The Zapatista phrase, scary in its inclusive premise that outcomes are to be determined, and then determined again by selves insistent on listening to each other, to the group, modulates my pace down quiet morning streets.
My body knew it first, that old rheumatic throbbing the tell, like a hangover when you haven’t been drinking - it would storm later in the glass cube filled with desks. I found the grey cashmere sweater I save for such occasions, unearthed creamy pearls from the wooden jewelry box, applied a neutral lipstick, for all clothes are costumes to me and sometimes it helps to appear a classic female illusion of normalcy.
The cycles grow shorter over time, my tolerance lowered with each indignity, each trivial moment that transparency is classified a radical act. The only true constant is the velocity of the universe, at times slyly and when necessary forcibly escorting you out of the building and into the rest of your life. Once glimpsed, the new next cannot be unseen, its nearness a marker as you measure the inevitable exit.
This is why we hug each other when we first meet, and why our people know the airports so well. We find ways to collect payment on strategic escape, our work the articulation of the larger truths we pay allegiance to as others watch us go sideways. There are morning negotiations with the heaviness, and those far more successful than I at it have children that wake them, and partners breathing beside them as they deliberate.
I forgot it once, tried to cross back into the comfort of an old life. A friend who is good with verbs admonished me; “Jettison the property! Pack the lamps!” So I hired an agent, and the house sold in four days as I drove down a coastline to a city I had seen once.
Wrap them as I will, the nets cannot hold me.
A few more days
A final Hi meeting
The local neighborhood bar has a quiet time between six and nine. It is a place that specializes in coffee, beer and seasonal menus. There is just enough of each for a satisfying snack and effective buzz. After the time when the laptop lids close and before the social gatherings start -- there is a sort of twilight*. Often this time is a fugitive ground rife with creative inspiration and meditative work -- of the kind that results in personal reward.*twilight may refer to civil, nautical or astronomical variety depending on your social or terrestrial condition
A man positions his mouse on the edge of his browser window. He clicks, holds and drags the viewport first left then right. The content of a video game promo micro site responds and adapts to the available space. To the man, this is more delightful than the game itself.
A man laboriously moves his piano down three levels onto the subway platform. Classic vocals and strided chords -- he played so well I swore he was blind. Oblivious to the heat on that August stage, he was most in touch with his audience -- whom he elevated with his music.
A woman should do exactly as she pleases no matter what a man may think.
As the Dalai Lama once said, "It is a time when there is much in the window, but nothing in the room."
"No one understands me," she said. Her grandmother was silent for a minute. It seemed she was searching for an answer in the star speckled sky. "But no one understands anyone in this world, darling. We are all unique. It is what gives us a sense of wonder."