I was in Puerto Rico at a friend’s house and she was telling me a tale of love – of being so attracted to a certain someone where you find patience – where you don’t want the person unless they have clarity – you realize this person is in your life and it could be now or a real long time from now or never – but suffice to say the long and short of it is this – you yourself have found nirvana.
I told her it made me feel like I was in the Matrix and she was offering me the blue pill or the red pill and that it was me who held the choice of how to proceed. I told her I liked her story – that it gave me a wider view of life instead of the narrower, I want this now variety – and we talked about how “la vida es corta but es ancha” – and my restlessness abated maybe by a few notches but still the crawling out of the skin remains.
Rachel, I loved the end…but still the crawling out of the skin remains. That is the part where you are living everything, la parte que está cruda. In some ways it reminds me of Rainier Maria Rilke in his book “Letters to a Young Poet”:
…be patient toward all that is unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.
I still long to go back to your patio and finish this conversation with new questions – I have the short video of you but it is black and all I hear is your voice which makes your words sound even more ominous. Eudora Welty writes that Southerners live their narratives – we’re not writing a novel, we are the novel – every detail enriches the story – every tale weaves back within itself – for some reason all of this exchange amongst us women these days reminds me of this song that Linda Ronstadt sings so beautifully:
Oh the women ‘cross the river carry water from the well at break of day
And they talk to one another; God only knows what they might say
You might get an education after years of dedication
You might finally get a glimpse of what is right and what is wrong
But the women ‘cross the river; well they knew that all along
Oh the women ‘cross the river work with tools that are ancient and hand-made
And they plow their fields in perfect rows and then they rest beneath the shade
Now we have learned to build, out of concrete, out of steel
And our buildings stand a thousand years but then even they are bound to fall
But the women ‘cross the river never learned to build a wall
Oh the women ‘cross the river are as gentle as the dew upon the ground
How I love to hear them laughing in the rain when it makes that perfect sound
Now a soldier with a gun and a battle to be won
Might kill you with a bullet and you never even know the reason why
But the women ‘cross the river; they can kill you with their eyes
Eudora is right: we are the novel. I will be in NOLA next week…we will talk and talk.
Bueno mi amiga – descansa ahora – yo necessito R&R porque tengo mucho trabajo y otra vez mi piel me pica, sabes? me pica me pica me pica – ?que voy hacer? – no puedo llamar a esta persona pero lo quiero lo quiero lo quiero y me pica me pica me pica. Ay dios mio – como anda el amor. Es una locura. Creo que la luna esta llena esta noche porque me pica me pica me pica.
Mira nena – la luna esta llena – ay, que barbaridad – me voy loca esta noche como si fuera la ultima vez para amor – hay, necessito algo – bueno, voy a banarme y mirar a los paredes.
Lo se, lo se. A mi me pasa lo mismo…la luna llena, me fui a la playa…necesitaba bañarme en la luz de la luna. Como la canción esa que dice: la luna se está bañando en los senderos del río y un toro la esta mirando, entre
Falls in the category of “whatyougonnado?” – I’m better today. Soooo busy with work doesn’t matter anymore. You’re either in, or you’re out – just don’t get in my way. Sabes?