Still Sundays

November 11, 2012.

 

The moon will soon move to completely cover the Sun. There will be Baily’s Beads to crown the moon.  A solar eclipse.

 

Lately stillness has the scent of lemons on a cool morning.

 

Either people are surprised, concerned, or certain I am “from New York City.”

I was told twice I smell like New York City. I can only hope the individuals meant Bloomingdales and not the subway or the South Bronx.

 

Next year there are plans which involve going to New York City so I don’t see myself detached from New York City (let the bi-coastal life officially begin, but now with more ease than trying to do the back and forth from the east coast which was just too costly).  I am very happy to begin life here and seldom compare anything to New York City. If I wanted to leave New York City for New York City I would have stayed in New York City.

I am unable to relate to people’s reactions when they find out that I am from New York City. Maybe it is because I don’t share enough. I don’t share how impossibly challenging it became to feel freedom there. Freedom, my raison d’être. I couldn’t even enjoy the city, the New York that I madly love, the one not in the tourism books and mainstream websites, the one made up of my eclectic stranger-friends who live in shelters, because I refused to put on the shackles made of a paycheck so as to afford a box (granted I lived in a relatively big box compared to others’ apartments).

The New York City I so worshiped was already a memory while I was still there so it wasn’t hard to leave. Being involved with New York City became akin to adoring a supermodel who is addicted to cocaine; after awhile you can only admire her from afar.

 

What do I miss the most about New York City? Besides the “idea” that is New York, New York, I miss my yoga practice with my yoga instructor Marco Rojas. But I am not worried; now I will be able to actually attend his trainings and retreats in New York as well as anywhere in the world so as to enhance my own practice. I miss odd things only a few people truly understand. I am so content about the way things are unfolding now and what I am creating here that I don’t really have time to miss what wasn’t happening there despite my love for the city.

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Sundays have sustained me for almost a year now.  I have not shared much fiction on here because I do treat this space like a public writing portfolio.  I could have continued sharing stories but “short stories” demand so much more. Practicing that craft has been my primary focus. Now it is time to focus my attention on fiction again. When I was writing full time I could do both. I never thought of my Sunday essays as “blog entries”, although I certainly have called them “posts”.  However, I believe the future of Still Sundays’ essays is coming to an end to the extent that they are no longer going to be essays but indeed more like blog posts.

Perhaps nothing more than toMAYto-toMAto to others but I know the difference. Essays demand more and I am very passionate about my full time work in education consulting, and because my primary focus is fiction, Sunday thoughts just might have to suffice as blog posts. This is because I have lungs and not gills to swim in stillness as I somersault through transitions. I have always allowed Stillness to guide whatever organic shape words take on a Sunday so this shift is no different. 117 essays so far. Over 2 years. Some long trial of words and fragments, I say.

My fiction is a crazy dancer who can breathe in between fireball exhales of the momentum of my life right now which is filled with intense love and joy. I write fiction in spurts of hours or days or weeks till I am finished with a piece so I don’t really need stillness like I do for the essays.

When we start living our life to its fullest potential, aligned with a higher vision, we realize how short life really can be.  Naano in England says, “It’s really surprising how much energy human beings truly have when they are surrounded by pure energy.”

 

How will we explain a “blog” in history books when this time is long gone? Did we have this social media time before but there is no record of it because the record of everything digital vanished? I will save that for fiction.

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I had my life flash before my eyes the other day. Why do people think this only happens right before a near death experience during imminent physical danger? Or perhaps it is accurate it does happen near death, for we are forever-dying if we are forever-growing.

All the parts of my life since 2004, or even before then, fell down like puzzle pieces from the sky and I watched them gather around me like Budapest autumn leaves.

The final pieces have come together and I am dumbfounded with gratitude.

Nothing in life happens sooner than when it does because often we don’t realize the immense power of that which we want. Only when we can look at our wildest wishes as vehicles for service does the Universe roll forward like a red carpet. Thereafter, all that is left to do is to hold one’s head high, and heart even higher, with gratitude and humility, and just walk and do.

 

Some times when I sit to write I feel like Spiderman, web of wordfluid bursting through my fingers, sometimes to save myself and other times maybe another.

 

Today I know with certainty there are no words to express gratitude.

 

Vuyo is right, happily-ever-after is a very solid beginning.

 

3 responses to “Still Sundays”

  1. “Nothing in life happens sooner than when it does…” ! I’ve heard something like this thought in the air and on the tips of many tongues for years, but leave it to you to find words that make it seem inevitable, but also capable of surprising with an exclamation point!

    Happy that the puzzle leaves are falling, Tetris-like, into place, bringing you autumn joy. And however this writing space evolves, thanks for offering 117 views of Sunday Stillness. So far.

    ~lucy

  2. What delightful thoughts Annie! Enjoyed reading as always and I can relate to everything you say. Hugs, Annika