thirty-nine: journey

despite the many directions in which this post could go, i couldn’t get out of my head the book such a long journey (1991) by rohinton mistry…one of my favourite authors ever, though i can’t decide whether it’s my favourite of his books (also, no, i haven’t seen the film…scared it won’t hold up, though it does have a good dose of the amazingĀ om puri. love that guy.)

i figure i’ve got mistry on the mind coz i am currently re-reading (for probably the 15th time!) his second novel a fine balance, which still holds the distinct honour of being the only book that i devoured and then re-read immediately after closing the back cover. it’s such a stunning book. beautiful, sad stories of humanity. strongly recommend.

thirty-eight: windy

free association time again…

  • the nickname of one of my good friends
  • a long, pebbly path up a mountain (as in, winding…wind-y)
  • how when there’s a lot of wind, i kind of love it…
    • the way the trees rustle and creak
    • the white caps on lakes/oceans, and the sound of the crashing of the water as it gets pushed to shore
    • how quickly clouds can rush across the sky
    • how a hot hot day can be transformed into a tolerable one, and a cold one into a blustery, bone-chilling one
    • the comfort of turbulence on airplanes (yes, really…it makes me sleepy)
    • how the leaves from the huge magnolia in our front yard can end up two blocks away
    • how your skin feels on a scorching summer’s day, after a refreshing splash in the lake, when a warm wind dries the beads of water on your skin, and then finger-combs your hair
  • a memory from last year, captured on video, of our daughter on her scooter, being carried down the street by strong, dusty gusts of wind…i could hardly open my eyes to take the video, for all the grit and sand and leaves lifting into my face
  • the same line to which pocketbrit refers in her post…such a beautiful stanza in that poem of a book
  • this song. yeah, yeah, they’ve got bad hair. but listen with your eyes closed…and hear the lyrics

thirty-seven: loud

i’m playing catch-up on 3 posts and it’s already late, so this might not be so good.

when i thought of loud, i thought of shame. and i know shame is going to be a word one of these days in the next year too (he’s kinda the star of both mine and pocketbrit’s shows), but i’m fairly certain i’ll manage to piece together a few words for that post, too. because that thieving bastard is one of the noisiest guys i know.

shame feels like one of my most constant and oldest companions. historically, it is his voice that i hear most, it is his voice that washes over me if i have a millisecond of pride or happiness. he also seems to get extra loud in my brain (and my body) when i’m tired or sad or beaten down…and keeps me all three of those things, too. i know now he’s just trying to make sure i’m safe, trying to crunch me down into a teeny-tiny non-threatening version of myself, trying to protect me, trying to keep me under the radar. i don’t need that anymore, but he’s soooooooo slow to get the memo. and, in fact, the more convinced adult me becomes about not needing him, the noisier he gets.

when shame gets loud in my body, i feel his presence as a fluttering stone in my gut, a vice at my chest, the noisiest hissingest whisper in my ears. his ugly, soul-shrinking words make my insides wilt, and then liquefy. he and his buddy fear often arrive hand-in-hand; shame with a megaphone up to his lips, amplifying the litany of my offenses (mostly being wrong and existing at all), and fear with a stun gun, plugging up words in my throat, catapulting me backwards into the terrifying frozen past.

it is mythical how powerful his hold is on me, even still, even with all my skills and knowledge and logic and grounding exercises. even when i can call his bluff, even as i recognize his lies. even when i’m adult. that guy, and his loud, interrupt-y ways, bring me to my knees regularly, and i hate it.