Challenging but Exciting — Even Pleasurable — Self-Discovery
I’m asking more beautiful questions again and trying on more beautiful answers, too.
Soundtrack: Hypnotic Brass Ensemble, BOOK OF SOUND.
It is the end of 2022. I am soul exhausted in a women’s prison. The group is small on the final day — transfers, medical appointments, someone is sick. The basement is windowless, which adds to the unfamiliar sense of focus, a strange delight, a moral dilemma to feel grateful for the fact of a phone, a freedom, locked away through doors upon doors.
I listen as the women describe their journey to the final class portfolio, and the familiar story — a poem assignment that starts with dread and ends with challenging but exciting, even pleasurable self-discovery — creates a sensation in my spine. A shiver.
The instructor then asks me about my own writing practice, hinting towards revision as a theme to double down on. I decide to share this story. The first poem in my manuscript is a poem that felt the scariest to share in the collection. My girl loved that poem the most, of course, and suggested I open the entire book with this terrifying admission of how shameful and terrible and selfish I am.
But after looking in the mirror (the face of The Jazz), I understood that the poem needed to be symbolic of the entire journey of the book: a rewriting of self.
And so…
I interrupted my own wah-wah mouth. Right there on the page.
Well, I guess you’ll have the read the book for the story to fully land.
Let’s hope you can soon.
Make your eyes into a lens. Look at the frame that is created by simply placing your gaze. This is my own wisdom that I so routinely lose sight of and this is what a city across the world taught me, also at the end of 2022. The city’s history so perfectly preserved in infinity patterns and dusty streets, in the surrender of daily prayer, one two three four five times.
At home, the incense that way shows up the now-disappointing mass produced nag champs sticks runs out. Still, I pop down an incense blend called “dignity,” and another called “money” on the shop counter and laugh at myself with the cashier about my cheap attempts at manifestation.
All these thick silver rings, the turquoise and lapis lazuli.
Was the city a dream? Were we there at all?
It is remarkably different to be marketed to, so to speak, from the center of the seller’s life, to be welcomed into a blood n’ sweat shop full of someone’s dedicated spirit, their handiwork, and/or years of gathering and/or making treasures, to be offered sweet tea and stories that better my life just by hearing them behind what I’m about to put my money down on.
Today was a beautiful day.
Why?
Nothing spectacular but:
At the flower shop I got the big grin greetings and a free bundle.
At the coffee shop I got woman-breaks-the-spell stories from Sequoia the barista and feel so good about her new life.
I got deep cross-cultural woman laughter at the nail salon around this relatable conundrum of being a woman. Gladys knows.
A man named Sunshine greeted me at boxing, and coach put on the salsa for the Ali footwork.
Caits loves to dance!
At the smoke shop the lighter was tethered to a string like a pen at the bank, which made me laugh aloud.
I love being a regular.
It all comes down to the same lesson to the same lesson to the same lesson same lesson same lessonsamelessonsamelessonsamelessonsamelesson:
I don’t want to live my short time on this earth on someone else’s merry go round. When the identity fits too snug in the shoulders, it’s time to shed. Underneath that skin is the soul, didn’t ya know?
Let’s see what I can manage to see that is worth sharing in 2023. I intend to keep all of my eyes open.
