Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Sunrise decomposed

Strange dreams made me restless last night. I awoke in the dark, unable to sleep. Did some a Kundalini meditation which made me feel better but no more capable of sleep. Mind racing, I finally recognize the futility and decide to take advantage of a sunrise for once.





The house was quiet at 6:30am...the most subtle wash of light beginning to creep in as I padded upstairs to make tea. I slip outside unnoticed and alone. Sitting on the front porch I heard the low moan of a passing train. It's a sad sound that gypsy siren, metal on metal screeching through the rumbling, reaching 1.5 miles down Old Embreeville road to my waking ears.





Crickets kept the rhythm as a mourning dove poured her heart out. The whole world seems to gently unfold in the early hours, noises becoming more intense along with the spreading light. Warm tea pushed back the morning damp and cool. I raised my mug in silent cheer to passing cars-fellow travelers- hoping they were driving to something they enjoy. Something nourishing to the spirit.





There was a fine mist rising up from the field across the street. As I sat and pondered my current state of being I wondered where the road map went. Adults seemed to know exactly what was right or wrong when I was a child. They seemed to have all the answers for everyone. I've chosen a life for which I was given no map. I'm facing changes I don't have a clue how to navigate and it's really ok. Sometimes I just want to be handed the directions though.





I look down at my scarred feet and silently thank them for carrying me so many places, thank them for bringing me to the place I am now.





The light slowly filled up the morning sky and began spilling into my windows, warm and welcome taking away the edge of a restless night. Suma got his breakfast early, my cat the color of sunsets. He greets the day with much less intellect; human=canned food, sunshine=nap, life. is. good.




I sit wrapped up in my thoughts about children growing up and art and how a morning unfolds with all it's promises. I realize that I write in my head, I search for better words and descriptions to help me clarify what swirls around in muddy ripples. Without sitting down to put words to paper (or computer) it doesn't make me a better writer. It does make me a more interesting thinker I suppose.

"Now I'm hunched over a typewriter I guess you call that paintin' in
a cave
And there's a word I can't remember and a feeling I cannot escape"


Within those thoughts I recognize why I really write. I have to. Because it helps me think, it helps me understand myself, it helps me focus that muddy swirl. It doesn't matter if the words are worthy or if anyone else relates to them. They are for me and my journey. I need the words and the exercise of honing them. I need to pour out the words that tease and taunt me, that keep me from sleep. They must need me too because they are a constant.

"And now my ashtray's overflowing I'm still staring at a clean white page Oh and morning's at my window she is sending me to bed again"


Memories of a different time and place, of a restaurant in Pensacola with pita bread and baba ganoush come rushing in. I hear the words spoken so often "today is a new day". Sunrise is renewal, rebirth, new beginnings. It is sunrise whenever we choose to start new, to give ourselves permission to be in this moment without the baggage of perceived failures or mistakes of the past.

Today IS a new day, with all it's potential for beauty. Maybe I can be more like my cat and simply enjoy that sliver of sunshine because it's there.


Another Travelin' Song ~Bright Eyes
Well I'm changing all my strings
I'm gonna write another travelin' song about all the billion highways and the cities at the break of dawn I guess the best that I can do now is to pretend
that I've done nothing wrong
and to dream about a train that's gonna take me back
where I belong



Well now the ocean speaks and spits and I can hear it
from the interstate
and I'm screamin' at my brother
on a cellphone
he is far away
And I'm saying nothing in the past or future ever will feel like today until we're parking in an alley
just hoping that our shit is safe

So I go back and forth forever All my thoughts they come in pairs Oh I will, I won't, I doubt, I don't, I'm not surprised but I never feel quite prepared

Now I'm hunched over a typewriter I guess you call that paintin' in a cave
And there's a word I can't remember and a feeling
I cannot escape

And now my ashtray's overflowing I'm still staring at a clean white page Oh and morning's at my window she is sending me to bed again
Well I dream the dark on the horizon I dream the desert where the dead lay down
I dream a prostituted child touching an old man
in a fast food crown
Oh yeah, I dreamt this ship was sinkin'
there was people screaming all around

And I awoke to my alarm clock
it was a pop song it was playin' loud


So I will find my fears and face them or I will cower like a dog I will kick and scream or kneel and plead I'll fight like hell to hide that I've given up

4 comments:

Penta said...

~I hear the words spoken so often "today is a new day". Sunrise is renewal, rebirth, new beginnings. It is sunrise whenever we choose to start new, to give ourselves permission to be in this moment without the baggage of perceived failures or mistakes of the past.~

'twas a most excellent am adventure to awaken to these words, Ren! That quote is about to appear on Facebook!
Merci, grazie, gracias.....

Snavleys said...

A wonderful post to wake up to:) I would have shared the sunrise with you, too bad we live so far away. I often tell my yoga students that every breath we take is a rebirth. Kind of like it is a sunrise whenever we choose to start new. It does away with the "Tomorrow I'm going to....."

laura said...

i remember thinking that my parents knew what they were doing when they would make big decisions like moving or changing jobs. i was talking to my dad about it a few years ago and he just laughed and said that they had no idea what they were doing. i once thought when i got to that age (i guess they were probably in their early 30s at the time) that i would also know what i was doing with my life. funny how it doesn't work like that. my dad said that even now, in his 60s, he still has no idea.

and about your writing...i have come to the same conclusion about making art. that ultimately i do it for me. for the craving just to bring it into existence. after so many years of putting it all aside, i am finally starting to see things more clearly and am coming to a better understanding of what it is that i have to do with my creative energy. getting rid of the school stuff, the family stuff, the voices that ridicule and don't understand the artist's journey...those have been big hurdles to leap for sure.

piscesgrrl said...

This is so lovely... it's as though I was there.

And Laura, I totally relate to what you said about thinking the adults knew everything and that one day, you'd 'just know' too. I had those same wonderings... wondering how I'd know I was in love, or wanted to marry, or found the right job... I didn't understand it, but I think my parents didn't share their journey with me in the that way. Decisions were made; I wasn't privy to the process. They liked providing that "united front" and didn't like worrying us.