Analogous

Pottery is my chosen analogy for life. How it was chosen, or how it chose me isn't really all that important. What is important is that it has been consciously resonating to the very core of my being for something close to 4 years meow. In recognizing, recording/writing, and trying to honor these messages that come to me while working with and through clay, I am closer than I've ever been to authentic living. And, damn does it feel good. Like, probably what unicorns feel: sparkly, light-filled, energized, sexual, silly, overwhelmed with joy and gratitude, grounded, immersed in and a part of the beauty of the natural world. Sure, it seems near impossible to maintain this sort of existence i-tinuously, and doing pottery-type-things isn't a carte blanche for bliss, but it is helping me recognize how I can try to live honestly and fully in the now [or, meow].

Here are some recent musings along this vein -- somewhat scattered because I was jumping between the wheel and a notebook. And, am editing them as I type this. The voice and identity of the speaker shifts -- meaning sometimes it is a human: a potter, sometimes it is the vessel or the clay, and sometimes it is some thing/one else entirely. It's all open for interpretation. Alas...

*~*~*What is attractive about clay forms as analogous to human forms is that the shapes are honest, bold, and can be striking -- even. All the qualities I hope to see and be in my own human form. Inserting a something I wrote some time ago, because it oh-so-fits:

Bare vessels
Naked and petrified
Purified in fire.
Here, every grain, speck,
Or pock-mock
Alternately glares and screams.
Strata of lines comes into crisp focus,
Seeming to share geologic histories --
If one knows where/how to look;
What to seek.
But, we only see
What's on the surface,
Anyways.

*~*~*Spinning in and out of control: When clay spins out of control on the wheel, it swells, becomes bloated, and distorted; it starts flopping and limping along. Making the pot more vulnerable to the other phases it will encounter. If a pot is supported while spinning out of control, it may be able to correct its form. When clay spins in control, all manner of good things are possible! It has the potential for growth, beauty, longevity, and a sturdy form. Sure, this vessel still faces the pressures of spinning, and must still use a support system and its own strength to resist the forces that seek to push its form into spinning wildly out of control.

*~*~*Hands: We need touch. We need touch that shakes us to the core. We need that connection with each other. Sometimes it's a handshake, a squeeze on the arm, or a hug. Other times only a lover's sweaty, quaking embrace will do. Consistently resisting these impulses, feelings, and leanings has negative effects on the integrity of our form.
*~*We are shaped by others' hands and what our own hands are capable of.
*~*We are supported by others' hands, and in turn provide support. We are sometimes damaged, crushed even by the hands of others. We should remember to what deep and dark places this takes us, and try not to be the one with the damaging, crushing hands.

*~*~*Soft, moist to wet clay, like human beings leaves traces on everything it touches. Even the skilled potter does not walk away from the wheel without some transfer of materials.

*~*~*Phases: wheel=birth; wetbox=childhood; triming=teen years; pre-bisque drying = young adulthood  as stagnation, waiting to become, stuck between -- before the first firing, as greenware the vessel is most fragile. The bisque firing = middle age/adulthood -- the form becomes permanent and hardened by the fire, it becomes "secure"; pre-glaze= pre-retirement years -- has made it through some trials, but has others ahead, another phase of waiting to develop; being glazed = retirement, kicking back, taking on a wholly different arrangement of one's life, and making necessary adjustments, preparation for further transition. The glaze fire= the end of life, a total transformation; after glaze fire= a new life! A new beginning as part of something else entirely new to one's previous experience. Never before could our wildest dreams and imaginings come close...
For how can it -- the vessel -- or we know?
The phases come and the phases go.
This is our time. Now.
And just the way the light touches all things,
And the ways the world speaks to us,
Should hopefully
Be enough
For you
To breathe a sigh of gratitude,
A sigh of relief. 

  

Clay Achin'

A moist,
Dark,
Mysterious form.
Pliant, and
Supple --
It sits waiting
To become.
Beckoning the hands
Of a conduit.
In a low siren song,
It calls, "I am here,
And don't forget
What you promised me.
What you owe to me..."
Its pulse so slow and steady.
It chants these words;
It casts a spell.
Now part of a whole,
It must pass through hands,
Heart,
Water, and
Fire --
It must recognize
The strength to be found
When we are tested.
Then, it becomes a vessel.
Then, it becomes
More than *just*
A thing.
It grows,
Lives,
Matures, and
Becomes hardened against
The ways of the world.
The imperative
Of endurance
Has deepest roots
In us all. 

T.E.D.(L.)

T.E.D.(L.)

There is blood family, and there is the family that you choose to forge with others.  My friend Tara is a chosen one. Although we played and spent time together as kids because our moms hung out, we forged a friendship that was the deepest sisterly bond I’ve ever had. With anyone…and that includes my own sister.

Among the many memories I have of her, some highlights include:

 --Teaching me how to fluently read in kindergarten. I was learning at home, too, but we would read and write together at our daycare. We spent hours and hours reading.

-- In that same vein, we played “Post Office” –  hanging out in my room, I remember sitting in different corners, writing each other letters and delivering them.

-- We shared the same obsession with Jonathan Taylor Thomas; hoarding and sharing choice Teen Bop pics of him. I’m sure at various points we were both jealous of each other’s collections. We searched and spent hours AOL messaging a J.T.T. droid – something like the current Smarter Child. We even printed up the conversation because we were so proud.  AOL and we were such younglings then.

-- When Tara and her mom moved to Florida for a couple of years, we wrote each other letters. We kept in touch and stayed a part of each other’s lives.

-- Sleepovers – we had THE BEST FUCKING SLEEPOVERS IN THE WORLD. Replete with drama, too much tv and movies, too much sugary snacks/drinks,  doing our hair in 40 hairstyles, doing our nails, calling people on the phone, trying to sneak out (although this didn’t go over so well), dreaming, talking, teasing, laughing, and sometimes crying. 

-- Even when Tara and her mom lived 30 mins away in middle school and part of high-school, she made sure to make my birthday incredibly special. She made me a big deal.

Things started to change, we changed, grew, and began different paths in the middle of high-school. It was incredibly hard to see us drifting apart – even though we were both clearly headed in good directions. It was still away from each other. And, Tara ended up moving to S.C. during this time; which made our separation much more definitive.

These ended up as dark times for me…and, I closed myself off to her for many years. Too many years. Struggling with my own internal reeling, depression, confusion, and sadness, I turned away from her (and many other good, good people in my life) because I was scared. I was scared of being vulnerable, and of losing. Of disappointing her/them.

There are two things that I regret in profound ways, and they both are about Tara, and the ways that I abandoned her.  In college, when her mother was stricken with a fast growing cancer, and she came back up north to care for her, I was nowhere to be found. I didn’t call her, didn’t stop by, and was basically a huge, worthless turd. I make no excuses for my actions, I was simply selfish and did not want to help share someone else’s pain. I was a horrible friend to someone who had given me so much. Towards the end I reluctantly stopped in for a visit. And, in that evening I saw my still young friend as a capable, caring, and strong as hell woman. Even at that young age, my once shy, funny friend was becoming a force to be reckoned with. A mover and shaker; a doer, living her life inspite of the shit cards she was dealing with…and she was basically doing it by herself.  The other situation involves her wedding. Despite my bailing on her during one of the most trying situations in her life, Tara asked me to be one of her bridesmaids. Initially, I was very excited about this. It felt special, and it felt like a chance to reconnect. To dress up, do our hair, dream, play, and be silly together again. But, when I was offered a chance to finish some of my English M.A. credits in London, with her wedding right in the middle of that trip, I totally fucked up again. I ditched on the wedding…and this only happened 3 years ago…somehow, miraculously, she still talks to me.

Who is this incredible woman that has shaped my life in so many ways, has been such a good friend to me? -- Even when I didn't deserve it. And why the fuck do I keep screwing up and being a selfish bitch? She’s one of the BEST people that ever came into my life, and I’ve hurt her, myself, and our friendship so much. I have come to the conclusion that I have a very hard time maintaining friendships with women because I’m scared of what they’ll expect of me. I don’t want to disappoint them, so when our friendship starts out I’m all over it. Calling, being thoughtful, listening really well, remembering things that are important to them – but then I hit this zone where I start to feel scared. I get panicky and I bail. I bail hard. In my fear of disappointing someone, months (or years) down the road, I fulfill my own prophecy by acting like a total flaky, selfish, asshole.

Tara, if you’re reading this, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH. And, I am so sorry. I can’t ever tell you how sorry I am. Thank you for being you. You’re such an inspiration and you deserve the wonderful life you’ve worked so hard for – and much, much more.

Poets Bloom On Shaky Ground

It wasn't so late
In the afternoon
When I wandered   -- the familiarity of our rooms -- 
Avoiding the lazy cats
Lounging, languishing -- albeit somewhat lavishly --
And sometimes loudly, like landmines,
I stooped to pick up
Our love notes.
Strewn --
On tables,
             Others on chairs,
And those that had blown
To the ground like
October's leaves.
Touching these crisp,
Wrinkled traces
Of our stories,
Our missed
And misplaced moments,
It was then I realized :
I have never felt
More alive
Than when
I am touching these dead things --
These crumpled leaves.
Knowing that the best
Is always ahead of us;
Because even though
Poets bloom on shaky ground,
Even now, I can't stop singing
Our song.

Verbages of July [A Retrospective]

apple'd (as in apple-filled)
amplified
attended

breaking
breathing
brewing

coloring
controlling
creating

dancing
daring
diminished

enhancing
enamoured
enveloped

fleeting
flowing
finding

grown
garbled
gather

honing
hollering
held

immersed
itching
imagining

juiced
jazzing
jammed

knowing
keeping
kissed
 
losing
living
loved

molting
melted
molding

nearing
nulled
nested

opened
offering
organizing

peering
plotting
parting

questioning
quipping
quenched

roaring
roaming
reaching

shimmering
seared
shelving

timed
tearing
tickled

undercutting
ululating
unburdened

visited
viewing
vested

wilted
waged
wrangling

x-isting
xerox
x-out

yelping
yolked
yearning

zilched
zooming
zinged

Day 2: What else ya gonna do?

Here I am again -- letting myself feel defeated before I've even tried to see what I'm capable of. Why do I keep doing that? It certainly isn't the best form of motivation, and I doubt it helps me create the best work/finished product -- when I do actually finish...[procrastinator deluxe edition]
Why do I keep doing that?
What am I doing here?  -- occupying this space at this particular moment in time?
I think part of the reason I get out of bed in the morning is because I still haven't found completely satisfactory answers to the previous question. And, perhaps some of the reasons I do get out of bed in the morning is because I've found some deeply satisfactory answers to the previous question.

Some thoughts to add after last night's post:

* I realized a few other good things that I've been doing lately to be a good animal:

-- Flossing my teeth regularly: I know, I know I should of been doing that since the time I could hold a toothbrush, and complete other mouth-care essentials. But, I was never one of those people that saw the true benefits of flossing until I started doing it regularly. Last time I had a full cleaning by a dental hygienist, they had to "scale" my teeth -- like scrape off what they referred to as, "little plaque jackets that my teeth had been wearing." YUCK. Since that encounter, I have been dutifully flossing my teeth. Taking joy in noticing that my gums and teeth feel cleaner and stronger than they have in a couple of years; and flossing actually brightens my mood. Whatever "funk" I'm feeling in my mouth can spill over into my attitude, but a little floss and mouthwash action literally cleanses my palette and cleans out my mind.

-- Carrying a notebook with me almost everywhere: I started doing this in 2008, and have been rolling deep since that time. This old-fashioned device requires no more techno-savvy than the ability to wield the writing utensil of your choice. And you bet your sweet candy ass I carry pens, pencils, and sharpies. Both pen and paper frequently come in handy on the scene and in my own scene. Whether I've got to scribble down the grocery list, jot down phone numbers, copy reading lists, give out info, get directions, jot down some poetry that keeps rattling around in my brainspace and begins collecting into too many lines at once; it's also a sketchbook, and a research notebook, and a book of dreams...BONUS: it doesn't require you to charge any batteries (other than those powering your own mind/body).

-- Playing the guitar: In 2000, this instrument burned me real bad. My parents got me a cute, honey colored Fender acoustic for my 16th birthday. And, paid for a year's worth of lessons. I desperately wanted to learn how to play, but I was too was easily frustrated, tense/anxious, and generally pretty lazy. Also, I had this pretty pathetic crush on my guitar teacher -- who was uncomfortable with the fact that I clearly spent more time getting dressed up and doing my hair for our lessons than I did actually practicing the instrument. I seemed like my hands never stopped sweating during guitar lessons; making me that much more awkward and tense...which doesn't work out so well with the whole strumming strings rhythmically thing. WELP, about 3 months ago, my husband approached me with the idea of picking it up. He offered to teach me a few things, help me get re-acclimated, but then cut me loose to get comfortable with la guitarra on my own. This has worked fairly well. For close to 5 weeks, I picked up John's Spanish guitar almost every day; and in this full swing of summer it's been about 3x's a week. There are some moments making music that are indescribable. I become merely a conduit, a vessel -- and I am so thankful for this state of being...however fleeting.  

--  Taking photos: This is one of my interests...I guess documenting my life (to make it seem more real??) in general is one of my interests (*see blog currently being read). Recently, my interest has resurfaced while photo-documenting my pottery, and focusing on framed compositions. At some point, I'd like to study this more in depth, with a trained professional, and purchase a really fucking nice digital camera and some tits lenses.

-- Meeting with a Life Coach: This is a most recent development, but I feel it may influence much that the next few months have to offer. As mentioned in my last post, I have so many wonderful people and things going on in my life, and so many more I've yet to encounter, but sometimes I lose sight of it all. Sometimes I forget how to bloom. And I feel lost. I want to find ways to move through those moments with much more grace than I've been able to muster to date. Our initial meeting left me with such feelings of lightness and internal warmth -- I'm looking forward to what future sessions will bring.

I guess I just spent an hour's worth of writing cheerleading for myself...maybe I need to have more regularly dispersed moments like that in my life; instead of bottling them up and somewhat forcefully, haltingly, squeezing them out slowly on a page. For now, anyways, writing makes them seem more real. 

Final thoughts:
-- If you're reading this...I'm not just cheerleading for myself, but you, too!! Deep down -- we need support and we need each other.
-- Need to include more evenly dispersed poetryish type pieces in Read.Think.Mud's future posts