“Why are we reading, if not in hope of beauty laid bare …

On By Christina's WordsIn Quote2 Comments

Why are we reading, if not in hope of beauty laid bare, life heightened and its deepest mystery probed? Why are we reading if not in hope that the writer will magnify and dramatize our days, will illuminate and inspire us with wisdom, courage, and the possibility of meaningfulness, and will press upon our minds the deepest mysteries, so that we may feel again their majesty and power? What do we ever know that is higher than that power which, from time to time, seizes our lives, and reveals us startlingly to ourselves as creatures set down here bewildered? Why does death so catch us by surprise, and why love? We still and always want waking. … We should amass half dressed in long lines like tribesmen and shake gourds at each other, to wake up; instead we watch television and miss the show.

[ … ]

At its best, the sensation of writing is that of any unmerited grace. It is handed to you, but only if you look for it. You search, you break your fists, your back, your brain, and then – and only then -it is handed to you. From the corner of your eye you see motion. Something is moving through the air and headed your way. It is a parcel bound in ribbons and bows; it has two white wings. It flies directly at you; you can read your name on it. If it were a baseball, you would hit it out of the park. It is that one pitch in a thousand you see in slow motion; its wings beat slowly as a hawk’s.

– Annie Dillard from “Write Till You Drop,”  a NY Times Books May 1989 article. Also from The Writing Life

Posted in parallel with Weekend Words: The Day the World Went Away – Vol. 16. This weekend’s volume features work by Cayman Thorn and C.K. Hope, who have generously opened their hearts–“beauty laid bare”–just for us. Their grace is anything but unmerited, and I am honored to stand with you in their light. 

February Seven by The Avett Brothers

On By Christina's WordsIn Music8 Comments

I went on the search for something true
I was almost there when I found you
Sooner than my fate was wrote
A perfect blade, it slit my throat
And beads of lust released into the air
When I awoke you were standing there

I was on the mend when I fell through
The sky around was anything but blue
I found as I regained my feet, a wound across my memory
That no amount of stitches would repair
But I awoke and you were standing there

There’s no fortune at the end of the road
That has no end
There’s no returning to the spoils
Once you’ve spoiled the thought of them
There’s no falling back asleep
Once you’ve wakened from the dream
Now I’m rested and I’m ready and I’m ready to begin

I went on the search for something real
Traded what I know for how I feel
But the ceiling and the walls collapsed
Upon the darkness I was trapped
And as the last of breath was drawn from me
Light broke in and brought me to my feet

There’s no fortune at the end of the road
That has no end
There’s no returning to the spoils
Once you’ve spoiled the thought of them
There’s no falling back asleep
Once you’ve wakened from the dream
Now I’m rested and I’m ready and I’m ready to begin

I’m rested and I’m ready to begin

– “February Seven” by The Avett Brothers, from The Carpenter

The Madness Vase (The Nutritionist)

On By Christina's WordsIn Poetry6 Comments

The nutritionist said I should eat root vegetables.
Said if I could get down thirteen turnips a day
I would be grounded, rooted.
Said my head would not keep flying away
to where the darkness lives.

The psychic told me my heart carries too much weight.
Said for twenty dollars she’d tell me what to do.
I handed her the twenty. She said, “Stop worrying, darling.
You will find a good man soon.”

The first psycho therapist told me to spend
three hours each day sitting in a dark closet
with my eyes closed and ears plugged.
I tried it once but couldn’t stop thinking
about how gay it was to be sitting in the closet.

The yogi told me to stretch everything but the truth.
Said to focus on the out breath. Said everyone finds happiness
when they care more about what they give
than what they get.

The pharmacist said, “Lexapro, Lamicatl, Lithium, Xanax.”

The doctor said an anti-psychotic might help me
forget what the trauma said.

The trauma said, “Don’t write these poems.
Nobody wants to hear you cry
about the grief inside your bones.”

But my bones said, “Tyler Clementi jumped
from the George Washington Bridge
into the Hudson River convinced
he was entirely alone.”

My bones said, “Write the poems.”

“The Madness Vase” by Andrea Gibson, from The Madness Vase; Follow Andrea on Twitter @AndreaGibson or visit her site: andreagibson.org

Stop

On By Christina's WordsIn Music2 Comments

I know a sickness
So ancient and cross
No crucifix
Could ever fix enough
In the basement of a church
These people, they talk
There is a line
That must be walked
If you wanna make it stop
Then stop

I know a place
Where the future is denied
I know a hand
That twitches inside
For some of us the glass
Is filled with lights
But if the honey
Makes you sick
Honey, there is a line
That must be walked
If you wanna make it stop
Then stop
Stop

Slow down
You don’t have to talk
Lie down
Breathe
Stop
Slow down
It’s not your fault
Look around
There’s so many of us
So many of us
You are not alone
Ever
Ever
Ever

Stop

Call in the backup and the backup comes
Nobody can help you if you won’t
Inside your chest your heart is just hurt
Behind your eyes a need replaced a want

I know a sickness so ancient and cross
A crucifix can never fix enough
I know a past when the future is lost
I know a line that must be walked

There is a darkness and there is a light
And there is a choice.
For a balance to be made every night
A weakness must be found
If you want it to stop
Stop
Stop

“Stop” by Ryan Adams & The Cardinals, from Cardinology

Thank you Dede for introducing this song to me when you introduced yourself. You’re a star. The honor really is all mine. 

***

RIP Philip Seymour Hoffman. “Why Philip Seymour Hoffman’s Death Is So Scary : The ever-present danger of relapsing” by Seth Mnookin via Slate.com

“There’s not much separation between my having a drink and my ending up alone in an apartment with a needle in my arm.”

The Catcher in the Rye

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“Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody’s around – nobody big, I mean – except me. And I’m standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff – I mean if they’re running and they don’t look where they’re going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That’s all I do all day. I’d just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it’s crazy, but that’s the only thing I’d really like to be.” ~Holden Caulfield

~J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye~