May 18, 1999

Stream-of-Consciousness? Yeah, Maybe...

It's entirely too early for me to be here. We had an eight o'clock meeting this morning, and I didn't see much point in going back home. It was not a happy cheerful sort of meeting. All things considered, I would rather have been sleeping. But then, at 8 AM, I would almost always rather be sleeping. So I ran to the bakery nearby and got breakfast and coffee, sweet, dark, beloved coffee. I'm not usually a coffee drinker, but again... at 8 AM (9, in this case), I'm a confirmed believer.

I was teasing Brand the other night that I should get English credit for talking to him sometimes. He's spent a lot of time working on his thesis lately, and in talking to him, I've sort of gotten the overflow of what didn't go into the paper. Don't get me wrong, it's been interesting. I've learned a great deal about Arthurian legend as it relates to modern popular culture. It's times like these that I think culture studies might really be something interesting to study. Once again, I find myself wanting to do something brilliant. Aside from my ever-entrancing journal entries, of course.

Fingers fly over the keyboard and I become aware... what am I aware of? I think with my fingers... someone told me that the other day and I laughed, but it's true. I don't type in words, I type in thoughts, in phrases. It's a form of communication all of its own. A language separate from writing, from speaking. This is my language, flowing from fingertips rather than tongue. Sometimes I think I can type faster than I can speak, but at the same time, I can type things I would never say, as if typing gives me the time to actually think about what I'm saying, regardless of my typing speed. The lag, I think, is not between thinking and typing, but between typing and sending... I have time to stop and reconsider if what I've typed is really what I want to say. Sometimes I edit. Usually I don't. I'm as impulsive in print as I am in speaking.

Did you know that Oral Roberts, as a defense against premarital sex, once told his viewers to 'wrap Jesus around your reproductive organs'? This from a co-worker, who said she saw it on his show. I don't know how true that is, but I know that I spent about ten minutes recovering from that particular statement. I laughed until I cried. Don't ask me what I was thinking. There were several visual images running through my mind, none of them very pretty. I don't know about that. I'm very particular about my ovaries.

Yes it's true. I have odd co-workers.

Yes, it's also true. My mind is all over the place today.

What element am I? That's another question that came up. I see aspects of all of them in me. Some more than others. Below is what I found on the web. Which element are you most closely associated with?

Air is the element of the mind. It is intellect, inspiration, imagination. It is ideas, knowledge, dreams and wishes. Air is a masculine element.

Fire is the element of change and passion. It is creativity, motivation, will power, drive and sensuality. It is sexuality, both physical and spiritual. Fire is the element of authority and leadership. Fire is a masculine element.

Water is the element of emotion and subconscious. It is love, purification, intuition, mysteries of the self, compassion and family. It is psychic ability. Water is a feminine element.

Earth is the element of stability and of the body. It is wisdom, strength, growth and prosperity. It is the physical earth and the very heart of life. Earth is a feminine element.

Funny. I always thought of myself as very earthy. I don't know now. Air and water, maybe. See Mo, you might have been right after all!

Posted by Lisa at 09:53 AM | Comments (0)

May 08, 1999

Peering into More Dark Tunnels

Wind's four quarters, air and fire

Earth and water, hear my desire

Grant my plea, who stands alone

Maiden. warrior, mother and crone

Eastern wind, blow clear, blow clean

Cleanse my body of its pain

Cleanse my mind of what I've seen

Cleanse my honor of its stain

Maid whose love has never ceased

Bring me healing, from the east

I hurt. And it's so fucking pitiful of me. I need to seriously get a grip on reality. When you manage to disgust your best friend with your pitiful, clinging ways, you know it's time to re-evaluate your views on life. I hate feeling this way. I keep wandering into this. The same damn situations, over and over. It's like part of me is afraid to be close to someone in the same town, or as if I don't deserve a real relationship, so I develop a bunch of pretend ones. And when one falls apart, I crumble. Sometimes I feel so distanced from the real world I think I must be psychotic. But then, that would just be me overreacting again, wouldn't it?

Southern wind, blow hot, blow hard

Fan my courage to my flame

Southern wind, be guide and guard

Add your bravery to my name

Let my will and yours be twinned,

Warrior of the southern wind

I'm so angry. At myself, at others. I don't know if I'm sitting here crying in pain or fury. I want to scream, I want to hate everyone and everything I've ever come near, and I can't. I want to hurt something the way I hurt. But no one's to blame but me. I made the choices I did. I'm a coward. Even now, writing this, I'm backing away from the anger I feel.

Western wind, blow stark, blow strong

Grant me arm and mind of steel

On a road both hard and long,

Mother hear me, where I kneel

Let no weakness on my quest

Hinder me, wind of the west

I don't know who will hear me. I can't think of a single soul who would actually be able to understand how I feel. The one that I thought might, didn't. Or didn't want to. Or had better things to do, like talk to his girlfriend. When I get this frustrated, this angry, this hurt, I have a hard time expressing myself without being so bitter and self-loathing and self-pitying that it turns people from listening to me. So I throw my rantings up on the wall and let whoever wants to read them do so.

Northern wind, blow cruel, blow cold

Sheathe my aching heart in ice

Armor 'round my soul enfold

Crone, I need not call you twice

To my foes, bring cold of death

Chill me, north's winds frozen breath.

I'm tired. I want to put walls up that let no one get close, but I can never seem to manage it. So I open myself up and get hurt, over and over and fucking over. I wish I was cold and hard inside.

Wind's four quarters, air and fire

Earth and water, hear my desire

Grant my plea, who stands alone

Maiden. warrior, mother and crone

                    --"Wind's Four Quarters", Mercedes Lackey

Posted by Lisa at 04:44 PM | Comments (0)

May 06, 1999

The REAL Selkie's Tale

Every once in a while, I stumble across something on the Internet, the web in particular, that gives me hope that maybe it isn't just a bunch of dreck. In case you missed it, from my last entry, I've been very much on a T.S. Eliot kick lately. Brand got me started reading his poetry, and it's just phenomenal. I've started throwing quotes of his around a lot lately, or I've had snatches of it going through my mind. On one of the Eliot webpages I was looking at, I found a page of links to other modern works that use allusions to Eliot's poetry.

And it was there I found it. A short story entitled Sea Change by Susan Stern.

It gave me chills. Honestly. Part of it, I know, is because of the subject matter. Ms. Stern is writing about selkies, an obvious favorite topic of mine. But she manages to capture so well the dualism of mind that I've tried to portray, first with Joanna, and now with Maire. I don't even know what to say about it, except "Go read this." It's beautiful. I wanted to find a good quote, this was the one I finally decided on:

"Perfect, he said. And she grows more perfectly beautiful every day, in her human body. But I have swum along the margin of the shore and listened to him walking and talking, and seen into the child's mind, and her mind is as empty of thoughts as a seal's. She rocks in the fireplace with her hands over her face, and she cries to be let outside into the rain. She yearns for the water. He won't let her near the sea. Because he's convinced himself that I drowned. I watch him walking up and down the beach, grieving, looking out over the water--for what, he does not know. Yet he knows. Deep down, outside what he's willing to remember, he knows."

Reading this was like reading one of those things that at first you think, 'Hmm... have I been writing under a psuedonym and not been aware of it?' because it just touches so close to something you've thought or felt. Then you realize that it's only wishful thinking, and you've actually found something that you wish you had written, because it expresses something inside you in a way that you could never match.

I think I've just discovered the entire point of literature: Written works that manage to say what you would, if only you could. One more quote, which sums up the selkie myths entirely:

"I almost loved you, I told him. I would have stayed, if only you'd have let me leave."

Happy reading.

Posted by Lisa at 05:44 PM | Comments (0)

May 01, 1999

It's Four A.M., I Must Be Lonely

Four am. What are you up not thinking about at this time of the morning? Me, there are a lot of things I'm not thinking about.

Four am. (And I hear some part of my brain echo, it's 1 am there.. it's only 1 am there...) But I'm not thinking about that.

Four am. In fact, that's probably the only thing I'm up not thinking about at this time of the morning. I'm not thinking about the two of them meeting for the first time, my best friend and his chosen beloved.

I refuse to think about that. I am absolutely NOT thinking about him kissing her, or touching her, or smiling at her.

Thinking about that would be self-defeating. It would serve no purpose. And most important of all... it wouldn't change anything. So I'm not thinking about it. Not now, and not for the rest of this week. For me, there is no cabin in the woods off somewhere alone for a week.

There are no green thoughts.

I did not contemplate airplane crashes.

I am not dwelling.

Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.

Life is very long.

So be it.

Four am. (One am there.) I'm spending a great deal of time not thinking. I will continue to not think for the rest of the week. If there had actually been something to think about, this tone would be followed by news and instructions.

Don't panic.

Strange news has come to town

Strange news is carried

Strange news flies up and down

That my love is married.

Oh I wish them both much joy,

Though they don't hear me.

And may God reward him well,

For the slightin' of me.

Four am. Except that there was no slight. The truth was always told in that one area, at least. Always. But I'm not thinking about that.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

Four am. (One am.) SHUT UP!

I'm spending a great deal of time not thinking.

Posted by Lisa at 04:07 AM | Comments (0)