open your eyes, from 1995.

look up on that first night

of land for miles

cool breeze

and night smell

at the dome of christmas lights

all planets accounted for

my God what a sight

blink

and see again

the paths your shining friends

take on

shapes and spirits

blink

and see

order happen

emotions and stories

blink

and see less

blink

and your friends are fading

i saw it, right there, to the right

no, it’s gone

lie on the ground

smell

close your eyes

feel the wind crawl

open your eyes-slowly

there is only one left

one glittery bit

the brightest

strongest

the one that is the sum

of the sacred body

that you know you saw

or think you saw

that is gone

if you see as it can be

seen

you shall hold

the sight forever

you are the sight

one

that can not be lost

or shut out

in front or behind

there forever.

i swim.

I remember going to confession when I was a, by default, Catholic.”Forgive me father for I have sinned. It’s been ‘thirty years’ since my last confession.” So, aside from cleaning up your sins real quick before entering the confessional, you also cut the time since your last confession by 2/3 or so, to an amount of time that made you not sound like a bad Catholic. If only I had confessed the sins of prepping my confession, perhaps truth would have come sooner?

Anyway, that’s not where I am going…

Hello blog, it has been one year and five days since my last blog and I am not lying because it’s right there on this page, and I have become a huge fan of truth since leaving the Catholic church, officially.

I am here sitting at the computer thinking about some ‘homework’ I have for a project I am doing. The homework is to write an essay about love and about how to care for my own heart. I sat here for ages and the only thoughts are about what i don’t do for my own heart.

I had this flash, “oh, didn’t i write something about love and swimming or something on that blog of mine?”

I did. It’s a funny piece. I like it. It’s confessional, open, and honest, a moment. It’s got self-pity, often a good read (joke), definitely a good hind-sight reference marker, no? You go back and read something you wrote and when you hit the self-pity section, you say…”oh yeah, that’s where I was at that point, right” But overall I like the metaphor of swimming in reference to love.

I think that piece was about beginning to accept that I am worthy of receiving love. Acceptance. Acceptance is an open heart in action, no? Acceptance is an open heart, swimming.

That piece is about the external, it puts love outside as I slowly let in the elements of it that suited me. It paints my abilities as inferior to those who have loved me, in my ability to swim, and it measures the love between us with my own expectations, they loved me even if my swimming isn’t good. Expectations which really were requests to myself to come up with exactly those goods, for myself. Feeling inferior to others and to love, I put the responsibility or expectation outside of myself. My definition of love was not connected to the self, another human, nature, or universe at large. It was this tiny little speck, microscopic and wearing a cloak woven from threads of low esteem, victim of life, unworthiness, and ego.

What happened. Quietly sitting and watching the movie of my life between that july 21, 2010 post and today, i can see many of the gifts that happened in these 370 days. The biggest is unexplained by tangible events and I like to think that it was sent to me as a gift from my father who passed last May. My father loved me unconditionally, he didn’t outwardly express emotions very much but a sensitive person could read them.  He never saw the glass half empty, laughed when it went 3/4 empty, and taught me there is always a way, if you maintain grace and respect, there is always a way. In his passing, he pointed me towards who would be a great love in my life and an extra dose of courage and with that courage came a note and on the note was written: keep your heart open.

Keep your heart open. What does that mean? What does that mean to me? This seems to be the part where I do my homework. How do I care for my heart, essay. I’m noticing, this actually frightening to write down. I instantly start feeling my thoughts getting jumbled, scrambled, turning to jibberish. Ahhhhhh. It feels like I can’t answer this until I can define love on a personal level, not universal. I know what I have always done has been to put myself out there to please and give and give and give to please, then hope i get love in return. Rarely afraid to jump in and rarely discriminating about what i let in. If I got love in return my life was wonderful, if I didn’t, my life was meaningless and I became a cripple until time healed me, yet often, magoada (deep hurt) always stayed like a badge of honor or something. My ability to see the love was one-sided, my ego eyes and nothing else. A surefire way to guarantee you will feel pain for most of your adult life, I’d say.

Love is love. It’s my unconditional acceptance of me having value to me and to my family, being worthy of another’s love, and sharing my love for another where it is welcomed. Love goes through rough moments, hard times, sad times, joyous times, and remains simply love. Taking care of my heart is to respect it enough to not throw it in harms way just to not feel lonely. It’s to not beat myself up about not getting things perfect or missing a sign, compassion for myself and others. It’s to let others be who they are and love them, to love someone who loves who i am. Love feels like you are a part of everything and everything is a part of you. Personal love begins with that acceptance of the self and extends to a merger with another soul who feels like part of you, and to them you feel apart of them… separate and individual and part of, at the same time. That may be the hardest part of a relationship.

To care for my heart I must retain my integrity, grace, and courage. I must value what i bring to my small world, the one at large, this existence, and to a love relationship. See what my others bring as a treasures. I must nurture and accept growth and change in myself and others, to never fear change. Love is a commitment to communicate and to trust and to be honest.

In the blog of last year about swimming and love, I was a terrible swimmer being loved regardless of my ability, or a self pitying lover. A person treading in the middle of the sea asking, where is the water? Today, I am still in the middle of the sea, treading water and saying, i can swim.

swim

how do you know who loves you. loves you exactly the way you need to be loved. oh my, would i so like to spit out a formula right now. i have none. i know a quirky formula that has proven true for me, and i hope you find yours. my formula is a strong swimmer. yup, that’s it. any person who has loved me, at that moment, with all they had to give, has been a strong swimmer. anytime i’ve been loved right back, bigger, better, stronger than me, it’s come from one who can swim better than me. i can swim. i swim from here to there. i get tired easily and i have absolutely no style. i cannot hide from the true me, in the water. each of the four people who have loved me, exactly in that way most people dream about being loved, saw me in the water and loved me. they, without knowing what they were giving, showed me i was safe. i felt secure in that moment. i could flip, flop, flounder, and float, they were there to save me. they knew i would drown, they were there, they cheered me on, they showed off and they swam. i swam.

selfish or selfless. it’s all in your perspective.

I was late to hear the news of the passing of Alexander McQueen. I guess I was under a rock called work and daily life. I learned the news 4 days after, which in the “old” days would be a normal amount of time, but by today’s standards it’s equivalent to about a month. I think I need to check my twitter settings!
The news came to me, more or less, as a byproduct of news of another creative person ODing. It should be duly noted that I do not have any personal relationship to either of them. Yet, all this sadness got me thinking about the relationship between creativity and emotional instability. There was one phrase going through my mind as I pondered what it feels like to create art, that is, “we, who create art, feel too much”. I’m not sure if that sounds separatist, elitist, or what… I don’t mean to put creative people on any pedestal, by any means, but creative people do function differently than non creative people.
Creative people have one method of expression and that is emotion. They are born without the filters needed to function within what we know as society. Those filters are what help non creative people balance in this world, make sound judgments, and basically not go overboard. I believe we all feel the same broad spectrum of emotions, whether they are dark or light, but non creative folks can filter them and compartmentalize and forge through life with less difficulty finding balance.
This theory of mine may be why we have creative genius like McQueen and patrons. Patrons see and feel what they have themselves touch upon in the deepest parts of themselves but did not have the ways or means to express. Patrons talk about the passion in McQueen’s and other great artists work. They see and feel the pain and torment in Pollock’s paintings. They taste the ardors of love in Neruda’s poetry. Patrons, I believe, are grateful that great art exists so that they can connect to their own deep seeded emotions.
Yet, what it leaves for the creative person, in the end, is a feeling of lonesomeness. Often, a creative person puts all their passion and zeal for life in their work with the hope that someone will connect, understand them, and reach out to them with the same intensity. Love them, as an individual, with the passion they have placed on the table for the world to see. They expose themselves with great courage and are often faced with the reality that it is not commonplace in society to completely expose oneself. They battle constantly between reality and fantasy, for reality can truly be unbearable for them.
Suicide might very well be selfish when we have the perspective that we are not alone in this world. The perspective that there most definitely is someone who does indeed love you with all the passion and respect that they can muster within themselves to put forth to you. I believe that perspective is a gift to some and takes incredible self awareness and is work for others.
In reading the news reports on the tragic loss of McQueen, one comment that stood out to me was this from Hilary Alexander, “Fashion requires intensity, passion, determination, will, enthusiasm and energy — McQueen had all of those; perhaps, what he lacked in his own life, was love.”
Rest in peace Mr. McQueen and thank you for your courage.

man does not die when he ceases to live but when he ceases to love

my books.

Tits and Tats

By Michelle McCabe

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seus olhos est…

Rio de Janeiro

By Michelle McCabe

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the word, honk.

Every time i pass a hospital or residential area I see the sign, don’t honk $350 penalty. I immediately become repulsed by the word, honk. Firstly, it’s sounds offensive, so Benny Hill. Secondly, it’s short, fat and ugly, also Benny Hill. I think, ok, that’s not fair to judge by appearance only, is it functional? No. The definition of honk: Function: verb Etymology: imitative Date: circa 1835. 1 : to make the characteristic cry of a goose 2 : to make a sound resembling the cry of a goose.

Imitative. 1835. Wait, so some farmer was out in the field imitating a goose, honk honk. The goose clearly turned to see what idiot was making this retarded sound and the farmer thinks he’s communicating with nature and spreads the word. Along comes the car and the need to get out of the way. They add a horn, the type used by clowns in the circus. You squeeze the bulb and it makes that sound. ouch, clowns are scary. Later the car’s horn sounded like ahh-ooh-gah, ahh-ooh-gah. That’s a cool sound. The modern car, sadly, does not make this sound.

It’s 2010 and my car does not sound like a goose. We don’t have geese in New York City. The pedestrian who is jay walking isn’t trained to heed a goose call. It’s 2010 and my car is the size of a go-cart I made back in 1981 and it’s horn is high pitched and rather tweety. It actually took some getting used to, the switch from a hearty American Jeep Cherokee’s horn that sounded like I was not prepared to stop and shouting, “Outta da way, MF”, to the Japanese Scion Xa’s “um, hello, hello there, I’d like you to step back please”

HONK. It’s baritoned and heavy. It’s rude. The rest of the world uses an imitative word for sounding the car’s horn, but they are not rude. England: parp the klaxon, parp parp. Brasil: fomf-fomf.

DON’T PARP $350 PENALTY

DON’T FOMF $350 PENALTY

so much more civilized, no?

Benjamin Franklin is my hero.

Benjamin Franklin 1706 – 1790

You probably know him as one of the Fathers of the United States, a great leader and diplomat. He signed the major documents of the founding of the U.S. including the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. Maybe you know him as an inventor, or as a scientist who flew kites in lightning storms, or as a writer and printing press operator.

But did you know that in 1726, at the age of 20, while on an 80-day ocean voyage from London back to Philadelphia, Benjamin Franklin developed a “Plan” for regulating his future conduct? He was partially motivated by Philippians 4:8 “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable–if anything is excellent or praiseworthy–think about such things.” He followed the plan he created “pretty faithfully” even to the age of 79 (when he wrote about it), and he was even more determined to stick with it for his remaining days because of the happiness he had enjoyed so far by following it.

His “Plan” was made up of 13 virtues, each with short descriptions:

1. Temperance: Eat not to dullness and drink not to elevation.

2. Silence: Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself. Avoid trifling conversation.

3. Order: Let all your things have their places. Let each part of your business have its time.

4. Resolution: Resolve to perform what you ought. Perform without fail what you resolve.

5. Frugality: Make no expense but to do good to others or yourself: i.e. Waste nothing.

6. Industry: Lose no time. Be always employed in something useful. Cut off all unnecessary actions.

7. Sincerity: Use no hurtful deceit. Think innocently and justly; and, if you speak, speak accordingly.

8. Justice: Wrong none, by doing injuries or omitting the benefits that are your duty.

9. Moderation: Avoid extremes. Forebear resenting injuries so much as you think they deserve.

10. Cleanliness: Tolerate no uncleanness in body, clothes or habitation.

11. Chastity: Rarely use venery but for health or offspring; Never to dullness, weakness, or the injury of your own or another’s peace or reputation.

12. Tranquility: Be not disturbed at trifles, or at accidents common or unavoidable.

13. Humility: Imitate Jesus and Socrates.

He committed to giving strict attention to one virtue each week so after 13 weeks he moved through all 13. After 13 weeks he would start the process over again so in one year he would complete the course a total of 4 times.

He tracked his progress by using a little book of 13 charts. At the top of each chart was one of the virtues. The charts had a column for each day of the week and thirteen rows marked with the first letter of each of the 13 virtues. Every evening he would review the day and put a mark (dot) next to each virtue for each fault committed with respect to that virtue for that day.

Naturally, his goal was to live his days and weeks without having to put any marks on his chart. Initially he found himself putting more marks on these pages than he ever imagined, but in time he enjoyed seeing them diminish. After awhile he went through the series only once per year and then only once in several years until finally omitting them entirely. But he always carried the little book with him as a reminder.

Benjamin Franklin’s 13 virtues are unique and obviously served him well since he is one of the most respected and most accomplished men in the history of the United States.

Out of sorts.

I am blogging and it feels very strange. I’m not quite sure if I am feeling like 100 years old or like that kid who just took off their training wheels and is convinced everyone is watching and laughing as s/he wobbles along trying not to tip over. I can definitely say I have no idea where this is going and that’s rather comforting. That said, I find it only absolutely befitting to share something I learned today about the expression, “out of sorts”.

My new obsession: letterpress

Letterpress has it’s own language that is so me. The press has cheeks, knees, jaws, elbows! There are chases, wit’s wedge, timpens, page cord, furniture, degelpers, quions, composing sticks, it’s fantastic. Today I remembered how much I LOVED the word pica when I was a kid and Benjamin Franklin. Well, I still love Benjamin Franklin. He ran away from his 8 year printing apprenticeship after 4 years…But went on to become one of the most notable printers in our history. I wish I could say my great great great great grandfather was Ben Franklin. I’ll digress no further.

In exploring letterpress and it’s nomenclature I learned that a single letter is called a sort. You are wise to have multiple sorts of each letter when setting typeface, so you may set your entire text. Makes sense. So, when you have run out of letters to string together… you are,

“out of sorts”

Absolutely FANTASTIC how this practical letterpress term creates a most appropriate analogy for one’s emotions.