So I posted a lot this past week. Most of my days were filled with the details of moving the office, and since I have focusing problems without the trees to begin with and I've been off trees for 'a minute' as some would say, I posted a lot this week about what has been filling up my head. Mostly it's just been the music that mirrors my feelings. Anyway, my plans fell apart last minute tonight and I decided to post again. Earlier in the week for about 45 minutes or 30 Waiting for G was open to the public. I doubt that anyone even read it. I opened it up again because after going to check it out because of boredum I realized that it was good, really good--not to be too pompous. Anyway, I blocked it off again shortly after opening because it's also deeply personal and although I am now in a different place, It's not a place I can go back to without wincing. What I like about that blog is how raw, open and honest it was, that though, came from a difficult time in my life. I don't think I'll ever want that to be open for anyone to see. Yet, I want to keep it around to share, for some people. Maybe you'll be one of those people. Anyway, I want to share the first post, because I am proud of the writing and because it's general enough to convey where I was coming from without being cringinly honest.
WAIT...WHAT''S HE SUPPOSED TO LOOK LIKE AGAIN?
In popular culture you hear about Native Americans smoking up to be taken to another plane. My main frame of reference for this is when Native Americans invite Bart into a tent and he has a wacky dream. Anyway, my closest experience to that was one long night of extracurricular activity, where I only had one thrilling revelation: everyone has his or her own view of reality and its true at the same time as everyone else is experiencing their own view of reality, but none of them are true on their own.
Most of the time we walk around safely bundled in the drama of our own reality, which is a source of succor. Yet, it can be toxic when we focus too deeply on our own reality without acknowledging that there are other ways of conceptualizing the playing field. For a moment I saw: the pulsating twinkle of multiple dramas crossing planes of reality into another experience.
***
I have a yoga teacher who I really like because she's open and welcoming, the way you think all yoga teachers should be, but this one is for real. One day, in a class when I was struggling to hold a pose, breathing hard, she came up to me and hovered somewhere around my face. I tried to ignore her, blurring my vision, looking somewhere beyond her and waiting for her to move on, as yoga teachers are supposed to do. She didn't. I gingerly guided my gaze towards her, letting my consciousness graze over her face for a moment, trying to understand what was up. At the moment of contact she locked me in with her eyes. "No fear," she said and smiled. She walked on. No fear? I wanted to tell myself I was befuddled, but I wasn't.
On another day she said, "You are a part of the ever-pulsating universe, always." This also made sense to me and it made me think about twinkling realities and such. When I find myself getting stuck in a negative thought pattern I try to go back to that place where I had my novel thought. Its not alien to the best moments of my yoga practice. It was a moment when I felt attuned.
***
Today as I flipped through Facebook pages I focused on the Yale, Harvard, etceteras posted on my friends' and acquaintances' pages. My universe started to shrink. It wrapped itself around my neck and wrung the tears out of my face. How humiliating. Envy is ugly and when you see it flicker through yourself as you blow, blow, blow at it without blowing it out, it becomes distressing, monstrous, inevitable.
I went back to work. I checked my scrabble games. I did work. I checked my email. I got a call. I waited for another call. A good call, a hopeful one. It did not come, but 5 pm did. I made my way to the train. I cried. "Don't look into peoples faces" I said. I got on the train. I acted normal. "I am a disgruntled commuter" I said. I am...I look into the reflection the glass makes. I look so normal, so mundane, so unbothered by the world, so neutral.
The weep came and went. Somehow I was home eating grilled cheese watching Angelina on the Actor's Studio. She's so beautiful. She seems to want to be shocking, different. I think of when she carried a vile of blood around her neck. I turn off the television. I go to my room. I said that I would clean it today. It really does need to be cleaned. I don't have comfortable underwear for tomorrow. I really should do laundry. I check Facebook instead. I check my email. I call L, not a good time. I call my cousin, get voicemail.
I google, "What career path should I take?" I am told I should write, be creative...blah, blah, blah. I take another quiz. My cousin is calling me back. I pick up. I talk. I talk about it all. I tell her that I'm distraught. Its all open before me and I don't know what to do. I don't have long term goals. I can't remember the last time I didn't have long term goals. I'm scared. I am unhappy. And I thought I had it all so together last month! Ha.
We commiserate. She tells me a story her friend told her. A woman in a cult, at least I think it was a cult, lived in a compound in Texas. She wanted to be rescued. She kept waiting to be rescued. Nobody ever came, so she was like, 'F it.' And she freed herself all by her lonesome. My cousin's friend thinks we, the late twenty somethings without a plan, should follow suit--quit waiting for Godot.
I've been trying to see. In some ways I haven't evolved away from that little girl who sat thinking, "What's it going to be like?," or more correctly "What's it going to look like?" The universe is shouting, "Its here! Its here!" and I'm not on a road with a friend. I'm in Grand Central and its rush hour and I can't remember if the universe told me what Godot would look like. I wasn't paying attention if she did, must have been daydreaming...always daydreaming. I'm spinning and I'm supposed to be balancing the future on my head! I'm spinning, spinning on my own head. One, two, six, seven, a thousand--uncontrollably spinning 'til it all fell down.
***
Anyway, according to P's friend, my cousin's friend, I'm not the only one waiting for Godot. Maybe the universe never told me what he was going to look like. You know? Well, so I was thinking, maybe instead of trying to figure out what G looks like, I should send this into the universe. I'm hopeful about what it will return.
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