Running With It

Running With It (Into 2011)

“For it is important that awake people be awake,

or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep;

the signals we give–yes or no, or maybe–

should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.”

–William Stafford,  A Ritual To Read to Each Other

(reprinted without permission).

prayer for what comes through

A Light Jog

Whoops, there goes the solstice.  The light shows more and more of her fleeting backside to the incoming bug-eyed night.

And the Night is all wolf-whistlin’: Yes, yes you can!

And the Light is all: Watch me, then.

And the Blizzard, looking forward to a quieter city, dumps all over Brooklyn.

Snowful

In the snow-slicked entrance to Prospect Park, one little boy turns to another: No, use your sled as a surfboard, come on!
And the other little boy, reservedly: That may work for you, but that doesn’t work for me. His sled is a perfect vertical line from his mitten to the ground.  He prefers things as they are.

Ah, self-understanding at a young age.

On Prospect Park West, an archaic city dump truck, looking like technology Dr. Seuss invented when he was weary of grinches, picks up a huge clawful of dirty snow, turns, and deposits it onto a parked car.  Ho-hum. Right intention, wrong action.

And this morning, with the flip of the year, the light came roaring in the bedroom windows.  Like it just couldn’t wait, and screw the planetary schedule.

I dream I am driving a van through the backwoods of Maine with J & B, both of whom know more about snow and cars than I do. There are two streams to ford. The first one is solid ice. I drive over it as if it were interstate.  The second one is active and raging. I plunge into it and can hardly force the van to sputter out the other side.  I wake up thinking: What streams are running through my life? What IS four-wheel drive?

My best, Wikipedia-less guess: Four-wheel drive has something to do with the relationship of the back of the vehicle to the front, and the amount of traction you can gain on the surface of your life.

So four-wheel drive is a car-cousin of yoga.

Vroom.

Fruity Dudes

B buys a durian at the tiny market in Chinatown, having vowed that if we walk with him in the wet cold, he will eat the most disgusting thing we can find.  In Chinatown that leaves you a lot of options.

When I inquire, how much for this? and point at the dinosaurian fruit suspended from hooks, the attendant, a small Chinese woman bundled up in a hoodie and drinking tea from a paper cup, raises her eyebrows, pleased at our choice.

Seven dollars and fifteen cents!

Which would have been my entire allowance when I was ten.

Durian has great notoriety as a fruit—aphrodisiac? Emetic?  It is often compared for better or worse (get ready) to a vagina, especially in its…. smell.  I didn’t make that up, as this is a fact-based blog.  Now, Durian is awesome and unforgettable and vaginas (yes) are awesome and unforgettable; beyond that, the energy of the comparison wanes.

breaking into light

B carries it home on the subway in its mesh bag, inside another red plastic bag.  This particular durian, “Mon Thong”, has won a fruit prize: a blue ribbon and medal with two antlered deer in cameo, who look as if they are about to make-out with each other.  Its fetid odor is not easily contained by plastic or anything else.  If you want to gain personal space on the subways, Durian is your friend.

B can’t wait to cut it open, but the very first small bite he spits out in the toilet immediately.  Then J, my bro-in-law, wants to try too. What? He says, defending the monstrosity.  It’s not so bad, it tastes like onions!

Onions? B is doubtful.

In Thailand, they are often banned in offices, hospitals and many (finer) hotels.   These institutions can’t permit burps that smell like…the Goddess’ nether-parts.

Netherophilia

Split open, with great fanfare, the durian halves look like the hemispheres of the brain, but yellow as the center of a hardboiled egg, viscous and meaty.  Maybe in two thousand years science will reveal that our oldest ancestor is neither an amphibian nor an amoeba but an obnoxious, deliciously repulsive fruit.

And we, if split open at our core?  Not tidy, not succulent, we would prove equally repulsive even to our own kind.  All the goop of organ and tissue, far more disorganized than polite anatomy texts admit.  Our smell, too, would become quickly unbearable.  And yet we are so fooled by the appearance of skin, which does for the internal stew of the body what snow does, albeit briefly, for the city: makes it beautiful, hauntingly, for as long as it lasts.

The rest of the durian goes in the garbage and we go out to celebrate the turning of the year into…

Oneness.

Numen, Numerical

1-1-11.  The 24 hours when oneness becomes blatently numerical as well as a spiritual ideal. What symbolism can we smush onto this arbitrary alignment?  I’ll try, still in a Durian-tizzy: This is the time wherein we stand beside each other and face whatever is coming, whether it is more light, more dark or something that defies both.

a bundle of ones

 

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9 Responses to “Running With It”

  1. B Says:

    Have I ever told you about the deer that was in the ditch? Some of it is in my yurt now. I know what our insides are like – or at least mammalian insides- and durian is far, far worse. Great post. Crazy dream, sounds plausible and fun.

    • saraknowsyou Says:

      I think the readers of Massive Missive need to know about the deer that was in the ditch. And what part of it is now in your yurt. And the mystical nature of the yurt.

  2. James Says:

    Good lord it’s 1-11-11 and we’re back to oneness all over again just like it was yesterday. Or 10 days ago. Consider… If you add up all those ones you get 5, multiplied by 2 gives you 10, the exact number of days since the previous day of oneness. Not coincidentally, adding up the ones from the last day of oneness equals 4, multiplied by 2 is 8, exactly 2 less than today’s sum of all ones, 2 being the cosmic multiplier of oneness. Don’t you see?

    • saraknowsyou Says:

      O, I see, I see!

      You must have gone to the school of Numerology & Esoteric Emancipation in Boulder, CO to do this kind of math.

      • James Says:

        It’s true. I graduated at the head of my class.

        This is the time wherein we stand beside each other and face whatever is coming, whether it is more light, more dark or something that defies both.

        There is understated enormity living within this sentence, a statement of radical acceptance, an affirmation of love’s shining moment.

      • saraknowsyou Says:

        Thank you.

        Thank love.

  3. saraknowsyou Says:

    If you try to comment and have problems, query me por favor.

  4. martha Says:

    ONOMONOPEIA

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