Perpetuation

It's funny to me that I started writing here as a way to vent my frustrations and conflicting emotions in the wake of a terrible break-up, and then later as a way to confide the burgeoning of a reluctant romance. When I found myself in something that felt healthy and natural and good, however, I lost the impetus to post.

I suppose that is the way of art, at least for me; it's hard to create a spark in times of little friction.

But now, I'm much closer to where I started-- in abstract emotion, at least. I feel like I have grown leagues taller and broader in the past few months. What has actually been only a dozen or so weeks feels like the same amount of months; I don't know if any period in my life hitherto has stretched on so formless and plastic as this. I'm not complaining. It's been wonderful.

However, I think it's drawing to a close. The man whose head I was so ardently and earnestly throwing my affections has retreated almost completely, despite claims of wanting to make things work and being afraid of losing me. (My foot, I say. I'm learning to listen to actions over words).

It's unfortunate, truly, and I think this is as close as my heart has ever been to breaking. He's a wonderful person, and we're damn near perfect for each other, but he's held himself back so much that we never got a chance to truly be in love, and now I'm afraid the opportunity is lost forever. What hurts most is the neglected potential: that we could have been so much, and that that will never be realized.

But of course, my friends have heard this all a thousand times. I've been conscientious of my feelings and open about them-- to myself, to him, to the trusted few who will listen. It's complicated, and delicate, fragile and volatile... but that is the nature of relationships, and I suppose we just have to make of them what we are able.  I think-- especially with his upcoming move to Minneapolis-- that the happy age of bubbling, buoyant affection and intrigue is turning now into a quieter era of contemplation and solitude. I hope that regret will not be included in the litany, but only time will tell.

I have a few self-reliant dreams, though, so I can only imagine that everything is for the best. I have been working almost every day, and even though it sometimes exhausts me, I mostly enjoy it. I'm getting a promotion in September, and I hope that the accompanying raise will be enough to allow me to have my own apartment. I love the autonomy I have living here, where my roommate is neither related to me nor meddling in my business, but I don't really like anything about the arrangement itself. The apartment is small and dirty, everything's broken, I am not getting along with aforementioned roommate, the neighbors are disruptive and rude... the list goes on. So, hopefully, I will figure out a way to live on my own.

My next little dream is one that has been growing for awhile... It's in a delicate stage still, mostly just the amorphous stuff of thought and inspiration, but I think it has real potential. I want to start an autonomous theatre collective for young people here in Bemidji. I think there's a terrific market for it, plenty of talent and interest, and boundless potential. I'd like to incorporate social justice interests, too, and produce pieces that are thoughtful and provocative as well as entertaining and well put-together. I certainly think it's feasible. I'm going to be writing up a manifesto for it soon, and reaching out to contact relevant parties after that. My hope is that we can begin staging shows by next June.

The most significant foreseeable setback is, very simply, myself. By nature, I am a wonderful starter of things, but I am rarely able to sustain them and see them through to completion. I shall do my best, though, and perhaps motivate myself by tracking it here and in social circles. Wish me the best, if you please.

Conduit

My friend Ramey referred to me as a conduit today; he meant "messenger," but I preferred his original diction. What a lovely thought, that things should pass through me and transfer to the consciousness of others! So here are a few things I encountered today, that brought me a little joy.

I worked a strange shift today-- we call it the "middle kid" shift. It overlaps the opening and closing shifts by two and a half hours each, so you do a little of everything. As it was happens, I was relegated to cooking sausage for our breakfast burritos (although I haven't eaten red meat in over five years, and in fact was totally vegetarian until last fall when I abandoned it for health reasons, there is still a fascinating sort of alchemy about cooking meat that I enjoy). Breaking up the pound of it in the skillet, I realized that one chunk looked remarkably like the continent of Africa.  Incredible! As I continued to poke around, I found too an America-- Central American countries attached! And then, South America! Australia! New Zealand, Greenland, Iceland... remarkable similarities, all of them. It certainly made me wish for a camera, but, alas, none were to be had. I dubbed it Geography Sausage and went about my kitcheny business.

It was, of course, a Continental Breakfast.

Har har.

After work (my days are indeed divided by that omnipresent factor), I was walking along the street towards home when I found an envelope full of cash. Lots of cash! For a minute, I wondered if I had wandered into a Philosophy 101 textbook (Section One: Moral Autonomy*. Due Thursday). Without a second thought, though, I identified the bank where it had come from, and raced to get there before it closed. I had to walk through the drive-through-- the lobby was closed-- but I'm so glad I got an opportunity to get the money back into its rightful hands. I felt pretty good about it, in some selfish way, but it's so rewarding to imagine the relief of the person who thought they had dropped it. Wonderful!

Still on the same walk-- I should add, it's really not a very long walk by any means; today's was simply rich-- I happened on an elderly dog limping like zig-zagged lightning through streets and into strangers' yards (and trash). We were working in the same general direction for a few blocks, and then I caught up to him; I called the owners, who happened to be only a few blocks from where I was, and walked him home. Probably a very small thing, maybe even meddling (I hope not) but I know that, if karma's kind, I'd like someone to do the same for me. Besides that, the house from which Shadow (the delinquent) had escaped is only two doors down from where I'll be living-- so, I sort of know someone in the neighborhood. That's a good thing!

(*-- Moral Autonomy was oft-repeated phrase in my senior year of high school; my Lit teacher, also the director of our small charter school, used it in everything from lessons to our many, many school trips.  I remember him giving a short informal lecture on it just before reading what is now one of my favorite poems, while on a ten-day "camping" trip in January... which, as it happens, changed my life. So much to say! That poem is this:

A Ritual to Read To Each Other

If you don't know the kind of person I am
and I don't know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made may prevail in the world
and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.

For there is many a small betrayal in the mind,
a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break
sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood
storming out to play through the broken dyke.

And as elephants parade holding each elephant's tail,
but if one wanders the circus won't find the park,
I call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty
to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.

And so I appeal to a voice, to something shadowy,
a remote important region in all who talk:
though we could fool each other, we should consider—
lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.

For it is important that awake people be awake,
or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep;
the signals we give—yes or no, or maybe—
should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.

--William Stafford.

Incidentally, William Stafford also has a poem called Lit Instructor, which I always associated with Director Dan. The last lines of the poem are some of my favorites: "Well, Right has a long and intricate name/ And the saying of it is a lonely thing." Again: Moral Autonomy!)

Really, these are just a few little things, but I suppose everything's pretty little from the right perspective. Now, the evening is winding down; I'm going to clean to some sweet soundtracks for awhile, windows open, and then maybe spend some time with the man who has quickly become my favorite company. It's been a good day; I feel like the bridges I didn't realize I was burning between my friends are slowly being rebuilt, and I am entering a more placid territory with them. I guess that deserves an explanation unto itself. For now, though, I've got real, tangible messes to soothe; I will save the metaphysics for a metaphorical morning. Between then and now, I will surely post the set of poems that has been haunting me. Later tonight, perhaps.