Monday, October 22, 2007

song beneath the song

I like drawing with charcoal. I love it, in fact, so much better than pencil or ink. I think because I can get my hands into the shadows and spread them daintily or piercingly as the case may be. I put my computer on one of my pandora stations () and just zone out.

I also like tearing my putty eraser into long strings and feeling the fibers go soft and downy. Then I rub the charcoal off my wrists and palms (and arms and face and legs etc...I'm a naturally messy person).

I went to bed at 10:30 last night because I just couldn't think about anything that was going on in life right then. I was sitting there discussing the night before with Morgan and I just was so overwhelmed that I stood up, went to my room, took off my clothes, turned the lights off and went to bed. At 10:20 on a saturday! I mean that's not me.

Even so, getting out of bed this morning was still difficult. Not in the I-have-nothing-to-get-up-for way, certainly not, I mean, if nothing else I was hungry since I'd never actually eaten dinner. But my whole body was just so exhausted and I kept waking up and rolling over again, back to sleep.

I was talking to Meg today (love her) about how terrified I am of my show. I mean really if you put it in simplistic terms it's a celebration of a story that...I think is imagined. Not that I don't long for those things too, I mean of a perfect goodness in the universe, but when you come down to it, I can't believe that exists. I mean I can hope it does, but can't fully surrender to that belief. And that's my own fault, I mean at some point in my life, that was a choice I made, somehow.
I often wish I could turn myself around, to get down on my knees, and to give it all over. I've even tried, honestly, even the whole getting down on your knees part. I even tell myself I've done it. But in the end, it turns out that I haven't really, and bad things happen, deep dissapointments come and come again, and I know that they always will. They always will.

That isn't to say that life isn't beautiful, it is. That's what makes it worth living. Some single moments and experiences are so unspeakably beautiful that they can sustain a person for a lifetime, and most lives are full of those moments.

In the middle ages they thought that fate was a wheel. Spinning on the axis of time, you're always on the way up, or on the way down. How can you love the force spinning that wheel? I suppose knowing that once they plunge you into darkness they'll bring you back into the light. But then they just plunge you back into darkness again - i mean - how can you trust that person, give them your love and your faith. And forgive them. My mind and body revolt from surrendering to someone who hurts me, call it hyper-vigilance, call me what you will.

And in the end, it doesn't make a difference what you believe. That wheel keeps turning, time passes and there are beautiful moments and terrible ones, and that is life.

How can I play this part and sincerely wish people to do something that to me, makes no sense? That to me, at least for now, is empty?

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

tout ira bien.