arcade fire

i returned to the gorge this friday for the first time since seeing radiohead there in june of 2001. that was a show that was so perfect i've been trying to reproduce the experience ever since and never quite hit the mark, even when it's my musical hero, thom yorke {almost always when it's thom}. and i've seen a lot of good shows: u2, sigur rós, portishead, zoe keating, beirut, andrew bird, the list goes on. even when i am moved, even when it's an immersive experience, there is almost always a feeling of disappointment that it it didn't live up to that one magical show that first blew me away. i've begun to think i just have gotten too old to feel that strongly, or perhaps the show i remember didn't actually happen as i'd preserved it and over the years i've quietly questioned my memory of its beauty.

and a decade goes by. and a few more years, and then arcade fire made their announcement and though i've never followed them closely, i knew i needed to be there. i knew it would be a solid show, epic even, but they surprised me with one of the best shows i've seen. only one or two have ever come close to the emotional notch that the first radiohead show set for me and this unquestionably did. i can give the gorge its credit for being the best venue i've experienced, but there was something about the surprise of the night that was part of the magic. 

i ddn't know the name of the lead singer, each and every one of the song names, or even a good portion of the lyrics. i just took it as it came, slipping under the pressure of my usual expectations and instead i found myself arrested in ecstatic time – a state of being that suspended me in each moment as it arrived, then up and against and into each of the subsequent moments as they rushed toward me. note after note. song after song. i was gently locked in a state of grace. there was nothing spared for distraction beyond the present: the hands on my back drumming a shared passion, moving to the sway and pulse around the two of us. enthusiastic hugs. shared smiles. dancing together. this is joy.

and the music kept coming, these songs that stretched beyond the setting sun in the distance, filling the canyons of the columbia river, and passing beyond sight and feeling into the realm of anthems. yes, anthems. nothing short will give them credit for the expansiveness of their music played live, something i have only felt from a few of their recorded songs. 

between the click of the light and the start of the dream...they took up the all the space between the crowd. and it was there something shifted. held firmly in the present and on all sides by the music, i felt immobilized amid the flotsam of my self, feeling everything as a reflection of my fear, my joy, my hope and grief. and i have never cried so much in all the other shows i've seen combined. can we work it out? scream and shout till we work it out. and the mirrors kept coming. song after song. confetti shooting everywhere, catching in my dress, my hair, filling my eyes, drying the last of my tears. not even sure anymore why they ever were falling. children wake up/hold your mistake up/before they turn the summer into dust. we are here at the end. the crowd singing along. the chorus. the finale. they conducted us in those final notes, asking us to sing them off stage. my gratitude in each note of wake up. too full to even wish for more.

and only then did i realize i didn't take a single photo. my phone had been in a pocket behind me, but i needed something from the night. something more than a handful of confetti. something to hold on to later if i ever asked myself if the mirrors were really that good. a set list felt right but we were a little ways from the front. we waded through some listless fans and a few enthusiasts keeping up the melody long after the band left and we made it to the rail as the first few set lists were given away. 13 band members. i always get one when i set out to get it.

but i always seemed to be on the wrong side of the stage. the lists and crowds were diminishing. i almost walked away twice. kept returning. my vision was clear. i walked up to center stage in the middle of a conversation about one of the first set lists accidentally dropped between the rail and the platform. i could see it there, about a foot beyond reach, the security guard warning us not to climb over the fence. i couldn't leave it while i was so close and a few minutes later after i almost left a third time, one of the crew walked past handing out one of the last lists off to my right and i took the moment he paused to say excuse me, sir, do you mind getting the one that fell, please? surprisingly, and he wasn't too busy to kneel down, reach into the space, stretch that little bit farther. he picked out my hands from the others that suddenly appeared, a wad of gaffer tape and song names, mine.

we walked out, a little quiet, a little raw, more than a little grateful for the dark stretch of the columbia river gorge that was no longer visible even in the nearly full moon, and already this is one of those moments i plot on a map of my life: august 9th, 2014 -- george, wa, the gorge, 15 feet from the font of the stage -- this two hour span of lights and musicians and sound held me down and made me listen to everything all at the same time reminding me i feel strongly, love deeply, remember clearly, and i'm not chasing rainbows. 

with my lightning bolts a glowing/i can see where i am going/better look out below!

love more

love more - sharon van etten

chained to the wall of our room
yeah you chained me like a dog in our room
i thought that's how it was
i thought that we were fine
then the day was night
you were high you were high when i was doomed
and dying for with no light with no light

tied to my bed
i was younger then
i had nothing to spend but time on you
but it made me love it made me love it made me love more
it made me love it made me love it made me love more

do what you said the words she said left out
over unto the sky where i'll soon fly
and she took the time
to believe in to believe in what she said
and she made me love she made me love she made me love more
she made me love she made me love she made me love more

2014

2013 was a year that asked me, too many times to count, to fight for what i believed in. a year to prove to myself that i will never back down when i believe in something. a year to hold my hand while i faced some of the harder spaces of my adult life.

and 2013 was a year of victories. a year of promise. a year of patience. it was a fitting year to follow all the aching beauty of its own new year's day, 365 days ago.

but 2013 was also a fallow year. my writing dwindled. my posts here scattered in their regularity. i painted less, avoided the looming project of my short film a lot. found a million other things to do or distract and kept them as my constant companions all year long. not that i accomplished nothing, merely that my capacity for creativity and facing scary, vulnerable places was spent elsewhere in my life.

all too soon, 2014 is here and i welcomed it forward today with an adventure out to new spaces – a hike set both above the water {way above} as well as trailing along side the quietly lapping waves. it was a quiet day with a slow start and a meandering path. and it was a sweet day, too. peppered bacon bits in the eggs, gluten free raisin bread, bubbly water, and homemade guacamole. the ferry ride was a last minute decision made literally at the exit. the choice of parks on a whim from the road.

as i invest in my creativity this year, as i turn my capacity for fear and vulnerability back into my expressive life, expect to see some changes. more presence, more commitment to a vision. a revamp of the banner images {i already have a new dress picked out}. details, small and large.

i look forward to living and creating in 2014. and i look forward to sharing this year with you, in whatever direction in takes.

i was in love with the kexp programming tonight including the introduction to this song:

encore

james blake.


he came to me by way of "wilhelm scream" on a music mix. october 2011. oh, what a month that was for me. the beginning of an era i haven't entirely made sense of. one not entirely come to fruition. it was the month i turned 29 and started rehearsing for the play. the month i got this mix and played a hole into the cd on a drive down and back from bend, oregon.

and tonight, as blake came back on to the stage after a set that wasn't nearly long enough, he opened up to our pleas for an encore with the notes to the song "wilhelm scream" and my heart opened up too – suddenly. after a set that was largely sonic and visceral, he surprised me right at the end. reminding me of a time before the song, before a deep gulf was exposed inside of me. before a year of painful struggle and growth needed to span it closed again – helping me towards whole.

the melody and words were a sudden and direct line back to the person i was when the song first came to me. i stared that older version of me in the face with a heavy dose of empathy for what the next year ahead of her would be, how it would be one of the hardest of our life. and though they come far less frequently than ever before, some days, like earlier today, i face the chasms still remaining and wonder if i would make the same choices again. put her through what she went through, daunted as i am at how far it sometimes seems that i still have to go.

but really, decisions of this magnitude have never been something i can second guess, ever, despite the fact that many of you have done so {lovingly} on my behalf. even as my heart goes out to her, that person i was, and in turn reaches around through time to me now, i know that this was the best and perhaps quickest way to becoming the person i want to be.

instead, here i am, running myself in {smaller, less frequent or frenetic} circles much like the lyrics of the song. here i am managing to stay tied to my very clear marching orders forward, tied to the fact that all i can do, all i want to do, is move further into my life in the name of truth. move forward in the name of strength. move forward in the name of love. even if it feels like i'm falling. falling. falling. 

and as long as i'm paying attention, i see those small signs that tell me how far i've come. and they are the ultimate comfort to the person looking forward at me from a year and a half backwards in time. and in her eyes, i can see she is filled with relief and encouragement that all along, it was for something. more than something, actually. everything. even if i can't hold it yet.







I don't know about my dreamsI don't know about my dreamin' anymoreAll that I know is I'm fallin', fallin', fallin', fallin'Might as well fall in
I don't know about my loveI don't know about my lovin' anymoreAll that I know is I'm fallin', fallin', fallin', fallin'Might as well fall in
I don't know about my dreamsI don't know about my dreamin' anymoreAll that I know is I'm fallin', fallin', fallin', fallin', fallin'
I don't know about my loveI don't know about my lovin' anymoreAll that I know is I'm lovin', fallin', lovin', lovin'Might as well love you
I don't know about my loveI don't know about my lovin' anymoreAll that I know is I'm turnin', turnin', turnin', turnin'Might as well turn in
I don't know about my dreamsI don't know about my dreamin' anymoreAll that I know is I'm fallin', fallin', fallin', fallin'Might as well fall in
I don't know about my loveI don't know about my lovin' anymoreAll that I know is I'm fallin', fallin', fallin', fallin'Might as well fall in
I don't know about my dreamsI don't know about my dreamin' anymoreAll that I know is I'm fallin', fallin', fallin', fallin', fallin'
I don't know about my loveI don't know about my lovin' anymoreAll that I know is I'm lovin', lovin', lovin', lovin'Might as well love you
I don't know about my dreamsI don't know about my dreamin' anymoreAll that I know is I'm fallin', fallin', fallin', fallin'Might as well fall in.

beirut - september 2012

i saw beirut last wednesday and came away filled as any good show should accomplish. usually that's enough to find a path to words and in turn recreate and preserve the night but i came home and kept erasing the words i had written. nothing seems to capture it. maybe i was just tired.

or maybe it's just because there were two stories happening at the same time.

1. the story of the show:

the show was perfect. strong. free. joyful and heartbreaking all at the same time. a fantastic setlist played by a row of brass blasting out their notes to us with such force sometimes i imagined i could feel the wind of their instruments brushing my face. and only a few feet back from the stage, a body or two between the band and me and i couldn't stop moving, smiling, pursing my eyebrows together in direct correlation to the shift between their vivid intensity and soul stretching joy.

my hand stayed over my heart the whole show. though occasionally it was there to keep my heart from cracking itself open on the piercing edges of the music. at one point my neighbor, this little slip of a thing who, until that point mostly annoyed me by her something-induced dancing, looked over at me holding on to my chest and gently tapped her hand on my heart empathetically. she knew. she smiled. i smiled. and for the rest of her show her dancing lost its annoying edge.

but most of the time, i didn't need to hold my heart together with my hands and they could joyfully play the heart and thigh drums by thumping them both in time to the music. shortly into the show i noticed the lead singer, zach condon, doing it as well {when he wasn't playing his trumpet or guitar}. we had became a mirror image to each other: my right hand on my heart and my left thumping my thigh as his left hand played his heart and his right drummed his thigh. and in our shared musical enthusiasm he became my long lost mirror twin i didn't even know until now i had been missing.

2. the story of the song:


the night of the show life folded in on me in a few ways* most of them around this one short song: a sunday smile.


a small tangent: the last time i went to a show alone, i was at the moore theater seeing regina spektor in 2007. it was a show i was supposed to see with two others but they bailed, selling their tickets last minute and so i went alone. i remember being put off by the fact that the people next to me gave me the cold shoulder, thinking that it shouldn't be too hard to at least be congenial with someone you obviously share a certain level of music kinship with. and it was that experience in particular that lingered with me four years later and motivated me to break the barrier of stranger and reach out to my neighbor at bon iver last september. it's been nearly a year and not only did i make someone's night that night {as well as my own} but i scored music friend #10, someone who quickly became a dear friend. to take this in a tidy little circle, tonight i went alone to a concert for the first time since 2007 and of course it was back to the moore theater to finally see beirut live. and halfway through, i called music friend #10 to share with him a sunday smile since he could not be there in person to hear it with me.

and so it was that a sunday smile was handed back to me that night, folding time and space once again to string together all the intense moments it has carried me through in my life. as soon as i knew i would be seeing this band, i knew i wanted to hear this one song the most. the first song of there i ever heard, given to me by another great spirit in my life: my favorite professor who sent me a mix of songs in early 2008. it was right as a relationship ended and my world came crashing down on me, leveling me for about a year at least, probably more. and it was the opening lines of this song on repeat for weeks in my car, perhaps months during this time, that helped carry me above the tides of my life. a lifeline out to better times.

all i want is the best for my life my dear
and you know my wishes are sincere
what's the say for the days i cannot bear
a sunday smile, we wore it for a while
a sunday smile, we paused and sang

while that was how we first met, the song has come up again throughout the years, marking several finite moments of courage in my life. these two stories are both from my 9 month acting course that was basically a study of pushing oneself beyond one's boundaries. they can be found in the archives here and here {the latter post being a far more interesting class, perhaps one of my favorites}. or if you are up for a little recording of me singing it pre-voice lessons, here is a silly little video {that still took a lot of outtakes and even more courage} with an ending that still makes me laugh.

and at the show, coincidentally {or not, depending on how you view the world} the song found me once more on a day when i needed it badly. one of those days i stared down fear in a way that made my stomach and heart shrink inside me, trying to squeeze themselves into hiding from what the rest of my body and spirit could not avoid. i had been so fiercely swept up by the anticipation of failure, of pain, and of shame just as i stood staring at the cusp of so much that can either build or break my heart. i even considered bailing on the show but i think it was the song that got there, got me out, got me into a crowd and exactly where i needed to be doing most: listening to amazing music and writing a long overdue screen play during set changes. ironically it was the usual behavior of scribbling away at a notebook that got connecting me to the audience around me who wanted to know what i was writing. and in turn they drew me into their excitement and enthusiasm, drew me into that soft warmth of bodies standing close, happily waiting for a band to take stage. so that when the band finally did come on, i was there. i was ready. my stomach and heart and spirit cautiously unfurled, catching the winds of change in my life rather than hiding from them.

about halfway through the show, zach did a long, gentle lead up to a song, inviting us to sing along, smiling in anticipation of giving us this true gem of sonic heartbreak. and all i can say is that halfway through i realized my knees were weak in a way i haven't felt in a long time. it was good. it was heart breaking. it was perfect.





*i must not take credit for this lovely image: life folding in on itself. that moment when you retrace the steps from the past unexpectedly, or find yourself tied to a person, particular relationship dynamic or song mirroring the past. you probably know what i mean, but regardless, these words are words of a friend i repeat here because they were so perfect.

sigur ros - seattle - 2012

what is there to say after you spend two hours slipping and swaying between the melodies and beats of one of the most viscerally experiential bands? left in my hands, rattling restless in my head, keeping me awake long past my bedtime are the colors, the sounds, the harmonies that arrested my spirit.

individual moments stand out in perfect focus and flawless clarity: that golden silence they wedged into the middle of a song, shocking us all into breathless surprise, holding it long past you'd expect it, longer still until a clap broke out hesitantly {as we shook our heads to silence the offender}. a sold out audience's worth of collective anticipation lengthening the seconds even further, then further still to the very edge of our capacity to be patient, to not breathe. and still they made us wait. it was almost too much. my breathing returned loud and excited, squirming and full in those final moments of waiting. then payoff, the surge of sound immediately following jonsi's microphoned inhale was one of countless moments of glory.

countless.

others include:

the soft valtari greens of the opening song's visuals.
the hazy ship floating hauntingly across the projection screen.
the filament lights on stage.
jonsi's gentle curl of hand, encouraging us to sing along.
singing along.
the lines and shapes inside my closed eyes as the light danced through my eyelids, refusing to be shut out.
the excitement of hearing the opening sounds of a well-loved song {svefn-g-englar}, almost too good to be true, and the affirmation from one of my concert mates*, the one who is so good at answering my unvoiced questions.
the smiles passed around between my neighbors.
the colors. the colors. the colors. even if they were just sounds parading around as a color.
the final song at the end, untitled #8, that always starts off deceivingly slow until it builds, and builds, and builds beyond one's capacity to take in the sheer volume of sound and lights and noise and harmony pressed into us, until the spirit cries out to participate. the cheers erupting from the crowd around us were not a distraction but purely a primal reflex, an extension of what was happening on stage. a response to the unspoken realization that the vessels of our bodies cannot hold all that they give at the end of this one song. we must explode, release, even if it's just a rhythmic tapping of my hand across my heart. even if it's just a burst of noise from my neighbor's gut. the spirit cries out to participate. the spirit cries out: participate.

the band always comes out at the end to clap their hands warmly back at us, link arms, and then bow. the sweetest part of a bittersweet goodbye. sigur ros, please don't take four years to come back to us. please.


*music friend #1, joining me here almost exactly 4 years, two trips and six shows later {only six??? i guess we have shared quite a few others even if we weren't both at the same show at the same time including atoms for peace, sigur ros, bon iver, modselektor, radiohead...}.

 

setlist:


ekki múkk
varúð
ný batterí
i gær
vaka
sæglópur
svefn-g-englar
viðrar vel til loftárása
hoppípolla
olsen olsen
festival
hafsól

encore:

dauðalogn
popplagið {untitled 8}

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. 

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.

departure

tonight panic swelled to a tidal wave, crested and swept over and around me, caressing my shoulders, brushing my hair, holding me close and reassuring me with those simple words i have fought long and hard these past weeks to ignore: i am alone.

i finish this journey, the time period of nomadacy as i began it: alone.

and reflecting back on the eve of the final chapter of this adventure, i want to revisit a few things i wrote here as i began packing up my life. it's an entry called to build a home.

first, silly me, i thought i was going to be a nomad for 3 1/2 months. by the time i return from europe, it will already be twice that amount {though when i first got my P O Box and realized i had to choose 6 month increments, i had a flash of insight that i would need the whole lease}. and secondly, this image from a run so many months ago that still holds true for me both in the rightness of where i am and in the alone-ness. the two go hand in hand.


on my run this past sunday, i had this fleeting moment while looking down at my shadow bouncing along in front of me – it was this undeniable feeling of certainty about being in the right place at this moment and how being alone right now is a significant part of that rightness. i am finding myself and what's under the layers of build-up on my body, spirit and home and while i feel very loved and supported heading into this adventure, i am also alone on this journey and that is right in a way i can't quite gather up enough words to explain.


and finally. this song. still a theme of the year and of this time. listen again:

and now, it's time to leave and turn to dust....

goshen

in another life i could have been a singer/songwriter. in the meantime, i'll enjoy the perfect delivery of others. today, zach condon & beirut. i thank you for your words and melody.

You're on in five, it's time you rise or fail.
They've gone before, stood by your door all day.
For what it's worth, defend your kind from shame.
The lights are down, go on inside, they've paid.
You're the face in stone, through the land I own.
You never found it home.
You're not the girl I used to know.

What would you hide from such a glow
If I had only told you so?

You're on in five, it's time you rise or fail.
They've gone before, stood by your door all day.
But you never found it home.
A fair price I'd pay to be alone.

What would you hide from such a glow
If I had only told you so?

a lullaby

a good night.

#3

a week after driving around in the car with music friends #12 & #13, it felt right to be following some of the exact same roads touring one of my first music friends through my city. kerry park. alki beach. golden gardens...

chris, #3, whom i first met traveling from los angeles to santa barbara to see radiohead finish off the american leg of their '08 tour. at the time i refrained from telling my mom i was getting into a car with two strange men and later driving back to los angeles with a third until after i was home safely, but obviously my gut speaks true, and here we are, three years later, meeting up again in another city {for the second time} and planning the east coast leg of radiohead's next tour.

it was a good night. played through kid a live, singing along quietly {despite my recent voice lesson break throughs, very few people actually hear me sing in person, particularly to a thom yorke song}, listening in silence, stopping and freezing our butts off for photos, and meandering through stories more personal than we have shared in the past.

it was a good night. one of the last bits of carefree time between now and the opening of the show.


-----------------------

pale blue eyes played while we were at lunch together at elysian brewery. i often forget i have blue eyes, or that they affect others.

optimist

despite the grey skies, or maybe because of them, today was an optimist* day. i had the song on repeat in my car and evidently the reinforcement paid off because the day ended much differently that in began:

*not to be confused with optimistic by radiohead.

blood bank

i find it a strange quirk of the universe that i will have a song in my collection for months or years and never really listen to the lyrics until the moment they are relavent to my life. perhaps i've been listening all along and i merely note the moment my unconscious mind tells my conscious mind to perk up and listen, but either way, i heard this song in a whole new way today and found my story mirrored a bit including a few eerie details.

i'm navigating some tricky territory at the moment in my personal life, but in a way that constantly affirms that i am in the right place, with the right people, as uncomfortable and imperfect and slightly painful as everything is. running parallel to the journey i'm making giving up control in my home space, this has been an opportunity for me to rescind control in other facets of my life. i can't fix things, people, relationships, i can merely be present, honest and true to the best of my ability.

today the weight of things sank in a little but bon iver was there to sing me through to the other side, giving parts of my own story back to me in a package i can hum along with.

blood bank - bon iver

Well I met you at the blood bank
We were looking at the bags
Wondering if any of the colors
Matched any of the names we knew on the tags

You said see look it that's yours
Stacked on top with your brothers
See how they resemble one anothers?
Even in their plastic little covers

And I said I know it well

That secret that you know
That you don't know how to tell it fucks with your honor
And it teases your head
But you know that its good girl
Cause its running you with red.

Then the snow started falling
We were stuck out in your car
You were rubbing both my hands
Chewing on a candy bar you said
ain't this just like the present
To be showing up like this
There's a moon waning crescent
we started to kiss

And I said I know it well

That secret that we know
That we don't know how to tell
I'm in love with your honor
I'm in love with your cheeks
what's that noise up the stairs baby
Is that Christmas morning creaks

And I know it well and i know it well

about today & yesterday

this song came to me this past saturday* on my drive down to portland. and what felt noteworthy about those three hours in the car by myself was how comfortable i was to be in my own skin. how i felt the edges of who i was so clearly and truly liked who i found myself to be. i could see that i am a bolder person than i often give myself credit for and far more confident than i allow myself to be.

but then there is this song. four minutes and eleven seconds that so acutely sings the truth of how some of the most potential-filled connections of my life slipped away. and i know i have to take responsibility for it. i know that i have, on some level, attracted people unable to step up and simply speak their truth, choosing instead to just fade away into nothing while offering me the golden but painful opportunity to face the dark void they leave behind.

but now i find a bolder voice, a far more joyful sense of being here, being me, being right where i want to be and i simply want about today to be something that is only about my yesterdays. and i think the important thing for me to remember here, is that while i can't control in what manner the next person comes and goes from my life, what i have put into practice is taking responsibility for how i keep ahold of myself. in the past year i have had the opportunity to test my footing and found myself capable of maintaining the understanding, no matter if the worst {or best} case scenario becomes true, that i am here and whole and nothing they do can add to or take away from that.

about today -- the national

today you were far away
and i didn't ask you why
what could i say
i was far away
you just walked away
and i just watched you
what could i say

how close am i to losing you

tonight you just close your eyes
and i just watch you
slip away

how close am i to losing you

hey, are you awake
yeah i'm right here
well can i ask you about today

how close am i to losing you
how close am i to losing

*most recently, yes, cuz, i haven't forgotten you tried to spoon feed me the national first.

nomadacy extended

the original plans starting shifting during wedding camp when my friend, sallie, who is about to enter her own nomadic period, casually said i want to travel internationally while i'm not paying rent and a lightbulb went off in my head. of course! i should take that three week trip overseas i am years overdue taking! but i'm committed to seattle through the first week of december when proof closes, then a little longer as i finish up the madness of the holiday family photo shoot season and then a week or two beyond as we arrive at christmas {and currently plan to fly my parents to the states for the holiday}. so, it looks like the last week of december sees me flying east to europe. new year's eve in paris with my friend of a decade, karina, some time in vienna with my sister, a little jaunt through the netherlands with my father {new idea: dad, you up for it?!?!} and then at least a week navigating on my own in a country where i don't speak the language.

and as exciting and right as that the decision feels, it means the nomadic three and a half months will become a nomadic half a year which is terrifying. all my beautifully lined up places to stay finish at about mid-october {in two weeks!} and while i won't be out on the street, i have reservations about the plans that are scraping themselves together post-mid october. i'm weighted down by logistics: i'll have to move my things. i need to rustle through my clothes to find all those warmer articles i packed thinking they'd be let out again before winter. not to mention questions like: if i am paying for storage for both my things and a small to mid range rent, why i am not just paying for a real space {even if i don't have time to find and settle into that new place starting next week when rehearsals start}?

it feels good to stand at the edge of carefully laid plans looking out at the hazily shaping future and know it's okay and this is just the next level of the double dog dare i made to myself to challenge my sense of control. challenge my death-grip on safety and organization and plans. and it was really sweet to hear the reassurances from a new friend last night {see bon iver entry below} that i should keep going. someone who's heard, in that meandering and tangential way of mine, about 14 half-stories about my life over a seven hour car ride, and yet can already reflect back to me that the challenges i'm asking myself to face next are right where i should be. and as scared as i am, i agree. i handled really well {for the most part} a life without a home, but organized and planned out neatly from a to b to c. but what about when the plans fall apart or worse, don't exist? what about when they aren't perfect? i am still waiting for a kismet introduced housesitting gig to present itself, but in the meantime i forge onward, step by uncertain step.

as i close the 29th year of my life and move into the last year of my 20s, i boldly step into a month of uncertainty and challenges: rehearsals for a play i have so much invested in, a new grip on my life i suddenly find myself in where i'm feeling and acting a bit more boldly and therefore vulnerably, and then a span of 2 1/2 months of unplanned nomadacy {the "madness" element to that word seems to stand out a bit extra at the moment}.

and as i gear up for that, i want to take a second to look back at where i have been for the past month.

night 59 was spent once more at my sister's house. it was my mother's last night in the country. a quick two and a half months that went by in a whirl of my move and then baby time. we stil managed to spend a good amount of time around practical tasks {like cataloguing all 1101 books for me in a database before i packed them up} as well as roadtrips {eugene & portland}, emotional break downs {most notably the night i put all my stuff into storage and couldn't help asking what the hell have i done?}, good movies {tree of life and the final harry potter installment} and lots of little moments over the phone, conversing from within the same continent and time zone even. what a gift to have her close for so long. you can see her asleep already on the bed we would share whenever i stayed over at my sister's {occasionally with a new niece/grandbaby}. the next morning i made my fantastic french toast breakfast for everyone and gave myself the second {perhaps???} wheat-induced belly ache i've ever received. bummer.

nights 63 to 77 have been spent here in what is the longest unbroken time since i started. two weeks in the same place straight. tonight is my last night here, tomorrow i head to oregon for a few days and then when i come back i am in my second stretch up on phinney ridge.

as i unpacked this time i carefully evaluated each thing i carried and sent a box of extraneous baggage back into storage. no, i really don't need to wear that shirt for the next 2 months, certainly won't need my sandals or my holga {whoops, just made plans to go shoot with it} and it felt good to lighten my load a bit. i carry too much stuff. holding tightly to myself my belongings as though somehow they can ground me.

silly, nathania, they are just things. feel the edges of your true home. ground yourself in that quiet space you seek when you go running, the one that often peeks out from behind your inner monologue in yoga classes, and that speaks to you calmly, without judgement as you paint...the part of you still buzzing from an amazing concert on monday. there you are home and always will be.

currently listening to this version of beth/rest by bon iver. the jump at 1:22 as he says "pry it open with your love" gets me every time.

bon iver

my consolation prize for not getting to see thom yorke this week. and not a shabby one at that: justin vernon of bon iver and another falsetto to fall in love with, another concert friend to add to my numbers* and a show of such glory glory glory.

holcene was unreal, my eyebrows pursed, barely holding back tears {"i am not magnificent!"}, re:stacks everything i could have wanted and more, and the final act, wolves part 1, was out of this world. he invited us all to sing along with the simple instructions: "you'll get the lyrics right away so just keep repeating them, gradually getting louder." the swell of sound was massive--you could barely hear anything any more--but rather than being drowned out by noise, we were swept along through the melody holding on by our fingernails to words we were singing but could no longer distinguish. we were the music.

what might have been lost.

what might have been lost.

what might have been lost.

what might have been lost.

what might have been lost.

what might have been lost.

the typical post-concert crash always breaks my heart. i don't want it to end. let's hit rewind. repeat. pretty please? the three of us, my newer and newest friend and i, all considered going to portland or vancouver if bon iver was playing there the next night, but sadly, this was the last show of the north american tour. the rustle of feet outside the venue. the exchange of numbers because this looks like a friend to hold on to. fighting the impulse to stay up later than i should, all go out for drinks, something, anything to keep the night going. not let it end. instead, it was a simple goodbye. me, still on some level, puzzled by a post-concert hug from a year and a half ago {did i not tell you about it? i probably should. that night makes for a good story}, resisted the impulse to hug our new friend goodbye. a rare decision to be safer.

what might have been lost. luckily, in this case, nothing, cause we get to hang out again soon. yippee.

this makes #10 in my list of concert friends.

*can't quite count him in the radiohead numbers though i guess he could be a preemptive radiohead friend since they just announced their tour...

to build a home

this year, i set out to make 2011 about joy. ode to joy. it's how i heralded in the crossing over from 2010 to 2011 with beethoven's symphony carrying me along on the anthem to all things joy related. and yet, this year has been more about a burning away. literally. fever for the first three days of the year, sick for the first three weeks. a month later, the throbbing burn of my lower back.

and i shook my fist at the sky in indignant frustration.

and yet, i have burned away the layers of garbage and muck clinging to my spirit, forcing myself to purge and purge again expediting change. so here i am, half way in, entering what is probably the single most deliberate act of cleansing and changing i have ever committed myself to consciously.

a week into my search for a new apartment, disheartened by the duds i was pulling up yet all the while knowing something wonderful was waiting for me out there, i realized that my fallback plan was the one i actually wanted to do. rather than stressing to make plan a or b work, i willingly picked the path behind door c. what was posted just above c's handle were these instructions for the next three and a half months of my life:

1. pack up your belongings taking only what you love. purge the rest.

2. put them into storage for 3 1/2 months.

3. go nomad.*

*this nomadic period will include house sitting, house surfing {we plan but can't promise zero couches} and otherwise be at the mercy of your friends and family, enjoying the sense of being untied to a physical space and learning from the challenges of having your living space being out of your control.

while you might say here i should beware of the fine print, i have to counter with how, as soon as i made the decision, everything lined up to support it better than i could ever have asked or imagined. one friend offered a truck and his help moving saying "i don't want you to pay for a truck..." and a day or so later, another friend offered her garage for storage, saying "i don't want you to pay for storage..." and above and beyond this all, it feels right. as soon as i made the decision, i felt excited about my life in a way that i haven't felt in a long time. like looking forward to the adventure of travel, except i will be here, in seattle, living and working as i am, just untethered and free. a good reminder to myself that i am not my space. i am not my things. i am not my books. i am not my aesthetically arranged home. they are mine, but they are not me.

i do ask myself what will i do without those mirrors to remind myself who i am? mirrors that reflect back the beauty of my library arranged by color, the mirror of silence echoed back by a quiet home all to myself after a long day of work. the mirror perpetuating an illusion of control but also a place to land. a place to rest.

i return to one of my favorite quotes:

'loneliness isn't about being by yourself. that's fine, right and good, desirable

in many ways. loneliness is about finding a landing-place, or not, and

knowing that, whatever you do, you can go back there. the opposite of loneliness

isn't company, it's a return. a place to return.'

so i need a place to return to throughout this period as i lose the physical and most tangible manifestation of this idea: a home. i need a landing place that i cannot lose and that cannot be taken away from me--the only thing in this world i will always have is the stock standard answer: my own self.

parallel to the above mentioned purge and cleanse of my possessions is a cleanse of my body. the most dedicated thing i have done in honor of it ever. three weeks ago i began an elimination diet {which includes taking out milk, gluten, sugar, honey, maple syrup, dairy, eggs, oats, bananas, strawberries, oranges, the list continues....}. but that was just the first phase. this past monday, the same day i began packing up my life, i began a three week cleanse which follows the elimination diet just removing breakfast and dinner and substituting liquid meals twice a day {smoothies, fresh juice--i have a juicer!--or liquid soups}.

i am into day three, supported by supplements and an all organic diet, but already i can tell my relationship to health and eating had hugely shifted. my food is less processed, whole, healthy in the most simple and delicious sense. as much as i have dedicated myself to cutting back during this time, i am also enjoying the experience of food more than i have in a long time. i am forced to think creatively and try new things, but just as significantly i am already free of side effects i was tolerating on a daily basis for years--my whole life, actually. i don't have cravings. i don't overeat. i listen to my body. and already i feel cleaner and this is just the beginning.

somehow these two journeys are so perfectly timed to coincide. cleanse. purge. home. both of them. the one home my body inhabits and the other my spirit inhabits.

on my run this past sunday, i had this fleeting moment while looking down at my shadow bouncing along in front of me--it was this undeniable feeling of certainty about being in the right place at this moment and how being alone right now is a significant part of that rightness. i am finding myself and what's under the layers of build-up on my body, spirit and home and while i feel very loved and supported heading into this adventure, i am also alone on this journey and that is right in a way i can't quite gather up enough words to explain.

and then, today, this song was delivered to me and all i can think is and now, it's time to leave and turn to dust.

'to build a home' -- cinematic orchestra

there is a house built out of stone

wooden floors, walls and window sills

tables and chairs worn by all of the dust

this is a place where i don't feel alone

this is a place where i feel at home

and i built a home

for you

for me

until it disappeared

from me

from you

and now, it's time to leave and turn to dust

out in the garden where we planted the seeds

there is a tree that's old as me

branches were sewn by the color of green

ground had arose and passed its knees

by the cracks of the skin i climbed to the top

i climbed the tree to see the world

when the gusts came around to blow me down

i held on as tightly as you held onto me

i held on as tightly as you held onto me

and i built a home

for you

for me

until it disappeared

from me

from you

and now, it's time to leave and turn to dust

i'm the blue light

this song found me through shuffle. i don't even know how i got dm stith came to my music collection, but as of tonight, we are friends. and this song, braid of voices, and i are best friends.

and tonight: i am well rewarded for staying up past my bed time, for having patience and listening to my spirit when it speaks in the deep and confident voice. she leads me forward. she helps me keep faith. and asks me to fly farther for less. but she knows. she knows.

and so do i.

you can go here to play the song as well.

when the ghosts of me refuse to speak

and in my dreams i watch tv

i'm blue inside, i'm the blue light

i'm blue inside, i'm the blue light

i'm blue inside, i'm the blue light

i'm blue inside, i'm the blue light

and i need this town, this white town

and i'm the red blood of this white town

parade in someone else's crown

parade in someone else's crown

parade in someone else's crown

parade in...

from the back of my head tied to the back of my head tied to the back of my head tied to the back of my head tied to the back of my head....

a braid of voices: david, david

home

let me tell you about a shift i've felt in my life this past week or so. really, since the epiphany i had on my run two weeks ago {to the radiohead song let down--read about it here}. it's one i've been gearing towards for years now, and one i'll probably need to rediscover anew all the time.

but for today, i feel so alive in my ability to just let my life, my thoughts, my worries, my joys simply flow through me. i am not them. i am not my negativity. i am not my abundance*. i am not my body. i am just the conduit through which all these things pass through. i am just the witness.

and it's left me feeling free. joyful. weightless.

and somehow, finally, i have also slipped in to a place of managing everything better after fighting for months of control. i am getting to sleep earlier. i am focusing more at work. i finally switched bank accounts to my credit union which has separate savings accounts for both traveling and my acting career--two things that i want to bring more to the forefront of my life.

my dishes are done. my birds are being hung. i am present.

and, i really have to scramble to make it to bed by my midnight bed time {which is the compromise between the 11pm time i need to have and the 1/2am habit i've been pulling lately}, but i want to leave you with a live recording of the song home that has really been my anthem since the re-start i made on my year in early february when i went up to vancouver for a few days. i blasted the song all the way up north and it has been highlighted in my life in various ways since then {most notably when my friend sheree was in town in late february and we had a sing-along in my car at top volume}.

tonight, it was on repeat and again, accompanied by my blossoming voice while making chocolate chip cookies for some friends. here is a charming live version:

*though i am continuously grateful for the daily signs of the abundance of the universe. after having my best month ever at my job, i am topping that by having my best pay period ever {or just about near it}. but unlike last time, i'm not working copious hours of overtime. in fact, i feel a lot more focused at work so i feel as though i am working less, and joy is a part of each day. additionally, i had my best day of sales ever last thursday, only to beat it less than a week later. i am grateful. i am grateful. i am grateful.