A Human Sunday

 Still Sundays.

April 15, 2012.

It wasn’t until this weekend, last night, when I felt there really is something distinctive about this time of the year, particularly April 15th.

In 1865 on this day Abraham Lincoln was assassinated.

The Titanic sank.

In 1927 a great American asset, the Mississippi river, became a tremendous liability when the sky fell down in the form of non-stop rain causing the river to burst and cause one of the greatest floods in American history.

In 1986 on this day American warplanes bombed Tripoli in retaliation of Libyan terrorism.

2012 seems packed with events but time is passing in slow motion. It is only April 15th and so much has happened all across the globe and in so many personal lives (this includes good moments and great events too).

Yesterday while working on a short fiction story I jotted down the following phrase that the male protagonist says at one point, “I wish the world would end already.”  I didn’t think much of it other than it was most apt for the scene, the exchange, and to capture a central theme of the story. It took me two hours to calculate and decide yes, this is indeed what he must say.

This morning Sunday served me a stilling query, a petit dejeuner: who was that person who wrote that sentence if you don’t believe that?

Maybe I too have bought the hype the world is ending after all. Small endings every day without any catastrophes. I’ll take it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 And I always recall in April that I sometimes forget in July that I miss Paris in July.

I woke up this Sunday morning missing places. Places can become a menagerie of feelings that are not necessarily available any longer when one revisits them. But a few places on this planet are beyond the exact time occupied by feelings, and serve as a well to dig the water of deeper, newer feelings. Paris is one such city.

This Sunday morning I awoke missing Paris.

There was no nostalgia accompanied by this missing. This missing felt like a photograph of yesterday fully capable of existing tomorrow—if only tomorrow would come already!— as compared to a missing that one accepts as never happening again.

Sometimes April serves as an encore performance of winter in New York City and one has to lay the dead to rest all over again. It is also in April when it becomes apparent that New York City is an idea and if you don’t believe in an idea it doesn’t really exist.

On this day in April it is also the birthday of Leonardo Da Vinci (a favorite of mine, primarily for his notebooks) and Henry James.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My mother and father have been away on a trip to explore Turkey. We have made the best of communicating at least every other day despite the time difference and being able to catch one another at the right time. But it is not the same as being able to pick up the phone and call or text whenever. My family is very close and not in a smothering manner and when it feels like that, which is seldom, we are open to a dialogue for space.

Last weekend we were away visiting my sister. Being together helped that my mother was away and not as easily accessible. But then life as usual had to resume and it hasn’t been easy. My mother is one of the most positive  balls of glow I have ever encountered and a great friend. I am not afraid to say that I love Love and it is a joy to connect with her. A quick hello with her feels like little cherry blossom petals drifting in the breeze to land on you as you walk through the day.

My mother is always reminding us that our world would collapse if the balance of oppositional energies couldn’t stay restored. This is often in reference to loss or yucky energy. Simply put, whenever we feel we have “lost” one thing, for however long, it is often replaced by something or someone else, even if just in passing, until we can learn to balance on the bicycle of Time and ride life again. But this only happens by accepting that which is no longer there. And it does not mean losing a loved one to death can be replaced by another individual. It just means tools to learn how to navigate new terrains shall be provided.

This weekend a short text exchange with a dear friend and a phone call from another provided for perspective that my mother offers in 140 characters or less in one phone conversation. Perspective that I sometimes need, some months more frequently than others, April being such a month, to accept just how I am and how I am is more than alright.

Energy just changes forms, it is never gone, and we are the gate keepers of what we allow in and out.

I can’t wait till their return this weekend when they will stop by in New York for a rest and visit before heading home to California.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lately there is an onslaught of articles on the repercussions of social media “connecting”, especially fakebook. Last week I came across one of the most comprehensive articles on the subject in The Atlantic by Stephen Marche. You can read it in its entirety here. Stephen Marche offered a very well researched report on what the epidemic of loneliness is doing to our souls and our society and how social media is adding fuel to this toxic fire that is not serving as a light but instead burning.

It also made me sad. We have taken a very human desire to connect and made it into leprosy. We have hijacked the word authenticity to the extent we have to have articles on what it means to be authentic. We have turned a much needed critical discourse on the evolution of internet into a trend. And trends don’t last and the conversation about how this is hurting our personal development needs to continue.

The biggest problem is that we take things to mean more than they are to fill some void that no one person or accomplishment can.

I bow to synchronicities and serendipities only as far as what they mean in the moment. Nothing more. Any friendships or job opportunities or writing connections that have come about because of these “random” magical moments of precision as if the Universe is indeed an Artist with a grand intention and message have come through mutual efforts and not because of the sparkling moment itself.

An example: I had been questioning the articles and photos I share on my website. I am not a syndicated columnist and foremost I am not actively pursuing agents at this point (that demands as much work as actually writing and I somehow always end up choosing actually writing over the next pertinent stages).

So there I was exploring the why of this space and that very night I received an email from someone I don’t know. She had attended her first Marco Rojas yoga class and felt her life transformed. She googled more information about him and came across my articles about him. She was writing to thank me for all this information.

Then and there I was quickly reminded about the purpose of why I created this online space here: to share. That is all.

I appreciated technology and internet in that moment, including google and email, for us to connect. And that was it.

All kindred connections and serendipitous moments exist to take us closer to ourselves and a reminder of some Grand Connectivity. That is all. Anything more than that perfectly timed exchange demands real, consistent, mutual, effort and time.

Image courtesy of Astronomy Picture of the Day, NASA.

“The optical phenomenon called Fata Morgana can make strange shapes or a false wall of water appear above a watery horizon. When conditions are right, light reflecting off of cold water will be bent by an unusual layer of warm air above to arrive at the observer from several different angles.”

Fata Morgana mirages distort the object or objects which they are based on significantly, often such that the object is completely unrecognizable. Social Media has become the Fata Morgana of our times.

We have become addicted to healing. Loneliness is not a disease. If there is any disease it is our inability to sit with how we really feel and to allow those feelings to pass, even when they are the greatest feelings, and especially when they are not so great.

“Our thoughts are only an interpretation of reality.” ~ Marco Rojas

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It has turned into an overcast still Sunday; a perfect Sunday for jazz.

Jazz—music, but especially jazz—is a supreme interpretation of reality. Somehow it takes into account all fleeting feelings as necessary to truly living. This is why I love live music: there is no ‘repeat’ to stay attached to just one song.

Related posts:

A Still Sunday with Love Still Sundays Still Sundays “the aim was song” kind of sunday…