architecture heart
The fog horn billows on the dark damp sea air, echoing softly out my window like the heartbeat of the night. A candle burns slowly on my table, tea is warming on the stove.
My mind is full like tattered pieces of cloth, pulled apart so their seams are bare and fraying and not yet refashioned into something I can wear.
Below my closed curtains cars pass on the wide street, and somewhere up above, floating high over the glistening glow of the Golden Gate bridge is the half shape of the moon.
It's funny when you look in the mirror and you can't see yourself under the new person staring back at you. It funny, I say, but not in the ha ha kind of way, its more perplexing, it's more an astonishing realization when you- or in this case, I - realize I am nowhere near the person I used to be.
Sure my eyes are still the same shape and my nose is rounded the way its always been, my lips share the same smile that they used to a year ago, but my eyes tell a different story now and they see things I never used to look for. My lips speak of things I didn't know about then, and my togue is sharper, but also less of a fool.
A year ago I had no idea I would be here today; where I am tonight, writing this blog from this chair, this laptop, in this apartment, at the top of this hill, in this state of California from the insides of this new mind, from the new architecture of my heart..
Life is fickle, I have been asked a few times lately what am I doing with my life? Where do I want to go with my life? What do I want to accomplish or be? and as perplexing as it is for all of my questioners the answer is the same and it is so simple.
I want to be happy. When I get to the end, or heck, even the middle of my life, I want to be able to look at it clearly and see a person happy, a person full, of memories and adventures and kindness and courage, full of people and things that mean something, a person not afraid to dip into the dark, nor sun myself bare in the light, I want to know love, compassion, loyalty and bravery. I want to have invested in the things that mattered to me, not the things that matter to the rest of the world. I want to invest in hearts and smiles and dances and art and life lived now, because life is too short to waist waiting for happiness.
I wonder if they think I've run away. I wonder if they think my feet are swift and cheeky when they carry me away into the night. But I cannot wonder this long, because there is so much world to see and I want to see it, even to block out the un-joy in my life for a few moments so I can breath.
Adventures come in many sizes and this one happens to be extra large.
I climbed in my little car, a white Mazda 323 named Victoria, (who happens to share the same birth year as myself) I deposited my two suitcases; one leather and from a decade where traveling was more a necessity than something sought out, packed full of my things, and the other from the 1970's it's hard white plastic still strong and the words Sampsonite still clear on the handle; I loaded these two things as well as my guitar case and my sleeping bag into the back of my car, tucked the atlas under my seat, turned the radio up loud and watched as the roads of my childhood slipped out of sight in the rearview mirror, behind me.
California bound.
I drove for over seven hours that night, and slept on the floor of a friends apartment in Salt Lake City around 1:30am, I awoke early and raced the dawn to the horizon line, where it caught up to me and my bleary eyed state of exhaustion in hues of pink and painted gray; the silence of the desert and the aloneness pressing in on me.
I slept for an hour in a field off the freeway, the wind buffeting around my car in a friendly sort of way and when I woke I felt safe in a very vulnerable way.
I drove all that day, finally crossing over the California State line around 3:30pm winding my way up through the Sierras and then down into the valley that holds Sacramento and the surrounding areas like a toy in a gloved hand. This is when my resolve started to crack, when my mind started whirring and thoughts like, "is this a good plan? a good adventure? Are we being smart here?" Started to infiltrate my mind. I felt weak and alone, my hands exhausted from holding the wheel for close to 10 hours.
I dialed my best friend. Her voice cheery on the other end, like the warmth of spring on frozen ground. Even just her laugh, imported to me a thousand miles down the line from the warmth of a Hawaiian island gave me a jolt of joy and helped to remember that everything is trusting. Everything is in God's hands anyway.
And here my story must cease, I am falling asleep at the keys and there is a warm bed waiting to engulf my tired frame and pull from me the exhaustion that has clung to me for days. There will be more. Have no fear. There will always be more. Even when there is fear.
Sweet dreams and God's speed.
My mind is full like tattered pieces of cloth, pulled apart so their seams are bare and fraying and not yet refashioned into something I can wear.
Below my closed curtains cars pass on the wide street, and somewhere up above, floating high over the glistening glow of the Golden Gate bridge is the half shape of the moon.
It's funny when you look in the mirror and you can't see yourself under the new person staring back at you. It funny, I say, but not in the ha ha kind of way, its more perplexing, it's more an astonishing realization when you- or in this case, I - realize I am nowhere near the person I used to be.
Sure my eyes are still the same shape and my nose is rounded the way its always been, my lips share the same smile that they used to a year ago, but my eyes tell a different story now and they see things I never used to look for. My lips speak of things I didn't know about then, and my togue is sharper, but also less of a fool.
A year ago I had no idea I would be here today; where I am tonight, writing this blog from this chair, this laptop, in this apartment, at the top of this hill, in this state of California from the insides of this new mind, from the new architecture of my heart..
Life is fickle, I have been asked a few times lately what am I doing with my life? Where do I want to go with my life? What do I want to accomplish or be? and as perplexing as it is for all of my questioners the answer is the same and it is so simple.
I want to be happy. When I get to the end, or heck, even the middle of my life, I want to be able to look at it clearly and see a person happy, a person full, of memories and adventures and kindness and courage, full of people and things that mean something, a person not afraid to dip into the dark, nor sun myself bare in the light, I want to know love, compassion, loyalty and bravery. I want to have invested in the things that mattered to me, not the things that matter to the rest of the world. I want to invest in hearts and smiles and dances and art and life lived now, because life is too short to waist waiting for happiness.
I wonder if they think I've run away. I wonder if they think my feet are swift and cheeky when they carry me away into the night. But I cannot wonder this long, because there is so much world to see and I want to see it, even to block out the un-joy in my life for a few moments so I can breath.
Adventures come in many sizes and this one happens to be extra large.
I climbed in my little car, a white Mazda 323 named Victoria, (who happens to share the same birth year as myself) I deposited my two suitcases; one leather and from a decade where traveling was more a necessity than something sought out, packed full of my things, and the other from the 1970's it's hard white plastic still strong and the words Sampsonite still clear on the handle; I loaded these two things as well as my guitar case and my sleeping bag into the back of my car, tucked the atlas under my seat, turned the radio up loud and watched as the roads of my childhood slipped out of sight in the rearview mirror, behind me.
California bound.
I drove for over seven hours that night, and slept on the floor of a friends apartment in Salt Lake City around 1:30am, I awoke early and raced the dawn to the horizon line, where it caught up to me and my bleary eyed state of exhaustion in hues of pink and painted gray; the silence of the desert and the aloneness pressing in on me.
I slept for an hour in a field off the freeway, the wind buffeting around my car in a friendly sort of way and when I woke I felt safe in a very vulnerable way.
I drove all that day, finally crossing over the California State line around 3:30pm winding my way up through the Sierras and then down into the valley that holds Sacramento and the surrounding areas like a toy in a gloved hand. This is when my resolve started to crack, when my mind started whirring and thoughts like, "is this a good plan? a good adventure? Are we being smart here?" Started to infiltrate my mind. I felt weak and alone, my hands exhausted from holding the wheel for close to 10 hours.
I dialed my best friend. Her voice cheery on the other end, like the warmth of spring on frozen ground. Even just her laugh, imported to me a thousand miles down the line from the warmth of a Hawaiian island gave me a jolt of joy and helped to remember that everything is trusting. Everything is in God's hands anyway.
And here my story must cease, I am falling asleep at the keys and there is a warm bed waiting to engulf my tired frame and pull from me the exhaustion that has clung to me for days. There will be more. Have no fear. There will always be more. Even when there is fear.
Sweet dreams and God's speed.
