.

the comment came when my heart was already sore, a day or two after i had come to the end of waiting for news i knew/feared was only a matter of time before i received. i saw the email with the comment in it appear, felt the weight of it before my eyes took in any of the words, and asked a coworker to hold her thought {mid-sentence} as i read it once, silently. then twice, aloud to my co-worker. and the two of us sat in tears in our little office resonating in the truth of it. overflowing with gratitude and hope and sorrow.

in case you missed it, this is what they wrote in response to the entry give up the ghost:

i notice a lot of your posts of the past and present center around getting to the other side of where you are right now through some self imposed journey...as if once you just do these certain things you'll be better, more powerful, stronger, more talented, whatever...continuous self growth and expansion is essential in life, but i think it is possible that your thoughts and feelings around this are the root of any unhappiness, impatience, and frustration that you experience... it's like you're searching out there, in some other space in time, for when you get to be happy...but as long as you keep doing that, you will have no choice but to keep searching...you hold a lot of judgments on yourself and compare yourself with where others are, and that's not what it is about because you will never be them nor should you be...they are not more talented or genius or gifted or special...they just know and accept and cultivate who THEY are...cultivate self love and self acceptance of your own sweet self, which will bring you balance and presence in the now moment, and that's when your outward search will end and you will become grounded in your real power...there is no arrival, place to get at, person to become...it's all already within you. you're it,right now. 

the second prophet was by way of client from work. someone with whom i had an instantaneous connection to as soon as i walked into the room. the details of her struggles i cannot reveal due to work confidentiality, but we had a conversation about how our lives, despite looking so very different from the outside, have dealt with many of the very same issues of self-worth, addiction, faith, and strength. it was an incredible time i had in the room several weeks ago and it's been one of those run-ins that simmers in the memory, savored for its various tones and textures. 

and then today, out of the blue we're in contact again, confirming to the other how much we've both lingered in the memory of our exchange during the past few weeks. and the words she wrote to me, about me, in encouragement of me...again, i was in tears at the simple beauty and appreciation of it. and most importantly, her words were laced with the perfect dose of reflection allowing me insight into how i contribute to the situation i am currently butting my head against for the way-beyond-intolerable-number-th time. by shining a light on her own flaws, her own story, she reminds me that i am the only one getting in the way of what i want. 

i am the only one getting in the way of what i want.

two prophets speak the same message and in the same language. 

and the third? well, the third comes from my dear friend by way of a {seemingly} random meditation exercise she sent my way. the same message as the two above, but contained in this poem by mary oliver:

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice --
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do --
determined to save
the only life you could save.

a good day

and i am grateful. so grateful. grateful for what is without asking for more. grateful for what isn't, and knowing i can let go. grateful for the abundance of sun and friends and celebrations and connections both old and new. grateful for radiohead friends #10, #18 and #20, each in their own way.

thank you for a good day.

untitled.

it's always interesting to me how much hope and heartache hold hands. interesting painful, but interesting none the less. i have a vision. i have clarity. i have truth and courage and the perfect space both inside and out. and perhaps most importantly, a growing ability for patience on my side.

it's only a matter of time.




oh, and yes, i have hope.
and luckily she holds hands with many.


..........................................................................................



here is justin vernon, singing to my spirit tonight.

{p.s. this song is to no one and everyone}

radiohead 2012 – notes from the lines

the first photos are from kansas city - 3.11.2012 

 {sadly no photos from st. louis way too cold and unpleasant to photograph

and they brought us into the venue about two hours before everyone expected}

a little nostalgic for the joys of waiting in line with good people all day. this ritual of lining up savors the build up to the event, stretching out a two hour concert until the flavor last all day, one sweet lick at a time. kansas city was stressful, the venue completely unsympathetic to the unfairness of their policy {those of us lined up as early as 6 and 7am were let into the venue at the same time as people walking up at 5/5:30 pm}, and the weather rainy. at least we had a reliable overhang and really great company.

this is radiohead friend #1. the first person i ever met at a show. he introduced 

me to the possibility of traveling to see the band with his errant comment 

i'm going to see them in santa barbara next week. and suddenly the next day 

at work i'm looking up tickets to los angeles a mere week away. that is the 

concert i went to and got into the after party. with the band. 

thank you mike. this is our 5th? show together.

this is radiohead friend #3, chris. we met at the los angeles airport. 

essentially i got into a car with two strange men {including jason, friend #2 who was

also at the seattle concert even though we didn't cross paths} and carpooled 2 1/2 hours 

to santa barbara together. it was chris' friend jim {radiohead friend #4} who got us

into the after party. chris has made it up to seattle for different events over the years

and i always call him every radiohead {or atoms for peace} show and leave him a

song voicemail. when thom yorke played all for the best live for us at roseland ballroom,

chris was on the other end of the line.

myndie i met at coachella {and again, it was mike who got 

me down there to see the final show of atoms for peace in 2010}. 

she, mike and i made this midwest trip together. myndie comes prepared. food. 

painkillers. space blankets. hotel reservations. aux cord for your ipod so you don't

 go crazy driving back across the state alone. you name it, she's thought to pack it. and 

despite her serious face, she packs about the kindest heart ever. best travel buddy.

these lovely gals were part of the team poncho who were our neighbors in line

for both the st. louis and kansas city shows. a few of them were in seattle as well.

deirdra. a lovely smile. you, my friend, need a radiohead number as well. 

another traveling hero of mine with kids and a job to manage.

meet michael & rachael. these are the lovelies standing next to us. 

michael is a wicked artist and took the photos of me below. 

we're going to be penpals. michael #15, rachael #16.

the woman behind me to my left is elaine. also a part of team poncho despite 

not wearing one, she is my hero. she's from my parent's generation and 

has seen a bazillion radiohead shows. she's been listening to them since 

the very beginning. this gives me faith that this isn't something to grow out

of, that this thrill, this resonance is timeless and universal and that

i don't have to settle into sedate life just because i have kids. 

these are from seattle.

erin, #14. we realized in kansas city that we're both from seattle

and that we share a pretty incredible mutual friend. yay for facebook

and drawing connections. {i was secretly hoping as we were waiting

for the internet gods to proclaim who the mutual friend is we share that it

wouldn't be someone annoying from highschool. thank goodness it was 

the very far opposite.} erin and i are going to have a date with my apartment soon.

mike again. feral as usual.

this man strolled up at 8am on monday morning, plopped down in line and

simply on merit of knowing how to dress with pizazz i knew we'd be friends.

turns out this is radiohead friend #18. a gem of a human being. only bummer is

that the light at 8am just glowed off the pink/purple accents in his outfit

and i can't believe i didn't snag a photo of it when i could.

the line. but we're at the very front.

give up the ghost

i give up. but all i feel like i'm giving up is the ghost of an insubstantial thing i have tried so hard to breathe life into.

at times i admit, i failed. my grip tightened, the gentle stirrings crushed, but trust me when i say it took every ounce of concentration to loosen the vice of my scared fingers that were holding on to something,  anything, to safety. but i have learned, please believe me, i have, and i have leaned closer to that gentle balance than i ever have managed before. it wasn't easy. it never is when you are pushing at the boundaries of oneself. and these weren't easy lines i trenched. the deepest running, the truest cutting.

yes, i have learned a lot.

but i give up.

tonight.

now.

i think i should give up the ghost in your arms.


i give up the ghost of my own fears, the ghost of my restless patience, the ghost of my silence. and i have no idea what is on the other side, but the line was crossed and finally i am pushed to find out why and ask if i am getting anywhere in the process.


.............................................

thank you, thom, this song will serenade me my luck. one of the sleeper songs of radiohead's newest album. i saw it saw performed once two years ago in new york city...i didn't realize it would hit so hard this tour but it always found its way through to the tender spots that were already showing.

don't hurt me.
don't haunt me.

radiohead – seattle – 04.09.12

{photo taken by eden smith}

3/3

as it is past midnight, later today i'll be seeing radiohead for the third and final time of this tour. it's going to be good night, i already know and special in a way i can't foresee. i'm not sure how to explain it beyond that and there is no reason for my premonition beyond a calm certainty i felt pretty strongly while traveling to see the first two shows. seattle will be the crowning delight. seattle will be a special show. 

so here i am: overdue for sleep and with an alarm set to blast an hour or three before my body would prefer, but it's going to be a good day in line. even a bit of good weather i see. and i am ready for the ride that will be tomorrow's show.

i'm bringing a friend who wasn't seen them before. in fact, this is the friend i made at bon iver back in september, and as you can see from the post script of that entry, i knew it was only a matter of time before we saw radiohead together.


and putting a few things into words tonight, i realized a big piece of how i experience radiohead live is centered around the fact that even though i am loving every minute of the concert, carried away by the life and energy of it all, that the experience is laced with a slow and steady heartache that i was not chosen to be the kind of conduit thom yorke is. i will not move people in the way he does with such searing truth and in such great numbers. i lack that genius. i lack that focus. i lack something, i know this. we can't all be special. we can't all move the world. but i harbor the desire {not of my own volition for the most part} and i guess what i am facing today {for the 11th time} is a deep disappointment that i won't ever accomplish what he has accomplished even as i sit and watch and love the artist who somehow did get that opportunity and gift.



see you on the other side.

{top photo: from the st. louis show. 

bottom photo by elaine zeman: there i am in the dead 

center of the frame. on the rail at kansas city, rapt}

snow day

the apartment was unpacked, the first dinner/birthday party already held, so sunday became a fun day. a play day. a romp up a BIG hill and see some snow day.

we hiked four miles up mt. si at a steady pace. the snow was the first i'd seen in over a year. it was a good stretch for my body and a restful time of quiet for my mind. snow absorbs more than sounds, it absorbs thoughts too and as so infrequently happens for me, my mind was meandering along without giving too much credence to the thoughts running through it. simply a companion joining in the day's fun rather than a bully lording over it.

it was a good day.

except my hiking buddy wouldn't let me take the photos of him i'd have liked. those orange gloves...


 

from the air/from the ground

a few photos from my trip earlier this month to see radiohead in the midwest. life is so full and busy at the moment, i can only edit things piecemeal after i've gotten ready for bed each night. i still owe you europe photos. i still owe you europe stories.

one thing at a time.

for tonight: a few photos from the air traveling east to st. louis & a few photos from the ground driving west to kansas city.

from the air:



from the ground: