The Lost Pedestrian

i am gradually learning that not only can i brush my teeth while standing on one foot, but that it is totally acceptable. it took forever to realize that. i’m not sure why.

i decided to take advantage of not having plans tonight by staying home and working on this video that i can’t seem to finish. i wonder if it is not meant to be. i’m not sure why. it just gets more and more convoluted.

this video has become much bigger than it actually seems. there’s so much riding on it. i mean, until i finish it, i can’t find an apartment or a job or dog or any new meaningful relationships. the video has become a blockage. a thing that keeps me stuck. but once i finish it … who knows?

usually, i can get into some sort of flow to carry me through a project. and this project has this fleeting moment of flow that i quickly lose and then discover over and over again that you can’t really force flow.

flow is one of those inexplicable forces that exists when you stop trying to attain it. but y0u have no real choice but to try to attain it, and then fail at it, and then walk away from it. and then when you’re completely elsewhere, it comes back to you.

it takes effort to find a way to be that does not feel like it requires effort. you have to be present in the elsewhere. you know what i mean?

i’ve been struggling with a deep remorse for the past day or 2 over an act of violence i almost committed, or partially committed. you see, i was pulling into a parking lot, directly behind a big van that was not moving. i was waiting for the van to move for several minutes, growing increasingly impatient at what i saw as the driver’s selfishness, although the driver may have been asleep, or there may have been no driver at all. but still, i was impatient.

eventually, the van finally moved, and i put my foot on the accelerator at the very moment this couple walked in front of me. you see, i did not see them until the very last second, which was exactly enough time to not run them over. but they looked terrified, shaken, shocked. and i’ve had this image of their terror haunting me ever since. what would i have done if any harm had come to them? i really don’t know how i could live with myself. we’re all just a slip away from catastrophe.

today, i was driving again, trying to drive myself out from my remorse. trying to drive my remorse out from me. and each time i came to a stop sign or stop light, my heart was gladdened to see so many pedestrians pass my way.

so i counted the number of pedestrians that i did not run over. there were dozens and dozens of them out there today. and eventually i began to feel like a better person. even if not running people over does not necessarily count as an act of heroism.

my simulacrum wants to meet your mother, just to see what she’s like. I’ve wanted to meet her for a long time. I know you complain about her all of the time. which is justifiable, of course. Sometimes she sounds like an incredible person, and other times she sounds like she’s a trip.

that’s why i have to meet her, but i’m thinking it’s probably best to not get too close. i’ll let my simulacrum stand in for me, especially since it usually makes such a positive impression. a much better one than the original version but who knows what your mother will think?

my big dilemma, my big question over the past century or so has been …

how is it possible to reach some measure of acceptance of who one is and what one has, while also recognizing when change is necessary? is there a crossroads where acceptance and change intersect?

i have a habit of seeing acceptance as a kind of surrender. a defeat. an acknowledgement that i have failed to live up to my hopes and expectations. And now i must work with what i have and where i am. yet that feels unacceptable to me.

I can’t accept such acceptance. things have to change, don’t they? i have to keep striving. maybe the hard part is accepting that change is not really about outcome, but more about motion, just the simple act of motion. if i can accept being in a state of motion, maybe I’ll spend less time worrying about what i am moving towards.

Wilderness

Ian McCallum

from Wild Gifts (2 Capstan Close, Marina Da Gama, Muizenberg 7945): 1999.

Have we forgotten

that wilderness is not a place,

but a pattern of soul

where every tree, every bird and beast

is a soul maker?

Have we forgotten

that wilderness is not a place

but a moving feast of stars,

footprints, scales and beginnings?

Since when

did we become afraid of the night

and that only the bright stars count?

or that our moon is not a moon

unless it is full?

By whose command were the animals

through groping fingers,

one for each hand,

reduced to the big and little five?

Have we forgotten

that every creature is within us

carried by tides of earthly blood

and that we named them.

Have we forgotten

that wilderness is not a place

but a season and we are in its

final hour?

something happened shortly

after the total eclipse of

The moon. Time had

erased its exit and submerged you in days

as endless as these

Either that or maybe it was only 1 day

Like a missing clock experience

You walked into your studio

from time

to time

Words fell out of you

that you never imagined you

you might never see again.

But little did you know.

(You needed someone to remind you …

which I guess explained my presence)

And then you’d leave your studio

from time

to time.

snowflakes baffled the roar of blasting air conditioners.

We exchanged pertinent glances as either  faces or shadows

There was a soothing quality to this exchange, if I recall correctly.

And then we decided to leave.

Actually, not to leave, but to go forth.

But we had to leave in order to go forth.

This was what we did.

in this morning’s dream, i was falling from the roof of a very tall building.

and i knew that i was slowly falling from the highest distance… i could see my body as a small speck, descending through a densely verdant mountainscape (kind of like in Kauai). it was so beautiful and terrifyingly exhilarating. it didn’t even occur to me until now that this was a variation of the opening credits of Mad Men, which was a variation of countless dreams of countless other people. the collective dream in countless variations.

i knew that there was a likelihood this fall would be the end of me… but if i just focused my gaze upwards, to the dolphin that was floating amidst the clouds… as long as i kept my focus upon the dolphin, unwavering,  there was a small possibility that my landing might be softer, or cushier… that i might survive. which, i guess, came true.