14.

radiohead - manchester, july 4th, 2017. #16

i was perched at the very top of a body of fans nearly fifty thousand strong for a show that quickly turned into the best singalong i've ever been a part of. even with the extra (security) space between the barrier and the stage, the band still managed to feel disproportionately close, pulled forward by our enthusiasm as much as we stretched our hearts forward every last inch. i got to share a nod with the guitarist, sing along with one of the drummers as we conducted each other in the repeated crescendos of a song, feel every chord of their world draw me in further. it was all so close, so vivid: each tender and virtuoso pick of the guitar strings, every vibrant shift of light, sway of body and limb. and it moved me in ways there will never be a way to string words together to do it justice. the singalong continued long after they left the stage as we collectively stretched out those final moments, a chorus of thousands repeating the final verse again and again, holding on to the last song like we'd never let it go.

hours later, standing alone in the quiet of the streets of manchester, forced by a deep restlessness to leave my concert friends (both old and new alike) at the bar, all i wanted to do was hold on tighter. all i could do was cry. they were tears of joy and full-ness strangely mingled with an abundant grief.

being submerged in a concert experience is to be suspended between two worlds -- on one hand the mundane and mortal world of the crowds, musicians, and instruments, on the other, the ethereal world of transcendent, heart-expanding beauty. while neither can exist without the other, they exist so far apart at times it makes it a disorienting process to come down from the best shows – my feet are never sure where to land. 

i should know better by now, but it's always a painful surprise to realize that there was never anything solid to stand on in the electric world of sound and light and color i've just passed through. the sky that opened up, whatever its geography or palette, is just a passing gift -- a transient, breathtaking place for the heart and spirit to soar around in for a few precious hours. 

the grief is the backlash of the severed worlds. it is the mourning of an artist not painting or writing or creating as i should. watching the artists before me living their own purposes so clearly, and to such great result, manifests the tension between this vibrant horizon of their work spreading out before me and this creative drought i feel so caught in already rushing back toward me, filling my vision again as the music and lights fade from view.

but even as i try to ignore it, i've always known these nights are just a borrowed ticket to the creative gods that so patiently wait for my full attention.

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a few nights before the show, i had a rare dream about the lead singer, thom yorke. i've known for years that these dreams are never about him as a person, but rather that he is a stand-in for my creative self, an embodiment of that deep, internal part of me i have often felt so distant and at odds with. something i have found i put at an unreachable distance from myself -- as untouchable as a celebrity on a pedestal.

in this dream we stood together at the rail for one of his shows watching the opening act. i was turned slightly away from the stage and toward him enjoying the fact that we were together so comfortably. after some unspecified amount of dream-time he reached out and took my left hand in both of his, cupping it in this incredible warmth – both tangible and emotional – just holding it there on the rail. 

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about a week ago i bought a journal during my travels for the purpose of daily 3 page non-stop free-association writing. a practice that i have long known opens the door for me creatively. i spent a few days ignoring it, a few others dragging myself to the paper. but it's a start. a good start.

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i'm sitting in the cologne airport right now watching the slow procession of fading light as a thunderstorm rolls in washing the world in a soft grey. sharp flashes break the spell. fog is on repeat.

some things will never wash away.

13.

we still have two days left but i know that this will be a special SIFF among however many i get to have. lucky number 9. i found myself across a table from self-discoveries, gently encouraging them on, i felt my spirit lifted up and carried by all the friends (even deep friendships of a few minutes or hours) who i have hugged and cried and laughed with. i feel like i discovered long lost family.

and of course i have seen some damn fine films as well. the big sick, the work, i was a dreamer, and a ghost story to name a few.

i am beyond exhausted and i am both relieved that there are only two days left and incredibly sad that it's already passed.

life moves forward at an alarming rate, and i find i am often overwhelmed, not always in a bad way but often in a manner that takes away from my ability to focus and drive forward and onward. songs like these help keep me sane. i am not alone in being stretched too thin between the work and the beauty of life.

i get overwhelmed...

12.

this year.

this year...

man, it's been beautiful, it's been surprising, but it's also been brutal. sometimes incredibly, suddenly brutal.

with complete disregard of the futility of my efforts, i usually try to hold on to time, particularly the last measures of the year. starting sometime early november, i can be found dragging my feet, maybe adding some low-grade panic to the mix, hoping to slow things down, hoping to do that one thing that will make the previous ten or eleven months seem Productive and Meaningful. 

but this year is different and i find myself almost leaning into the the passing, like a runner into the finish line ribbon, waiting eagerly to cross the threshold of the year and start the next adventures i can already feel moving toward me. 

these final days of 2016 i am away from my life and my city in order to slow down, not work, enjoy things at a 3 year old's pace while making good food for (lots of) good people and celebrating one of the most amazing women in my life. then i have set side the first days of 2017 to sequester myself even farther away, giving myself the gift of time and space to work on a long over due personal/creative project, one that i ache to finish. i will start the year off running forward (figuratively and literally -- i have this new pair of shoes guaranteed to launch you forward faster they are *that* bright).

but even with all this movement and focus onward i find myself intensely grateful for the year that has been, brutalities and all. 2016 ripped something from me, almost as soon as it started, and continued to tear every last thread from me, all the while gently and consistently building me up more wholly and beautifully than i've ever been before. i have seen myself in a way i never have before – through the mirrors new faces have presented for me, through the camera lens i have always been shy of, and from an ever-analyzing, ever-evolving curiosity of self that i cannot get away from (even when i want to).

so thank you, 2016, thank you so much. i am forever grateful for the gems you left behind: a hug to end all hugs, one of the best stories of my life (full of surprises and humor and meaning and joy), a portrait session to bring me into my body and looking out at the world like i never have before, one of my favorite concerts yet (radiohead mexico city, night 2), and new friends, new faces, and always and forever new places. oh, and my first tattoo. 

i am also grateful for the catalyst to growth that heartbreak brought me, the compassion and strength required to hold a baby's broken body in my hands so i could give the only gift i had to his grieving parents, and the many, many people that have surfaced from all parts of my life to hold me close in the wake of that experience. 

so this brings me to the last, but certainly not least: the political climate of our country and the world at large. i have so many feelings, and few articulate thoughts, but to anyone reading, keep love and freedom and equality moving forward. speak/burn/live by light, justice and kindness. i will always happily send you a postcard reminder that that you are not alone, the majority is with us and love will prevail. if you need some brightness in the coming days, just send me your address. seriously. i don't care if we have never met or never will. i will include you in my postcard joy. (you are exactly who i want to include.)

in closing, i'll give you a poem i shared for my new year's card a few years back that so elegantly captures of the bittersweetness of this time of year that has always been meaningful to me.

with love to you and yours, 

the astuary queen.

---

Lines written in the days of growing darkness

--by Mary Oliver

Every year we have been
witness to it: how the
world descends

into a rich mash, in order that
it may resume.
And therefore
who would cry out

to the petals on the ground
to stay,
knowing as we must,
how the vivacity of what was is married

to the vitality of what will be?
I don't say
it's easy, but
what else will do

if the love one claims to have for the world
be true?

So let us go on, cheerfully enough,
this and every crisping day,

though the sun be swinging east,
and the ponds be cold and black,
and the sweets of the year be doomed.

---

11.

At Blackwater Pond

--by Mary Oliver

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars

of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders

of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is

nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned

in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side

is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

10.

this all went down over a decade ago, but i still remember the panic, the shame, the pressure of my inner monologue that was equal to the force at which food traveled from hand to mouth. again and again and again. repeat until beyond full. repeat despite not needing it or even wanting it. and again an hour later, or perhaps the next day or two (or three?) in a row, but whichever the direction, one wrong turn inevitably lead to another gaining speed along the way. it was all justified somehow in my mind, or excused by some strange inner logic: i ate X or Y (or both) yesterday, may as well today too.

knowing so many others worse off has helped me be dishonest all these years, shielding myself in a certainty that i never had an eating disorder. i was even secretly proud i had very narrowly escaped that fate among the many women who succumbed around me. i never starved myself (never could). never vomited (though i tried). but now, finally, all these years later, i'm putting words and labels to that period of my life, making sense of the legacy those several struggling years have left in my head and heart and hands.

i count myself lucky that the voices have quieted down. their power is lessened or at very least they are less effective. and i can walk the world freely, at times even confidently, never taking for granted that i no longer see my body as a brand of shame – though part of me dreams of being free to the point of complete forgetfulness.

holding this new acceptance in close, i can clearly see now what was always obvious: that my actions, my thoughts, even my weight whatever it was at any given time, they were not the cause of the shame, but rather the embodiment of it. and for the first time ever i am able to look back without denying my history, gratefully discovering a capacity to hold myself and my past with a new gentleness and understanding.

so, onward – ever onward, proudly onward – as i continue the journey of this year so marked by freedom and celebration of my strength and health and beauty.

photo credit: caroline walker evans

9.

tonight i give you episodes:

9a.

it almost felt like an accident for a second – a choice that neither of us necessarily made – a natural by-product of our camaraderie and maybe a little chemistry (perhaps...?). for suddenly we were in this textured measure of ecstatic time after we passed what our culture has decided is the normal span for eye contact. 

i'm not sure how long the moments afterwards lasted, but they rippled and danced, the ground following the shifting of our bodies which were moving out of astonishment and perhaps a little discomfort at being seen so suddenly, so unexpectedly, in a world of passing glances. 

then there was the moment of widening surprise as we both persisted in holding on to the other. next, a soft settling into ourselves, letting go of the restlessness, a stillness taking over the parallel vectors of our gaze. finally, gratitude and a small moment of grace as the finishing notes before we each tore ourselves free. 

for what greater gift is there than seeing and being seen? holding and being held? even for just a short while in the eyes of a near stranger...

9b.

i am still savoring the blissful groove of my photo shoot even as i can't exactly explain it beyond one of the most powerful out-of-head-fully-in-body experiences of my life. my brain, my self-criticism, usually so loud and authoritative, had no place in the day. it was pure joy, pure spontaneity, pure effortless confidence. i was flying, and they flew along with me, capturing each bold moment of the day. 

9c.

i want to push up against the understood boundaries of myself: full body contact, skin against skin, cheek pressed confidently but gently into cheek. this spring has delivered so many opportunities – so many damn fine mirrors – beautiful faces through glasses and lenses looking straight on giving me the opportunity not to shy away in shame (this time).

this time. that time. the other time that's just around the corner. they are increasing in frequency even if the purpose is just to ping me as they pass. opportunities to show me exactly how i can sometimes mislead with my stories, my confidences, my openness, creating an elaborate set of smoke and mirrors to camouflage the fact that i am, have been quite a lot of my life, hiding in plain sight.

8.

i've tried to write a lot in the past hour or so about what today meant to me, what this spring has meant to me. i'm finding it hard to collect the right words.

without seeking or anticipating, most often when i least expected it, i've been inundated by gentle hands holding up mirrors to remind me who i am. compliments, unexpected and artless, stopping me in my tracks daily. soft spirits wrapping me up tight.

and today, today was a day concentrating all of this new grace and truth and beauty of my life, giving me a chance to steep deeply in its sweetness and power.

i have no words for how lovely today was. to be safe under the gaze of others as the layers came slowly off. the heaviest one of all to discard is the thick skin of unattractiveness i sewed on to my skin long ago. (just a little) champagne helped, but their generosity even more so. generosity of craft and creativity and appreciation for me -- three photographers who helped me find angles of myself i didn't even begin to know existed.

a little over an hour ago, way too late for anyone really, caroline sent me a sneak peek and all i could do was look and cry.

who is this woman i see?