Samira

Because human lives are composed in precisely such a fashion….They are composed like music. Guided by his sense of beauty, an individual transforms fortuitous occurrence into a motif, which then assumes a permanent place in the composition of the individual’s life.

The brain appears to possess a special area which we might call poetic memory and records everything that charms or touches us, that makes our lives beautiful…. Metaphors are dangerous. Love begins with a metaphor. Which is to say, love begins at the point when a [someone] enters [their] first word into our poetic memory.

–Kundera, Unbearable Lightness of Being

received a time-capsule in the mail today: a vault of memories in the form of a notebook, collaborative musings of Brandin, Skylar & myself.

(history relies upon dissonance, upon discontinued familiarity, a fading into metaphors: the substitution of book for body; the colors that remind of her & the sounds that have become him.)

thank you, BB.
thank you for safekeeping this over all these years.
i can’t even begin to describe all that i am feeling right now.
i love you.

Skylar, rest in peace, friend.

Beyond the concept of time. Beyond awake lie a plethora of dreams. Streams of tomorrow’s memories. Songs of amnesia. Faceless friends and visible strangers. Beyond the language of our cursed minds lies a wilderness. A seed of darkness. Patient in the face of measurements and time. Because it is infinite. Beyond the limits of the word lie tiny gaps. Timeless vacuums. Tiny timeless gaps. These are the cracks in the timely measured concrete. Hairline cracks in gray cement. Timeless. Infinite. Untimed and unmeasured. Space. Gardens of violets. Oceans. Streams of freshly squeezed lemon. Sounds above a newly tuned grand piano. Songs and colors and scents. Infinitely sweet and full and hydrated. Mythical pockets. Smaller than the mind’s concept. So large. Beyond the narrow measures of time and distance exist small cracks. Voluptuous and small. pungent and narrow. Warm. Warmth. Wordless warmth. Eternal womb. Where there ticks no time. When everything is luster. And warm. Warmth. Not just some things. Sometimes. Luster is everything. Everything is luster. No ticking in the water’s warmth. The womb’s warm water.

And all that remains to be seen. In all its color. In all its melodious hum. In all its elusiveness. All the memories it instilled. Or dreams captured. That which has no audience still performs itself. Still performs. All which remains to be seen is not non-existent.

(history relies upon dissonance, upon discontinued familiarity, a fading into metaphors: the substitution of book for body; the colors that remind of her & the sounds that have become him.)

when The Muse strikes, you may find that she’ll rapidly corner a good portion of your world. should you find yourself so lucky, know this: she runs a tight ship. The Muse mediates her world through work and play, discipline and fun, boisterous humility and active listening. The Muse will be your enabler, your partner in crime, and she will kick your sorry ass out of bed the next day. and you’ll like it. after she drinks you under the table again, listen to her. you may learn something. The Muse is logic tempered with heart, and heart tempered with logic: she will call bullshit and love you all the same. perhaps even The Muse does not know that it is this, more than even her other gifts–that cracks the core of me, that make me grateful to call her my friend.

Carnen teaches and nurtures through gentle persistence:

it is how she mends my body;
it is how she builds my trust;
it is how she calms my heart.

thank you for your patient ways, your generous ear,
and your steadfast presence.

in the story of my life, time and time again,
you are the trope for healing:

and i am so grateful for our journey together.

your embodiment of dichotemies compells me:

extroverted yet introverted, because you know your limits.
young yet wise, because you are perceptive.
vulnerable yet strong, because you acknowledge your fears.
clumsy yet graceful, because you’re not afraid to fall.

there is something ancient and magical about your total embrace of the journey:
you make me smile for the legacy you are leaving behind.

wow, girl. i mean: wow.
i think of you in my life & i feel proud.

you have taught me so much about communication and,
more importantly, about my own communication.
we are two such different people, yet you have consistently met me half-way.
through you, i have been able to discover some of my own fundamental stumbling blocks.

i am inspired by your dedication to reaching your goals.
i love the sparkle in your eyes when you talk about helping children in hospitals.

i am amazed by your photography. through some of your photos
i’ve come to see new aspects of people and moments in time.

when i think of you in my world, i am most grateful for your commitment to balance.

you are so dear to me. i’ve felt a kinship with you from the moment i met you.
i love how expressive you are both in joy and sadness.
your gestures and words are testament to the wisdom you carry.

i so much respect and understand your need for solitude,
and your ability to ask for time alone.

if i could only pick one word to express what you bring to my world,
it would be compassion.

(meme, picked up while roaming tribe)

& how else to withstand the enormity of such burden,
the burden of sight, but to believe
that there can only be the grace of others?

Danetta & Belen made me smile this week.
so here you go:
reply to this blog & i’ll tell you
why you make my world a better place to live.

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From Mateo’s album:

I wonder what the sorry was behind this… it was in a plastic bag I removed. Dropped or thrown on the street? Was it dramatic?…was it forgetful? Perhaps it was ordinary…or not so ordinary….A brief moment captured on the street scape.

this picture speaks to me on so many levels.

but for me, its most important message is the fact that you posted it.
that you captured it in the midst of yet another 80+ work week.

i’ve been watching you burn the candle at both ends for months now:
even living with you, all i mostly see is that you leave for work & you go to sleep.

this snapshot signifies your perseverance and strength: even at the height of this crazy rat-race, sacrificing yet another saturday to the firm, you saw a thing of intrigue. you stopped. you captured it. you shared it.

i’m impressed. and i’m smiling.

love you

thank you todd.
thank you kelly.
thank you lucho.
thank you carnen.
thank you andrea.
thank you ember.
thank you mateo.
thank you frank.
thank you tracy.
thank you shama.
thank you jeffrey.
thank you lisa.
also, thank you holly.

and most of all: thank you, paul.

thank you to everyone who has been present for me this past year,
which has been such a difficult, but necessary journey.

to each of you i haven’t connected with in a while: i hope we do soon.

i have learned so much about myself this past year.
i have felt more emotions than i knew i was capable of feeling.
there was a lot of fear, a lot of anger, a lot of sorrow.
there was much self-doubt & there were many lackluster days.

there has also been a lot of re-discovery & a renewed sense of joy.

i look back at some of those months & i wonder how i made it through.
how Paul made it through. how you made it through. we had a rough year, didn’t we?

but, on that faithful sunday of Kelly’s birthday weekend,
after Paul and Todd and Andrea and i stood embraced
after all the talking and all the crying and all the healing took place,
it all started to make sense again.

remembering why we all ended up amongst this group in the first place.
it gave me a sense of hope, a tremendous amount of relief, and i felt a little less jaded.

i miss Paul and our relationship more than i can approximate here with these word-things,
but i also know we had to find ourselves on our own. we both did the right thing.

i feel calmer these days. i feel more peaceful.
i am incredibly grateful for the honesty and grace you’ve all shown me.

should you ever need somebody by your side,
you know where to find me.

samira