painting yet again
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Subject:painting yet again
Date:Wed, 27 Oct 1999 22:06:58 CDT
We were out at Nancy's Farm and working by eleven, climbing up on the roof of the house to paint the...SkyRoom, a 12-sided room with glass and a marvelous 360 degree view of the trees beginning to do their bronchial images. LOL.
I painted quickly but carefully with a drop cloth at first (Steve had insisted), but later the wind caught it and flung it flying a darker blue than the sky away and I didn't bother retrieving it as I wasn't dripping. I am approaching low-grade professional, meaning I do quality work but it takes me longer than a Pro would.
Something had died and I was relatively sure it wasn't me. Mike Bell kept complaining about it and finally convinced Monte (Nancy's former husband) to go up in the attic of the SkyRoom and check. Nada. So we worked throughout the afternoon with that oh so lovely subtle scent of carrion in the wind.
In the evening, Steve came rolling in, all grins and bon hommie, telling us of the grant he'd just gotten and how the Big Rock Candy Mountain was real, here and now, and he was the caretaker. LOL.
The Big Rock Candy Mountain, for those of you who don't recognize the reference, is a magical mountain. Let's see if I can recall a bit of the lyric. Haven't heard this since I was 7 years old, but it was magical then. Still is, truth to tell.
"Oh, the buzzin of the bees/And the cigarette trees/And the ice cream soda fountains/The lemonade springs/And there's lots of things/On the Big Rock Candy Mountain."
It's an old hobo song, the song of the Dharma Bum which even then was arising withing my 7 yo mind, longing for escape, release from the insanity of the abuse of my two out-of-it Big People aka parents.
I think of the Circle throughout the day, reminding myself to remember this thought, this event, to report this to you...but I so often forget. You will forgive me?
I thought of how glorious it was to be alive on this blue and sunny day, to be painting a coat of paint which will probably still be in place when I exit this-time-around, and how extraordinary Life can be when you're within the Magic. The Dance.
I have received some wonderful poems which should cause envy immediately to arise within me (they are so good!) but instead do something quite different, making me think how poor mine are (but that's okay) and how my simply *trying* to write poetry somehow makes me...more...myself. Who I really am. I am trying to see, trying to express the things I feel, and I know that I cannot do this well, but yet I really don't think that's the point. I think the point is utterly beyond me, but perhaps what is within my grasp is that my utterances (I will call them that rather than poetry from now on) bring forth...responses from you.
The Circle is such a strange creation. Cassie has asked me at least twice to give her a history of this thing, and all I can really say is that it was created in Tulsa when I was on a three week jag on the street, homeless, but which really (truth to be told) is and always was...eternal.
Does this make any kind of sense to any of you? That sense that somehow we have always been together through contact and separation? I cannot really talk about that in some kind of rational and logical manner, but I have this...sense that we are connected.
You are *so* important to me.
One of you was dying of terminal cancer, my oldest and dearest, and I prayed and prayed and prayed for her. She is here, in remission, and Life beats at her door.
One of you has a son in prison for bank robbery, and it has been such a thing of beauty for me to be there for her, in whatever limited way I can. She is truly a beautiful woman.
One of you has a son who is a drug addict, and she writes this searing poetry which is so raw my nerves shiver each time I see a letter from her. She is that good, and yet cannot really accept how good she is.
One of you teaches in California and writes letters so full of grace and courage that I take inspiration from each of them. She leaves me at a loess for words....
One of you has a heart so large you could park a van in it, not to mention a portable parking lot, and is my dear, dear friend. You know, like allthat stuff?
One of you is a former model who is yet as lovely a woman as I have been graced to call my friend.
One of you inspects highways and is not happy with her life, but is content.
One of you is a psychologist who touches my heart on a daily basis; the hardest person in the Circle to get to know (for me), but so well worth the wait. Translate away, darlin.
One of you longs for love, for escape from the walls of that prison, but cannot do it as yet. My aloha to you, dear one.
One of you was my angel, who rescued me from Tulsa, and how can I ever repay her? She is truly courageous and is even now battering down the walls of that which entombs her. Go, girl!
Share with me.
Who are you? Why are you here? Do you believe in magic? Do you have magic working in your life? Who am I to you?
It's after ten, and I have a long day ahead in not so long a time. So let me bring the ole babeee to a close.
The server is going down for some obscure reason, so I guess it's time.
I love you all, Addie said. I will tell you about her someday.
Much aloha,
Dickens
