Strawberries and creme
Some things that needed to be said
There is no point to this project, just something to clear my mind.
In a box I keep a twin-size sheet, magazines, and craft supplies. I cut out words, phrases, images, silhouettes of beautiful people; to try and kill time Eventually I’ll fill the sheet and it will show what makes me up inside. Right now my kitchen table is a mess; it reminds me of what my head might look like if it were cracked in half. A pile of organized cut-outs and a pile of misconstrued scraps, part of me wants to scramble you together, to see what happens next. It seems wrong to lose the meaningful pieces in the stack of swirly excess mess; but both have helped to shape the outcome, what a shame to neglect! We’ve been taught to sort long before we realize its long-term effects. Suddenly one side is gone and that can’t be for the best. If we search deep down we’ll find that wholeness is what makes us complete. That is what I believe God intended—to love the beauty and the beast.
0 Comments
Flight attendants hand out greasy turkey sandwiches, approximately 43 minutes before landing, on Flight 55 from Paris’s Charles de Gaulle Airport to Newark International.
In a cheerful tone, the pilot announces on the intercom that we have begun our initial decent and the weather in Newark is a mild 55 degrees with gusty winds. The flight attendants continue to glide up and down the aisle offering extra sandwiches that no one seems to want. As the cart appears in front of my row, the plane dips harshly below a cloud and the seatbelt sign dings on. The passenger seated next to me, a French woman in a blue blazer similar to the ones the flight attendants wear, looks at me with an expression that seems to be saying, ‘Here we go!’ In a few short minutes, the flight attendants have disappeared and I feel like I am on my own. The plane starts a series of heavy plummets down and fast zips up as if the pilot can’t make up his mind as to whether to take us to earth or outer space. As a fearful flier, it would seem to be a natural instinct to regret making the entire trip because of this dreadful moment but it isn’t. In fact, if a magic Genie granted me the chance to relive my week in Paris with the stipulation that I must endure this terrible landing one more time, I wouldn’t hesitate to say yes. My head bobbles back and forth, up and down, with every motion of the plane. I rack my brain for a way to avoid a panic attack while flying 30,000 feet above ground. I begin to visualize myself in all my favorite spots throughout the trip. My tired, cold body walking up the stairs of the Sainte-Chapelle, a medieval Gothic chapel, to be enveloped by the warm colors of stained glass shining on my skin. Opening the narrow latched window in the tiniest hotel room at the Comfort Inn on Mouffetard, to see a flower box full of red carnations, and a cobblestone street below. Sitting in the sun on a curb by the river, crunching on crispy French fries while the Eiffel Tower peeks through a sea of Parisian style apartment buildings. Criss-cross shadows on my face, as I stand below the famous glass pyramid at the Louvre Museum, never once forgetting that some people only dream of getting the chance to see the inside. I come back to my senses, peer out the window as tiny houses become larger and larger, and feel the wheels of the plane bounce onto the runway. The wheels spin vigorously on the pavement as if they will never stop. I secretly hope that they don’t, and instead the plane sails back into the sky, off on another adventure. "We may not be as happy as you always dreamed we would be, but for the first time let's just allow ourselves to be whatever it is we are and that will be better. OK? " A hug was the last thing my dad wanted from his dad before he passed, and the only thing I wanted from my dad, to ease the thought of my grandfather no longer being around.
I told myself some time ago, that in order to be a strong woman in today’s world—I wouldn’t cry. So I chained a pad lock on the gate to my emotions, like the cage of a ferocious beast. Very seldom do I admit to feeling broken, or to happily accepting hugs. I try not to tempt this monster of emotions inside of me, for I fear him more than he fears me. However, recent events have forced me to befriend this beast, and I've found that perhaps my presumptions about strength had led me astray. There is a great deal of truth in tears and honor in vulnerability. You see, those with strength aren't typically the one's who fear. So avoiding the monster of emotions inside of me was really quite cowardly. At the core of my buried feelings, I discovered that maybe after all these years I've simply been afraid to feel. Afraid to accept the fact that I, like everyone else, am a beautiful mess of emotions taking every day as it comes. Only now, I understand that sometime's we have the armor to protect ourselves from this inner monster, and sometimes we don't, at which point a hug may be our only sense of relief. Each night I rest my head on my pillow and gently close my eyes. My thoughts swirl through my mind like the revolving racks of clothing at the dry cleaners. My eyes flutter anxiously until one passes that I feel content with and I grab ahold—sailing off into the night sky.
I dream a lot. So often, that sometimes I confuse reality with dreams and occasionally have to pinch myself as a reminder of the present. I think dreaming is healthy because at times dreaming of a better tomorrow is the only thing to soothe an ailing soul. To me, dreams are the starting point to goals. A dream ignites something in us to subconsciously prioritize aspects of our lives to make a dream more reachable. As I get older, I am learning that not everyone believes in dreams and that’s ok. The world needs the realists to lasso the dreamers down from the clouds. They are the responsible ones who don’t allow a dreamer’s ambitions to consume them. I just want the realists to know, that dreaming takes courage--the courage to believe in the mark we’d like to leave on this earth, no matter how odd we may look while creating it. When a realist comes along and wishes me luck in following my goals, I don’t want their luck. I already know that it is going to take much more than luck to get me where I want to be. So to all the realists--take back your luck and I wish for you to use it towards finding the courage to no longer suppress your dreams. At the end of the day, we are all yearning to leave some sort of legacy behind with us and I hope you realize that before it’s too late. Twilight falls upon the few beach dwellers that still remain, myself included. We all share one thing in common, the secret that the beach gets better once the crowd leaves.
Tonight the sky is swirled with the hues of sunset and the blues of nightfall. It casts the most infectious purple that plays off the navy iridescence of the ocean. The water's color is dark this evening and so are its waves. I stand only up to my knees, out of fear of being swept away. I start a friendly competition between myself and this beautiful ferocious beast. I stand head-on as the waves barrel through me and I try to see how long it will take before I lose my balance. As the waves draw back, the ocean floor wraps around the back of my heels like a ballet flat and for a moment I feel like I am rooted into the earth. The days I have left on this island are dwindling and each night I try unsuccessfully to stall time. Those left on the beach are getting fewer and fewer, but every time I start my trek home I stop myself and go back for more. I know deep down how hard it will be to recreate this moment. So I let my heart rule my body and stay for just a few more minutes. I recline into the hard sand and wait as the shoreline races up to me. My hair cascades around my head and the waves sail over me, which make the sand stick into my thick tresses like glitter. As the waves exit into the night sky I tread lightly and let the ocean carry me to the left with the current. I can't stay here forever but sometimes forever is just one second. Here is my secret list of intentions that I often forget to put out into the universe. What good are they harboring in my mind? I think it’s time to set them free and see what good they may bring.
|