January 11, 2007

welcome new life

mapping out time in space; nostalgia for the future.

palindromic preludes find their resolution at the end of 2006. beginning with a hope for a bright future, it turned into a downward slide from which i'm not entirely recovered -- but almost. the most painful (emotional and physical) events of my small life happened this year, making me familiar with a kind of concentrated solitude. saved by the love of the closest of my dear friends, my family ... i never believed such generosity existed -- and yet, how could i have expected any less from you? i'm grateful for your love.

the last ten months, i lost words for the state i've occupied -- some kind of anguish shrouded in laughter. it was the most traumatic year i have ever experienced, and it was also the richest. for ten days in march, i believed it was my time to fly away. at those moments, truth never eludes you -- life precludes death. at 23, i wanted to keep living. i want to live. (and that was her fate!)

an upside-down bell was this year, or rather, it was time dripping like catenary arches -- rusted gravity, reminding the sky, the opposite is also true. to have one is to have the other.

if 2005 was a plodding rose haze with a backdrop of concrete exhuberance, 2006 was punctuated by colors and irrational patterns so intense, no order could possibly be made of them; their consequence is a constant state of forgetting -- even the most joyous events can be shred into milliseconds, flashes so strong, i ache to remember as much as i ache to forget. i suspect forms and metaphors will emerge in the years to come ... well, i know they will, they'll come -- and, that's the sunny side of this story.

so here we are, creating a new world from irascible histories, teaching ourselves all over again what we knew when we were children -- a rememberance of miracles: they are by somebody who can love and who shall be continually reborn, a human being ... the things we ought to remember: turning corners in a new city within our own tiny rooms, drawing hopes from a few letters and painted paper creatures, the enduring hum of a sewing machine, half-glances and soft trembling voices, tears and plaids and felts and my mother's dumplings. we made it the same backwards and forwards, spinning between what's there and what isn't; i grabbed your hand, we made it.

what happens when your imagined world steps out of abstraction? sketches form souls.




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2 comments:

Anonymous said...

What is the saying, ah yes.

"To live is to fight."

And you know me, being a lover and not a fighter and all, you know how I would amend that quote.

To 2007 and beyond. Glad to have you here.

jean said...

thank you jimmy; i'm glad to have you here, too :)