Vintage Stillness

June 2, 2013.

I have been wearing stillness inside out. It feels like I bought it from a thrift store. Vintage stillness. “How has that worked for you so far?”  Sunday wants to know even though Sunday knows the answer.

Sunday always has an answer.

I got highlights, ever so light and few, for my hair, the authentication stamp for residing in California.  I want to think I like California more now. Residing in California I am reminded that so much of how we live now—anywhere—is simply a choosing between lesser evils. How can that be when earth is a slice of heaven? Do we continue to choose in heaven too? Peace or peace…as the devil takes your order.

I spoke to one of my dear aunts who lives in New York City and visits California like I too used to. She said, “Very few people understand that New York City is comprised of small villages. One always misses the village.”

Yesterday makes it 6 months of living here. Six months has felt like six lifetimes. Words of Seneca, perspiration on the forehead of my thinking:  “Begin at once to live, and count each separate day as a separate life.”

Yes, if being on earth is indeed some life sentence, then I resolve on making decisions that are not easy, borrowing others’ patience as I wasn’t born with much, sticking both hands inside the mouth of some grand comfort zone and stretching experiences so far wide open that I define new zones. How’s that for making each day feel like a brand new one? Not easy but certainly not boring.

During this supposedly short time, a month ago, there was a very clear and solid opportunity to return back to New York City. I knew it wasn’t time yet.  Meanwhile, I am looking for an extra pair of lungs to breathe better in California.

I am certain that all cities and towns have their shortcomings. It is only when our reality is exposed to a cities’ dysfunctions to the extent that sustaining a healthy livelihood becomes nearly impossible do we ever calculate the pros and cons. For example, someone who seldom rides the subway in New York City “can live with” the unpunctual “A” or “C” trains. Similarly, a person who seldom leaves his neighborhood in Los Angeles or San Francisco  “can live with” the insane traffic. In many ways, all that is great about any city is based on the reporting from those who continue to find the benefits despite the negatives.

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There are three books I began reading six months ago. Rowling, Dickens, Helprin. I haven’t gone beyond the first thirty pages in any of them.  Not that I utilize Kindle, but this article is noteworthy, “Your average Kindle reader is a creature caught in permanent adolescence, but yearning to improve.” What if it is true fewer and fewer people are reading? But that isn’t accurate.

I took this certification exam the other day and one of the reading comprehension and critical analysis questions in it was based on a passage which went something like this: Ever since I learned how to read it has become an addiction. I can’t stop reading. I read everything my eyes fall upon. I read labels on cereal boxes to comic strips to instructions. Reading has taken over my life. I collect newspaper clippings even if I don’t have time to read but somehow I always make the time to read. I am not sure why then I just don’t see the big picture despite reading everything.

I had an 8^th grade student tell me, “I also want to write a book. I want to write about my life. I have endured so much unfairness!”

“I think you should,” I replied trying my best to take what he considers as unfair seriously.

“My mom says it is really hard work writing a book. But then why are there so many writers?”

“That’s a very good question. Maybe everyone just wants to tell his or her story. Like you,” I replied.

“Maybe,” he replied. Then added confidently, “But I don’t think so.”

Maybe we are all reading and writing more than any other time in history and we are all missing the big picture. A new kind of illiteracy?

I told my mother how could I expect others to read when I am not reading as much. I used to read a book a week when I was in middle school. I would read any and everything that was in the public library in the neighborhood. My favorite part would be to find a “fix,” that one book which made you lose track of time. I attribute my current relationship with time—almost non-existent—to those “fixes.” Perhaps after so much reading a person hits some kind of ‘full’ on the consciousness tank and thereafter he or she is compelled to pour words out instead of take them in.

My mother replied, “Your job is to write. Don’t worry with the reading. Yours or others.”

All I know about the power of love is because of my mother’s love. It is bold. It is peaceful. I can literally walk through fire unscathed because of her love. Even when not literally then this: the burns from living heal as if I am the phoenix and the fire. I think with the love like that you always know what’s important and most powerful.

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It’s June 2^nd. I am certain so much of the world’s angst exists because of the Gregorian calendar. Whoever decided to change the New Year from March to January in 1752 certainly had some personal and political agenda! Julian Calendar. Roman Calendar.   How can they forget about the moon? Never forget about the moon.

It has been a long 2012 indeed and it is finally a new year.

I wrote a short complaint two months ago to the Universe and the god of Money. There was only stillness from the Universe and the god of Money replied, “You don’t need more money. You want more time.”

In stillness time expands and you realize you are the one who created the god of Money.

I leave you with this passage I came across:

The magazine headlines, as well as the visual images, push the notion of invulnerability. We are told we can ‘empower’ ourselves. We read about ‘sexual power,’ ‘the power of being thin,’ ‘the power of being fit,’ ‘the power of personal charisma.’ Nowhere in all this talk of ‘power’ is the admission that sometimes we might feel a lack of power or a need to find a power greater than ourselves. In the slick world, spirituality is either marginalized or sensationalized. ~ Julia Cameron, Some People Say That…God is No Laughing Matter.

I don’t think there is anything wrong with every one being a writer as long as he or she can see the big picture.

Related posts:

Still Sundays Occupy Stillness. Viktor Frankl: the challenge of potential meaning to fulfill Still Sundays