Focussing on the Branch
This may be the stupidest thing I've ever written, but here goes.
I keep going out on limbs these days. Some of them are sturdy and lead to pleasant foliage which bears nice fruit. Others are fragile and don't know if they can handle my weight. I get nervous about these types of branches. Don't you? To be honest, I get nervous about all branches (even the good, fruity ones)- mostly about the possible outcomes they possess- and I always have.
The problem is you never know which kind of limb it is, for sure, until it's basically too late. No matter what, it seems like it's rare that we have a chance to back-step once on the limb. Usually you find yourself either with fruit in clutch and already half-consumed, OR half-way fallen to the ground before you even realize you got out there at all.
The fall never is as bad as you expect it to be, and the fruit is usually twice as sweet as you can imagine. I don't know why we don't test branches more often. Actually, I do know why. I think it all comes down to hope, expectation, failure and rejection. Whenever we hope, we are opening ourselves up to disappointment, right? If what we hope for doesn't arrive, it's disappointing. If we hope for something and live fully expecting it, if it doesn't happen we feel like a failure. When we place hope in relationship, the possible outcomes are successful connection OR rejection. Rejection sucks, but isn't it
half as painful as being in relationship is fulfilling?
Well, I think I know people- close friends in fact- who might argue that no- relationship was not fulfilling, and rejection and the feeling of failure has been far more painful than any joy they received from connection. I feel blessed that this hasn't been my primary experience of things. But at the same time I feel foolish, for my primary experience has been wondering what to do about that crazy feeling in my stomach right before I step out there- this feeling which is reminding me of sweet fruit and possible falls, and not being able to remember if the sweetness is worth the could-be encounter with gravity. It keeps me from going for it, and hinders my willingness to try.
So, lately I've been ignoring the two possible outcomes entirely, and trying to focus on the branch.
I'd like to ask for opinions/feedback/reflections on what comes to mind when I pose this concept. What does it mean to focus on the branch- to spend more time noticing how it feels under your feet- to pay attention to its contours and how it connects you to the thing you want, and the way it bends, holds, breaks, or surprises as it happens? Can you remember an incident of focussing on the branch? What was it like?
Sophomorically, as usual,
Gwen
Lieutenant Commander Data
When I was between the ages of something like 8 and 16, I watched a lot of Star Trek: The Next Generation. It was one of the few shows we got on our ONE television station in our house. As a youngin, I always felt a special affinity with Data, the straight-faced android. I will confess, in my early years I had a simple-minded aspiration to someday be an actor. In fact, there's a part of me that still thinks in terms of "oh, well, after I've starred in 'my episode' of Law & Order..." etc etc. Like someday I'm actually going to have a bit role in some kind of TV show or something. Right. Well, as a child this dream was still fresh and I thought about it a lot. I thought of different scenarios that the TV shows I watched could come up with that would present the need for a girl of my tiny stature. "They should make an episode of Star Trek where Data has a daughter! And I'll play her!!" (I was probably around 10 years old at the time.) I'm not sure if they had already
done that episode yet or not at the time, but either way, I hadn't seen it. (By "that episode" I, of course, mean the one where he does have a daughter!!1!1)
Everybody knows that your physique changes as you get older. Usually children tend to have big, sweet eyes and roundier faces than their adult versions will one day have. When I was a kid, I looked like the kid version of me: rounder cheeks, huge eyes, bright complexion and toe-blond hair. It is safe to say, my affinity with Data had nothing to do with similarities in our physical appearance. But now? Now it is a different story en
tirely. I have to say- the resemblance is simply uncanny.
I'm the one in the top picture.
What do you think?! Did my subconscious Childmind secretly know that one day I would grow into my face to look somehow-semi-related to actor Brent Spiner, and that is why I was initially drawn to him? Or, Orrr- or did my strange liking for him in my youth play some role in
shaping my physical appearance to look how I do TODAY???
Am I BLOWING your MINDS yet? Just think about it, okay. Everything happens for a reason. Just not always necessarily a very good reason.
THE END!!!1!11
loss
i apologize in advnace for the lack of upper-casing in this post. i wrote it without intending it to be a post. then i changed my mind.
tonight i watched the movie 'garden state' for the first time. i think it is a lovely film. not my favourite movie ever, and i probably don't think it's
as great as some people do. but it was very moving and made me think about some things i haven't thought about for a while. i try not to spend too much time being morbid. but a movie like that makes you think about loss, and maybe just a little bit your own funeral, and about what life without the ones you love would be like. it made me a little sad and ponderous. it made me wonder about whether or not i am dedicated to my exploration of "the infinite abyss" in my own life. any movie that can encourage thinking about something like that is okay by me.
well, the series of thoughts that came after this lead me somewhere i wasn't expecting:
my first huge crush was brett jensen, and it lasted from 3rd-5th grade. we were friends first, which is what was neat- he wasn't just "some guy" i'd never know anything about. i really liked being around him. he was cute, funny, and smart. in gym, i'd always try to get partnered up with him for square-dancing (which usually worked out as i hoped) because that meant i would get to hold his hand, if only for brief moments.
one day i saw his phone number written on the tag of his jacket and i rapidly memorized it (utilizing my mega-cool synaesthesia skills at such an early age that i didn't even know i had them, yet!), not that i'd ever use it but once (for something assignment-related, not for an elementary-school date, i can assure you). i mostly committed it to memory so i could later rattle it off at some completely random moment, which i did, arousing the exact type of amazement i hoped it would. "what did you just say? tha... that's my phone number..."
after elementary school we were in different school districts so that's where our friendship ended. i saw him once at an eddie bauer outlet store when i was maybe 16 or so. i don't remember if we acknowledged each other or not. then, on may 7, 2002 brett died. he fell off a balcony at the university of washington. he aged to 19 years, and that was all. in my head he is still this little, asian boy i was head over heels for as a child. that little guy is still right there like i last knew him. it's really just tragic.
"mmm- i'm a toasty cinnamon bun." - homer simpson
Hi world. I know it's been a long time. I feel prompted to post here tonight because I am full of emotion right now, and it's tied in with a feeling of severe nostalgia, which is what this blog originally was kind of all about, right? Nostalgia? Get used to reading that word, because I'm about to use it at least once per paragraph.
This evening at 4:45 I went to a movie alone for the first time ever. I watched "The Science of Sleep" at the Egyptian theater in Capitol Hill. The theater was a lot nicer than I expected it to be, except there was a weird clicking sound (almost like someone was drumming on something in the lobby) for the duration of the movie. That was a little (a lot) annoying. The movie itself was great- dreamy, lovey, and
very nostalgiac in nature. Michel Gondry captures the visuals of dream-experiences like no one else I've ever witnessed. His use of actual dream interpretation devices and whatnot, as far as everything I've ever read goes, seemed to be well-informed and thoughtful. To me, it felt like it was one of my dreams that I was watching on a screen. I wouldn't be surprised if that is an outcome that is slightly intending by the creators. I love all the layers of sound in (what I'm remembering as) the first big dreamy sequence. It's hard to hear the words and you aren't really sure if that white noise is music or what. The use of foreign languages layering on top of one another (not just in the dream, but really in the entire movie) is extremely clever for giving an even more confusing feeling of just trying to figure it all out. I love the idea that the entire film you, as a viewer, are sort of trying to just figure out what the lingua franca is so you can commit to and count on something, but then (just as in a dream!), as soon as you think you are understanding what is going on, a different language is being used to mish-mashedly attempt to further describe the goings-on.
But enough about that. Today I took my east coast friend Ken to the airport to go back to his home in Massachusetts after spending 8 pleasant days hanging out together. Living across the country from friends-who-are-like-family has it's pros and cons. Examples of each: PRO- knowing you'll always have a roof over your head if you end up in their neck of the woods. CON- the heart, she hurts. Thankfully, tomorrow Gary flies home from a business trip in Ohio. Whew, I am anxious to see him and spend some quality time together. I miss him, work has had him stressed and travelling- pretty much immediately after he gets here, he flies off for another trip, then another the
next week, and then ANOTHER in November (to England, no less).
If we are handed life-lessons all our lives long (and I think we probably are), then certainly the one I'm to be learning comes served on a plate of Absences. For instance, this eve as I type this I am in a state of confused independence-meets-loneliness-meets-confidence-meets-what am i
doing with my life? (That movie today only made me feel this more strongly, somehow). That probably sounds scary or somehow threatening, but it's not really at all. It is very exciting, although it happens to bring some slight-moodiness with it. I am a cinnamon bun of emotions right now, actually. See, no matter what is going on with the bready, bun region of my soul (sad, lonely, excited, humoured, bothered, relaxed, at peace, whatever!), it's all frosted with the goodness of life and my happiness and general contentment.
It is sweet.
It is fresh out of the oven.
As of today, I decided that there are at least 5 songs in me right now, and they all need to be sung
soon, while they are still newly blossoming. So I am going to attempt to spend the next 5-8 days really focusing on unearthing what they are. To continue the metaphor- I am hoping they are some kind of delightful cinnamon-sugar dust in the gooey cracks of all of this.
(I had a bite of a cinnamon bun this morning, just in case you are wondering where this is coming from.)
I wish I had a story from my youth to tell right now to try to bring this blog back around to what it was originally for, but today is much more about looking forward in confused, content nostalgia than it is about reiterating any past events. What will tomorrow be about?
Let me know if you read this, I have no way of knowing unless you say something.
Thanks,
Gwen
The Essential Self Bakery
This morning I was to meet a friend at the Essential Bakery at 9am. We hadn't decided on whether to meet there or if I should pick her up. I decided to head to her place. Halfway there, when I noticed I was about 5 minutes behind, I realized I didn't even have her phone number to call and alert her to my late arrival. I got to her place to find a note on the door stating she had left (15 minutes prior to my arrival) by foot for the bakery. Now behind by a good 15 minutes, I scurried on down to meet her, hoping I hadn't missed her. I guessed it would take at least 20 minutes to walk from there, anyway.
When I stepped into the bakery, I did a quick scan to find her. She wasn't there. "*whew* I still beat her here, and it's 9:15." I finally sat down with an almond croissant and a tall mezzo (single shot). As my buns hit the stool, I suddenly became aware of how much of the last 20 minutes I had spent regretting my inability to time things right. A lot of my subconscious thought had been devoted to thinking about that. My lack of punctuality became prominent the instant a quick, band-aid cellphone call Cure-All was not an option. Am I perpetually behind in life by 10 minutes? I've always thought I was so good about being places on time. I certainly know how important it is to my state of mind to have that "good-and-right" feeling of being prompt.
To look busy while I waited for her, and to avoid finishing my treat before she even got there to join me, I picked up the book I've been reading about Living Presence and the Essential Self. As I read, time dissolved. I kept an eye out for my friend, but 40 minutes later she still hadn't arrived. I let my guard down and focused on my book. I began a new chapter, all about the alchemy of Effort. This is what I read:
"In my early twenties I lived in a spiritual community for the first time. I lived with twenty or more residents in buildings of mud brick high in the mountains, with a vast view of the desert below. One morning when we were free of our usual work load, which began at dawn, I had just begun to enjoy reading a book when my friend John appeared. He had borrowed a flatbed truck and wanted to gather some large rocks for a stone walk that was to be built. I was relishing the leisure time I had in front of me and was in no mood to go off to dig and lift large rocks. But John needed me, and he belittled all my excuses to the point where I had no choice but to join him.
I was not in a very positive state about these developments. Nevertheless, I went along and found myself digging--not stones, but major boulders. John's idea was that most of the stone had to be buried in the ground with only a small flat end showing on the surface. Each time I thought we had done the impossible and moved our last boulder, John would find another. It took several hours to find and load the necessary boulders. Then we returned to the community, the boulders secure on the flatbed as we slowly drove along the mountain roads. Standing on the flatbed just behind the cab with the wind blowing in my face, I felt some invisible shell crack, and I cried."
I held back tears of my own.
I've been transforming for the 8 months it's taken me to get 3/4 through this dense 180-pager. Suddenly, the language of it all makes so much sense and feels so much my own...
Near-tears brought me back to Now. Concerned she might arrive to a choked-up, guard-dropped girl, I composed myself and looked at the clock... nearly an hour passed and still no sign. That's okay, an excuse to keep reading. Let's see, work on Awakening:
"Awakening... to be actively receptive, to be alive with sensitivity and attention... Our intention to be awake is helped by deciding to interrupt our unconsciousness by setting intentional alarms for ourselves. Some simple examples of this might be to awaken presence before the first bite of a meal, as we walk through any door, whenever a phone rings, or whenever we use the word I."
Self-knowledge... awakening... I like this. To be alive with sensitivity and attention. To put effort into respecting time, both mine and others'. Punctuality starts today. I got up and cleared my dishes. Cleaning up after my own mess feels good.
As I headed out the door, I put my chin up and paused slightly at the threshold.
"As I walk through this door, out of the bakery and to my car, out of this experience and on to the next... I transition. My transformation continues, I am never done. But I am changed. From glory to glory."
As I thought the word "glory" and stepped outside, the sun of the outdoors struck me hard and I could feel a white glow all around me.
I am new.
------------------------------------------------
"The mouse soul is nothing but a nibbler.
To the mouse is given a mind proportionate to its need,
for without need, the Almighty God
doesn't give anything to anyone.
Need, then, is the net for all things that exist:
man has tools in proportion to his need.
So, quickly, increase your need, needy one,
that the sea of abundance my surge up in loving-kindness."
- Rumi
(All quotes are from "Living Presence: A Sufi Way to Mindfulness and the Essential Self")
Boutique Schmoutique
The gallery open-house was almost over. It had been an evening of silent auctions for art, clothing, and jewelry by local artisans. The room was very white and brightly lit. Almost everyone in attendance was wearing mostly white, and there was a surprisingly strong presence of ascots and other ruffles. Strangely, I have no real recollection of what I wore.
Someone was pulling on my sleeve, I looked at the clock on the wall behind the large group of people waiting to hear who had the winning bids. The hands where right where they needed to be to inform me that yes I did need to get going. The small, greasy teenager who was with me, however immature and unecessary to the plot of this story, did have say on one thing- when we absolutely had to leave.
I was disappointed. I had thought I'd surely not have to miss the climax of the evening- that moment when ordinary people become owners of exceptional art because of their willingness to pay a fraction more than others would for it, and thusly inching past me in the race toward classiness. Whether I was ever knowingly a part of the race or not. But as it turned out, my companion had decided. It was time to go. As I glanced back over my shoulder at the room all aglow with whiteness and beauty (and ascots), I could feel my face begin to make visible my inward sense of defeat.
A girl brushed past me. In her hands was a display tray full of her personal contribution to this auction. I couldn't see her face, but her hair was long and blonde with labrador-like waves. She was short. She, too, wore white. The tray was black velvet and her art was jewelry. As I glimpsed into the sets of earrings she was about to send off to new homes, I felt sick and sad. They were utterly adorable, and had I seen them during the rounds of the room I had made, which I could no longer even seem to remember, I would have made sure to bid high enough to win a pair. And now it was time to go, where to? I didn't even know, why? I hadn't thought to ask before agreeing.
My eyes met hers, I know because I didn't even see the rest of her face, just the two glassy balls that were telling me not to be so pitiful. The room quickly fell silent as they recognized who she was and what she was about to do. Everyone wanted to own a pair of these earrings. She slowly turned to face them and addressed the crowd:
"As you all know, one of these pairs of earrings will be awarded to someone in this room regardless of their bid. I'd like to announce this recipient first."
She pulled a set of earrings from the tray and handed them to me. I stumbled over my words, mostly because I was confused, I hadn't heard about any of this, but everyone else in the room seemed completely familiar with what she was doing. The earrings were special, not because they were made of any fantastic material or precious stones, but because they were just so artsy cute. They were made from materials a person would use on other craft projects: thread, buttons, needles, spools. "I chose you because I noticed what fun, dangly earrings you are wearing tonight," (my cheap, green stars from Claire's at the mall!), "and how well you pull them off. It just seemed like an obvious choice." My reaction was, of course, joy and gratidude. I took them in my hand and turned to leave the building, simply delighted and not at all sorry to miss the rest of the event.
Then I woke up!
And made the earrings.
Click the picture for more photos of them.
a glimpse into the mind of a mad-woman.
i finally discovered how to make an animated gif. the problem is, i just realized i have this melody on repeat in my mind when i watch it. it's so weird, it just dawned on me that i'm hearing it involuntarily any time i see carleen and me putting our fists to the camera.
to be read as 8th notes beginning on the "and" of 3. the ^ suggests an upward leap. the dash is an 8th note "rest." the | is the bar line, and the dealies on the ends are for repeats. it's a never-ending loop as such:
][: sol ti do ^| me re do ti - :][
that is to say
][: e gsharp a | c b a gsharp - :][
now that you've got it down, put it to the image-
it starts when carleen takes her first step backwards, the pause (rest) is on her punch, which takes a split second longer than all the other frames. or you can think of it as the PUNCHES are as follows:
punch the C on my punch
punch on the second G sharp on carleen's
now that i have this INCREDIBLY ANNOYING DITTY in your head everytime you look at my animated gif, too, you know how i feel! and there is this OCPD part of me that doesn't want it to ever end.
these are the things that convince me time and time again that i will someday have gone completely crazy. and when i combine these things with my usual bad and/or weird hairstyles, i would not be surprised if one day i am really, truly labelled a crazy composer.
