Not Now but Soon

I want to pick up where Holden left off. In his mental state and more, I wish I had a room to lay out for a while. I have more than a room, I have a house and a yard too but it isn’t mine and they’re watching. You can't relax well when people are watching or “watching” you. It just makes you sweat. He’s my best friend, after El. I try to do more good than bad. I think that’s what life is about. I may have just figured it out. I cracked the code. But this leaves only one conclusion which is that you’re bound to do both. I’ve reached a point in my diminutive life that I’ve just said “Fuck it” and rare do I say the word “Fuck” but I mean it, honestly I do. What is money? What is money if not for a perspective that's less than intelligent and quite frankly, basic. Everybody buys things with money I want to buy things with blueberry muffins. I think the universe might benefit a lot from people betting on muffins instead of coins that represent billions. It’s terrifying. I never asked for this, I wouldn’t have ever asked for this. It’s madness and it’s scary and I'm too old to sleep with my mom, and too young to know what to do with this kind of knowledge other than weep about it. And that's another thing, I tend to cry a lot. I'm not exactly a walking soap opera but my emotions and I are very “in touch” if you know what I mean. Anyway, the way I see it, and the way I’ve been seeing it for a while, is that there's always a reason to cry. There's always something heartbreaking going on and it's just a matter of how long you can ignore it for, I guess. I choose to face things head on, and not get too distracted.

The past few weeks have not been easy and that's putting it lightly. El and I have been traveling around for the better part of the year or honestly chalk it up to nearly three years on the road (if you count the Kibbutz home which we nested in for 10 months awaiting something that never came. Total bust if you ask me). That's the thing about the wide open road; it tends to lead nowhere. And there isn’t too much freedom in empty stomachs, chilly rains and depression. El keeps my spirits lifted slightly higher than his. I find freedom in his hair which is long and dark, just like mine. The thing about El is he has a brain that just works. I mean he really knows what he’s doing with that thing. By his own handiwork we have a roof over our heads (with close to no cracks) and a flourishing garden complete with brussel sprouts, hot peppers and all the dark shades we could hope for. So the past few weeks haven’t been easy but it isn’t a reflection of our food stash. It's a reflection of my goddamn mood. I've been dealing with it for years so I really don’t need the low-down but recently my mind hasn't been cooperating with the drugs I've been prescribed. It feels like I'm committing a sin every time I swallow one. That disfluidity in one girls’ body really has a way of making her see frog-eyed. I can't even keep my cupids-bow lips from pouting. I hate this shit.

El’s been cooking up some hash browns for me as he knows they're my favorite and that their greasy, crispy taste is bound to put some kind of smile on my face, even if it only makes a brief appearance. For his sake I try and really show it off for him.

“Mmm those potatoes smell delicious babe.”

“Almost ready for consumption… just need to add some pepper.”

He starts rummaging through our pantry looking for the pepper- I start to lose focus. With blurred vision I see him come sit down next to me.

“Just tell me when” he says as he starts to dish it out. He’s lovely.

“When.”

After dinner he retires to the garden or the shed or both or neither. I started reading a book I already read and still wouldn’t be able to tell you the story line. It's in French for one, a language I do not speak nor understand, however I have a good grasp on vibrations. Or at least that's what my mother always told me, I’d like to think she was right. So in this book I'm reading, some fictional novel of sorts, there's a poor family. They’re poor but they’re really happy folks! I mean the really happy kind of people that you see from time to time, not often, not at all, that are always just plain, chipper. Giddy. Glowing with some kind of light that's blinding to most. A kind of light that could kill. This family had that light shining all around them yet they couldn’t even afford bread. No tablecloth on the table, at least I don’t think so anyway. No visitors by Christmas and certainly no presents for the kids which I think there are six. But these people are mad with happiness! I think that's what drew me to read the book again because if you can't be happy you might as well have a chance to READ about other people being happy. It's called ‘vicarious living'. So there I sat “reading” my book. Crying a little and ultimately falling asleep to a dreamless slumber. peace. 

Some while later, El returned inside and walked over to the couch. He kissed my head and with both arms spread, scooped me up in his arms and carried all 100 lbs of me to the bed. He put me down more delicately than you would a baby and gave me another kiss on the head. I remained dreamless.

I awoke the next morning with a skip in my heart and after about ten minutes things started to settle down in my mind. clarity. I stepped into my slippers and trotted off to the bathroom to meet myself in the mirror. It was then I knew that today would be better than yesterday and for that alone I was grateful. That alone almost got me believing in God again. There's something I should tell you right off the bat and it's more true than most truths. It comes in a sequence and that is that 1) it's all fabricated and 2) by you. This means that every day, noon and night we as human beings make a conscious choice of how we will be affected by

our surroundings, our thoughts and our feelings. That last one is important as I usually am subject to abuse by my emotions... but not today. And not any day if I don’t choose it. And instead I choose not to let it sink in below my surface, under my skin, into irritation and into my heart. It's a choice and this depression isn’t chronic, it's manic and it’s manipulative, if only we allow it that chance to breathe and to exist as an attribute of life but by no means the conductor of it. I run my life and into his arms and that's about all I need. He smells like cinnamon, dew, and smoke. I breathe in his every fiber. His arms wrap around mine too and he

knows today which choice I’ve made. I told you, his brain just works!

Before long, we were working together on the porch, just cleaning away the excess paint and making room for some redecorating. As we’re moving the orange cushions from top to bottom and bottom again, I came across an old shell that I don’t remember having seen before. El told me we picked it up off the beach by Netanya, last time we were there. I trust him and with his words a memory starts to form. Whether the memory was created on the spot, or was always there, just buried, I’ll never know. But nonetheless I chose to dust the shell off and lay it back under the cushion for safe keeping. 

As the day progresses so does my mood and soon I am no longer making active choices again, but rather, simply following the leader of my

inner slug, unsure if it’s still me. I try to pull myself back into my center. (Whatever the fuck that means) to remind myself of the choice that I need to make to be happy, but after a few hours of it already, I’m exhausted and decide to give all my glory to the slug. Basically I start feeling blue throughout. At this point I would usually turn off and drop out but the guilt of my Mother and El and even my unborn children, is so great I don’t think I can get it to cease. Guilt is one of the worst things I’m not kidding, its toxic and cruel and hardly ever serves anybody anything

that they really need. It's a hopeless ride and at this point, I’ve been on it for the past 30 minutes, when El knocks on our bedroom door. I tell him how he doesn’t need to do that as he sleeps here too, and all. I’m not sure how we got to this point but to tell you the truth it’s probably best that I just lay down. (Then I look down and I already am.)

The next morning the sun leaked through my window and spread its warmth on me like a blanket. I chose to ignore this clear sign from The Creator to open my eyes and greet the day. I rolled to the shaded side of the bed and bathed in the warmth of my covers instead. I had to preserve this moment. It was the least strenuous part of each of my days. I cherished this moment and often let it linger just a bit too long. I wanted to get up, not now but soon. After about an hour or two or maybe way, way less, I arose like a rose. Bloomed and breathed a fresh breath of air and exhaled thank you. Every day (moment really) has so much potential. Like a newborn child. It’s so delicate and possible, at the same time. It’s a little leaf of hope. And that alone is so pure and untouched that I wonder how it can possibly lose its purpose, and just like that *fingers snap* it happens so fast that it almost takes my breath away. And that truly is the most symphonatic part about it. It just happens. It just is. Sometimes, before the anxiety occurs, I’ll be so preoccupied with wondering where it is that I’ll simply bring it upon myself. Almost as if waiting for the mailman to arrive that you end up pacing around the room, walking out to the porch and down the block, up the road and nearly to the freeway, and to the post office itself where you greet the mailman and accidentally say “Looks like I’m first on your route today!” Like it’s the very thing you’ve been waiting for. That begs the next question which is: why?

Being a nomad on the road really isn’t all that it boasts to be. It’s both so exhilarating and yet also very humbling at the same time... And how something can be so full of both is beyond me. It’s open ended, open minded, open road, open heart kind of feel that just oozes with authenticity and something that can really belong to you. A real piece of heart that I have yet to find in something else.

The spring began to unravel before us like a fruit roll-up finally being set free. I felt lucky to be there and witness the glory of spring. The sounds. The smell. The feel. It’s bliss and really, I think I’ll spend my whole life waiting for spring and somehow miss it every time it comes around. But today I was there, present with my body and my mind that lives in here with me and my thoughts and it’s as though I just learnt to meditate today, for the very first time! I heard, and I breathed, and I felt so in love.

Hours go by in seconds. By the time it’s evening I’m ready for it to be, I never like to linger in the in-between for too long. The grumble from my stomach indicates that I should start making some dinner. We try to eat well to nourish well, to feel well, it works well, about 50% of the time or so, so it’s always worth a shot. We’ll usually eat vegetables and rice or rice with vegetables or just vegetables or just rice, and always with sweet tea. I believe sweet tea is one of the most obvious and giving gifts we have in this day and age, and it surely always knows

how to put me in a good mood. As we’re chopping, chopping, chopping away El asks,

“What do you think about Alaska?”

“I think it looks like one of the most beautiful places in the world” I say.

“We should go.”

“To Alaska?”

“Why not?” He raises a good point.

The idea first appealed to me most because it is quite simply the farthest possible place we can go from where we are now, and if that alone isn’t exciting I don’t know what is.

“But how?” The sadist part in me asks.

“I don’t know, but we can figure it out.” He says optimistically.

And just like that, we started to plan our next adventure to Alaska. And just like that I am no longer a slug, but a butterfly, on my way.