Fluidity of Life
If life is truly fluid, then my greatest fault is nostalgia. I fight the fluidity; I look back with delicious yearning at what has been my past.
I have been doing this with more frequency. Riding an elephant at age 15 in San Diego, leading the charge at school dances in 8th grade, fearless in my pursuit of acting and performing, riding the back of a moped around Saigon streets, writing as if it didn't matter what people thought, my first poem which was about living passionately....being able to do the splits.
This morning while showering, as usual, the pressure and the temperature of the water changed on me going from toasty warm to chilly. Usually, I will step out of the stream and wait for this mood swing to pass. As the transition began, a trace smile crossed my face and I remained in the steam, allowing myself to dally in the memory of Ecuador. In Ecuador, there were no warm showers to be had, even when I was reassured there would be.
During the Festival of water my friends and I had travelled to Villecabamba; about 30 minutes by bus south of Loja, where I was living. We stayed just outside of town, along a river with lush green banks. The accommodation was a treehouse with one room, in which 10 of us would roll out our sleeping bags. There was a kitchen to one side, and a toilet (with a door) on another. The shower was outdoors; a wooden stall with a wooden latch. The bottom of the shower was just grass.
During the festival, I had been attacked repeatedly by young boys with water balloons. At one point, two of them lifted me into the town's fountain. I was cold and drenched with dirty water. When we returned to our place, I went for a shower. Upon lifting the latch to the shower, I noticed that many spiders made their home along the inside walls and around the shower head. I was a different woman at 23; I stepped in, gingerly, and proceed to work my shower around the other 8-legged inhabitants. The water never warmed. I stood rinsing shampoo and soap using minimal movement; the hair on my body standing to attention with the cold and the spiders.
Then another memory came up. My friend Rebecca and I were travelling around the parks in Ecuador. We were in one, that followed a river. The river moved at a good clip and was filled with enormous, gray boulders. At one point, we came along a waterfall. We took pictures. Then, we got in the river and took pictures. I don't remember who suggested it, but we then decided to take naked pictures of each other while in the water. The water was icey. I had my back to the camera, my knees pulled up to my breasts and I was looking over my shoulder. To date, it is one of my very favorite pictures of me. My eyes are relaxed in the corners, but alive with thought; my hair is plastered to my head; there are beads of water dripping down my back and there is one drop of water that is resting on my top lip in the middle of its heart. My mouth is slightly open. I look like a goddess. I remember the the rough feel of the rocks surface on my thights and bottom and the pull of the river and the longing I had to let the river take me.
Those were some days. No tv, no internet, no distractions, no limits. Just life in the moment.
Life has inevitably been like a river; I have been pulled along sometimes fighting sometimes giving in. The water in my shower returned to a steamy heat, and I came back not only to my one-bedroom apartment in Seattle, but back from the confrontation of such emotions that are evoked when I think of the adventure I have danced with in my life.
I am at the moment, cherishing today. It is a brusque fall afternoon; dark clouds move quickly through the sky and the trees are shimmering with amber leaves. Loosened leaves dance around the busy streets and the rain comes and goes. The weather has me move the thermostat up just a notch, put on some tea, light a spicey scented candle and write, like I don't care who is reading.
World Girl
I have been doing this with more frequency. Riding an elephant at age 15 in San Diego, leading the charge at school dances in 8th grade, fearless in my pursuit of acting and performing, riding the back of a moped around Saigon streets, writing as if it didn't matter what people thought, my first poem which was about living passionately....being able to do the splits.
This morning while showering, as usual, the pressure and the temperature of the water changed on me going from toasty warm to chilly. Usually, I will step out of the stream and wait for this mood swing to pass. As the transition began, a trace smile crossed my face and I remained in the steam, allowing myself to dally in the memory of Ecuador. In Ecuador, there were no warm showers to be had, even when I was reassured there would be.
During the Festival of water my friends and I had travelled to Villecabamba; about 30 minutes by bus south of Loja, where I was living. We stayed just outside of town, along a river with lush green banks. The accommodation was a treehouse with one room, in which 10 of us would roll out our sleeping bags. There was a kitchen to one side, and a toilet (with a door) on another. The shower was outdoors; a wooden stall with a wooden latch. The bottom of the shower was just grass.
During the festival, I had been attacked repeatedly by young boys with water balloons. At one point, two of them lifted me into the town's fountain. I was cold and drenched with dirty water. When we returned to our place, I went for a shower. Upon lifting the latch to the shower, I noticed that many spiders made their home along the inside walls and around the shower head. I was a different woman at 23; I stepped in, gingerly, and proceed to work my shower around the other 8-legged inhabitants. The water never warmed. I stood rinsing shampoo and soap using minimal movement; the hair on my body standing to attention with the cold and the spiders.
Then another memory came up. My friend Rebecca and I were travelling around the parks in Ecuador. We were in one, that followed a river. The river moved at a good clip and was filled with enormous, gray boulders. At one point, we came along a waterfall. We took pictures. Then, we got in the river and took pictures. I don't remember who suggested it, but we then decided to take naked pictures of each other while in the water. The water was icey. I had my back to the camera, my knees pulled up to my breasts and I was looking over my shoulder. To date, it is one of my very favorite pictures of me. My eyes are relaxed in the corners, but alive with thought; my hair is plastered to my head; there are beads of water dripping down my back and there is one drop of water that is resting on my top lip in the middle of its heart. My mouth is slightly open. I look like a goddess. I remember the the rough feel of the rocks surface on my thights and bottom and the pull of the river and the longing I had to let the river take me.
Those were some days. No tv, no internet, no distractions, no limits. Just life in the moment.
Life has inevitably been like a river; I have been pulled along sometimes fighting sometimes giving in. The water in my shower returned to a steamy heat, and I came back not only to my one-bedroom apartment in Seattle, but back from the confrontation of such emotions that are evoked when I think of the adventure I have danced with in my life.
I am at the moment, cherishing today. It is a brusque fall afternoon; dark clouds move quickly through the sky and the trees are shimmering with amber leaves. Loosened leaves dance around the busy streets and the rain comes and goes. The weather has me move the thermostat up just a notch, put on some tea, light a spicey scented candle and write, like I don't care who is reading.
World Girl
posted by World Girl at 2:27 PM
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