Monday, January 14, 2008

Tourism


Sitting with my notebook for a substantial amount of time, I often become philosophical, duh. I look up from my lines on the page and let my head fall back a little bit on my neck and the blue sky becomes the focus, with no focal point.


I am re-reading lessons of my teacher to give my journal practice slant and purpose, and today's lesson was to give up the fear of being lost. If you are a tourist, my teacher explained, then walk boldly forward, accept what you find regardless as something that you were meant to find. If you are afraid of being lost, you will be lost.


So I seek to discover. I deliberately take my laundry out and pick up a bagel with egg and vegetables between the halves. I also get a mass of fruits and dairy pureed together in a paper cup. I walk back up the hill in clothes that I used to wear as a virgin because they were big and I felt then that I didn't have a body. I take the sandwich and drink back to my apartment and eat them in front of my employer's e-mail and curse that world. I lick my fingers of grease and onion juice. I take two pills to kill my liver or my acne. I take four more pills to coagulate my blood so that a certain occurance won't be so messy. I clean the trash off of the dining room table and plug my laptop in at the table. I clean up my bedroom. I answer the pressing e-mails. I sip tea made in the microwave. I listen to someone other than Coldplay sing "The Scientist."


I write three pages in my long-hand journal with an aquamarine pen. The pen possesses a broad, black stroke of ink with every letter. I consult with Natalie. "Be like an animal," she says, "stalking your world." I stop cursing the world and stalk it. An animal does everything for the first time. Each breath, each meal, each mating is a commencement. I don't have an animal to watch here, but I always have my puppies in the park. Perhaps this afternoon, with coffee.


The sun is out.


This afternoon with coffee.


I am, and always will be, a tourist in my own land. I am running out of land to have, but I am always a tourist.

No comments: