Diving into the Wreck

First having read the book of myths, and loaded the camera, and checked the edge of the knife-blade, I put on the body-armor of black rubber the absurd flippers the grave and awkward mask. I am having to do this not like Cousteau with his assiduous team aboard the sun-flooded schooner but here alone. There is a ladder. The ladder is always there hanging innocently close to the side of the schooner. We know what it is for, we who have used it. Otherwise it is a piece of maritime floss some sundry equipment. I go down. Rung after rung and still the oxygen immerses me the blue light the clear atoms of our human air. I go down. My flippers cripple me, I crawl like an insect down the ladder and there is no one to tell me when the ocean will begin. First the air is blue and then it is bluer and then green and then black I am blacking out and yet my mask is powerful it pumps my blood with power the sea is another story the sea is not a question of power I have to learn alone to turn my body without force in the deep element. And now: it is easy to forget what I came for among so many who have always lived here swaying their crenellated fans between the reefs and besides you breathe differently down here. I came to explore the wreck. The words are purposes. The words are maps. I came to see the damage that was done and the treasures that prevail. I stroke the beam of my lamp slowly along the flank of something more permanent than fish or weed the thing I came for: the wreck and not the story of the wreck the thing itself and not the myth the drowned face always staring toward the sun the evidence of damage worn by salt and sway into this threadbare beauty the ribs of the disaster curving their assertion among the tentative haunters. This is the place. And I am here, the mermaid whose dark hair streams black, the merman in his armored body. We circle silently about the wreck we dive into the hold. I am she: I am he whose drowned face sleeps with open eyes whose breasts still bear the stress whose silver, copper, vermeil cargo lies obscurely inside barrels half-wedged and left to rot we are the half-destroyed instruments that once held to a course the water-eaten log the fouled compass We are, I am, you are by cowardice or courage the one who find our way back to this scene carrying a knife, a camera a book of myths in which our names do not appear. -Adrienne Rich

Childhood is a strange country. It's a place where you come from or go to - at least in your mind. For me it has an endless, spellbound something in it that feels remote. It's like a little sealed-vault country of cake breath and grass stains where what you do instead of work is spin until you're dizzy. -Lyall Bush

duck duck goose

So I know I don't really bring up personal things here, for fear that you may get the wrong idea. Things are good. Usually, things are always good. And if they're not good right now, they will be soon enough. That being said, if I am being totally honest with myself (and apparently right now I am), I must confess to you, dear readers, how difficult this 1st year of marriage has been for me. Upon review, 368 days later, for no apparent legitimate reason, I find myself questioning any newlywed couple that told me this decision would be "so easy." What did/do they know that I didn't/don't? Maybe I wasn't really "ready," maybe I had the wrong expectations, maybe I'm just not "marriage material." Maybe all of the above? The logistics of a wedding were overwhelming, but the reality of marriage was something I thought would come naturally to me, the oldest daughter of two still-married (happily?) Christian parents from a small, sleepy town on the Gulf coast. This is what G.R.I.T.S. are supposed to do, right? Not so easy, and in case you were wondering, it hasn't come as naturally as I assumed it would that balmy afternoon my sweet beau pulled out a box and asked me if I wanted to keep up this good thing we had going between us indefinitely. What I didn't realize, nor could I have anticipated the post-proposal pre-wedding haze, was the seriousness of my simple response. Yes to you and me. Yes to only us. Yes to disease. Yes to poverty. Yes to shortcomings. Yes to our humanness. There are days when I don't want to say yes to only us or sickness or budgets or imperfections. I replay August and the beach and the dogs in the sand...what if my yes had been a no, thank you? I would only be saying Yes to something else. To my dear friends and family who are married or planning to get married or unmarried, I salute you, applaud your courage and admire your pluck for the conscious/unconscious choice to enter into the daily Yes with another willing party who may or may not be just as terrified as I was.

Poppy

So this was today. You walked, she labored, we were taught. And in the middle of the I'm sorrys, the tears, the newness of everything that could possibly be new, we repeat. The taking, the leaving, the okays. The "good girl!"; and "it's a girl!" And the softest hopes of you: learning to love yourself.

some pebbles

If I were to tell you something I'd say: +hold your tongue +be kind +make your bed +find out what you need +and then learn how to ask for it.

Scarred Knees

I am told that I have not been content with the things I have, or the places I am in--would this be life in general? As of late, I have caught myself saying, "once I have _______, ___________, & _______, THEN I will be happy and never want anything every again." Guess what happens when I get ____________, _______________, & ____________? Yeah, I think you get it. There are new things to fill in the old blanks every single time. I am ashamed to confess there is such a disconnect between the life I say I want to lead and the one that I actually do. Maybe I am not so different than those I love to hate. Those who have so much material wealth they don't seem to know what to do with themselves. And they DO appear to be very happy. Maybe they are? And maybe I am missing a lot of things. Like the fact that Jesus is here in a neighbor stopping to greet me, or my mom leaving a 2 minute voicemail, or Brian reminding me that I am more than my paycheck or having my shit figured out. So the Prius would be a perk and a new laptop would be lovely, but a gentle and kind spirit? I'm trying to fill in the blanks.

Drenching the Fleece, or I Need a Sign

“You shall love your crooked neighbour, with your crooked heart.” -W.H. Auden