Saturday, October 20, 2001

9:30am
Slightly heavy. Exhaustion. Aftermath of last night's vodka. Only one vodka tonic this time. Still buzzing, slightly vibrating with excitement. No release. Questioning my desire. Why the need for this? Quick slide show. Interchangeable stills in my head. A staccato choreography of hands, arms, legs, lips. Sense memory mixing with emotional memory like a marathon Stanislavski exercise. Dual voices constantly: yes and no, yes but not yet, no but why not, yes but not here, stop but not yet, stay but it's too much. Then somewhere a brief rest in no thought, only pleasure.

11:33am
Can't stop my thoughts and my thoughts send my emotions racing. I'm running an internal marathon standing still, lying down, sitting. Tension building in my neck and shoulders. Head heavy. I'm moving through gauze again. Has he done this before? Is this a habit with him? Am I a habit to him? I'm bursting to go over the details over and over again. The first day after filled with joy, endorphin generated bliss and now an anxious hunger, worry, doubt. "I don't want you to worry," he said. "Remember this, remember this moment when you need to," he said. How many planes am I living on at once? How many separate realities can co-exist in one heart/head?

1:50pm
Read message. Almost time to call. Not home. En route. Will read you what I wrote this morning. I am not really a delicate person, only sensitive and very responsive, reactive. Sometimes I'm overwhelmed with sensory perceptions. But I'm also strong. Don't be fooled by my seemingly fragile facade/persona, more a result of societal conditioning than a reality. Pleased that I surprise you.

5:10pm
Words in secret. I forgive you if you don't remember. Sun is a kind of rest. I rest in you. A rumbling, shaking thrown together: my body/your words. I search the empty places, the tiny spaces between thoughts for something that resembles ecstasy.

Monday, October 22, 2001

7:55am
"To embody the transcendent is why we are here."--Sogyal Rinpoche. Let me see it, let me see it, be it over and over again. Repetition as worship, as ritual, as a deepening. Tamed the butterflies and now I am free to be more than tense muscles and constricted spirit. Teach me to be more. The light is lovely this morning, soft and forgiving. Trust me in this, fold me in this trust--safe for once: home.

Tuesday, October 23, 2001

2:08pm
Worried about worries. Afraid of fears. Is this an obstacle? Go out and meet the drizzle. I'm tired. Useless hours being useful to a fairly friendly media conglomerate. Am I wasting time? What is useful in this moment? What is true? I'm fighting my desire, fighting exhaustion, fighting a deep sadness. Afraid of the absence of desire, of the possibility of rest, of the responsibilities and consequences of joy. Afraid of the downside of bliss. Afraid of your adoring looks turning into indifference. Afraid of repetition, consistency turning into boredom. Afraid of the total, the sum of an accounting of my life. I am old and lonely searching for peace but only finding more fear, worry, sadness, desire.

2:23pm
My hands are cold and I'm trying not to cry. There's no reason to cry or there's every reason to cry. Watching The Breeder's Cup Races on a huge screen--envying the horses their speed and grace. What would it be like to move so instinctively and effortlessly? I move with great effort, self-consciousness, self-doubt. What would a life be like without doubt, without questions? Tie me up and I'll be free from decisions, responsibilities--free from questions, doubts--free to feel without limits.

6:00pm
Uncomfortable--overly conscious of boundaries of body, personality, neurosis--carelessly composed ideas of a self--difficult to breathe--close--hot--mild pull downward--exit--relief--sighs--wishing we weren't trapped inside our well-furnished mind/body containers. Right now I end here at the edges of fingertips and toes. Tomorrow I may be slightly larger ending three feet beyond that and last night I think I stretched for miles across the Lower East Side night.

Thursday, October 25, 2001

9:55am
a small gray cat is
circling--pacing
following me
i want to love him
take him home

6:27pm
Maybe its not ease. Maybe his look of ease is a self-conscious rehearsal of a look of ease? In every acceptance lives some kind of rejection. One more day til the end but then it may continue. I want honesty and ease and to be fully who I am without fear. I feel like a lone ostrich--funny wishbone girl. Too much of this, too little of that--why can't I say yes to anything completely? Clouds, only clouds and water to be watched. The show starts at 7pm.

6:30pm
Why am I nearly crying? I have no talent for joy.

7:02pm
And no show--I'm an idiot in my idiot's outfit. Dreading everything--marking time--adoring the low light after a day of fluorescents. Good the music's on and can drown out all the awkward silence.

7:25pm
Here I am in the hole again--not attempting to dig my way out--I'm just there--I guess I'll just be there for a while.

Friday, October 26, 2001

8:55am
Where is my brown-eyed girl? Not hung over now--but still in a slow mellow vodka state and residue of laughter--dark room celebration--rushing without the rushing inside--memory of popping balloons and typewriter music--Matthew Ship with various Summertimes and A-Trains. Exhaustion and depression mutated into joy.

11:30pm
I tried not to look at you--not to talk to you too long. Now I'm trying not to think of you. It's too loud--too many voices in one room--I wanna go home. I felt beautiful tonight and now I feel average--after glowing now I'm dimmer. Many things to accomplish--wine erasing fear.

Saturday, October 27, 2001

10:20am
A warm steady stream of contentment flowing. No giddy anxious excitement--just this. This is it--here--now. Welcoming the tiny pains in my legs and back--I'm alive in this moment and that is more than enough--alive and full--so full I'm almost a sweet liquid seeping slowly to the table--to the floor--a honey rivulet soon to reach the walls--the corners. I want nothing more in this moment--just this.

Tuesday, October 30, 2001

5:20pm
Awkward moment: "So what is it that he mirrors back to you about yourself that you liked?" I know but I can't tell. The streets are wet in Tribeca--rain or just the street cleaners? Once again this week I'm to practice patience--allowing space--not demanding or initiating--criticizing--practicing non-confrontational communication. I want to erase the pain from his face but I can't. I feel contented enough but somehow helpless in this. We identify the source of my wants but how long can I continue to internalize your reflection of my perfection--what I see in your eyes--the curve of your body when you approach me--the sound of your voice in my ear--your words floating in air penetrating all of me?

Thursday, November 1, 2001

8:50pm
Café sitting--got the meeting time wrong and date too--sitting--waiting--to tired to leave--still low from arguing--why do I get so impatient? Music too loud--crowded--sharing table--too much room chatter to read--to really think--I miss you but that isn't accurate--I miss the way you make me feel: adored, appreciated, a goddess floating slightly above the ground--somewhere inside I'm still there.

Friday, November 4, 2001

9:28am
Frightened--anxious--worried--the band is converging and I'm unprepared. Relieved to hear from you--another small disaster averted. Last night: he touches me in silence--wants me--surprising--making love underwater--a subterranean cave desire briefly surfacing from somewhere deep inside him and I am there waiting to receive his subconscious gifts--pre-verbal-dream gestures--this is too beautiful--too pretty.

After 1, 2, 3 parties in two days I'm thin with letting people in--letting each one in or gently blocking them out for my own protection. Accept the compliments, ignore the snide remarks, accept the pleasing looks, ignore unflattering glances, appreciate the art, ignore the rambling monologs. A friend is there--just meeting for the first time after not speaking for a while. It feels good to kiss her hello--to hug her goodbye--to see her face light up. We tell a series of stories about falling pants and panties.

Tuesday, November 6, 2001

2:30pm
Rushing--always late--good to hear your voice. Dreading this next session, dreading the next meeting. Joel calls me Yosemite Sam--all my grumbling--cursing under my breath over each obstacle I run across. The trains are slow--a warmer day than I thought.

10:04pm
Mild floating vodka haze--easy talk and laughter--travel stories and confessions at Pangea--there is nothing needed now.

I sit on the wooden bench on the subway platform at the Broadway-Lafayette station waiting for the F-train--I am content--tummy full of pomme frite with mango chutney sauce and earlier pita and hummus--ass warm and comfy--enough space to breathe and relax--train comes--no seat--standing leaning against the door remembering you pulling me towards you by my belt--train bouncing, throwing us together--right now there are a million other things happening and I'm missing them all except for this moment--which is perfect because I am here, fully for once, in this moment.

10:06pm
Images of Siberia: the broad green steppe in August, Virlana crying at the kitchen table in Aginsk, Genji yelling at me in the middle of the night in our van (the Grand Saloon of Grace), dancing in the disco on Lake Baikal, the way Tom rushed to save me as I slid while climbing the sacred hills of Alkany, the sound of the shaman's chanting in the ger, our hands covering our eyes protecting ourselves from the spirits he called down.

Tomorrow is my Birthday.