within a bloom there's more I want to see,
i didn't know what way to turn,
until i saw the lilac tree,
From the open window at the residency where i will work from the next couple of days, close to the fields, and very close to the local big road, the scent of the lilacs floats in,
Yesterday on my evening walk I first walked with a distance to the purple trees, admiring their beauty. On my way back I romantically picked a small branch of them, took a deep inhale with the flower up in my nostrils, but it didn't smell like perfume or my lost childhood, instead it smelled of ... cat's piss?
I lost myself on a cool, damp night
I gave myself in that misty light
Was hypnotized by a strange delight
Under a lilac tree
(jeff buckley - lilac tree)
Anyway.
For weeks I've been longing to work, and I booked this trip in order to work, but I also have to admit that I came to be truly and utterly and completely isolated and alone.
Lately motherhood's been demanding my full attention, my full being. Sickness, vacations, new kindergarten. My daughter has learned to hug hard, full on choking me, several times a day, and I can brush it off, like; while being choked I say (as much as you can say while being choked): isn't she cute, while my insides are slowly and blissfully dying.
I want you, she says.
I WANT YOU, she screams.
I started cleaning the apartment frantically, going through closets and shelfs and basement and memories, and when I first got started, I couldn't stop, where did we get all this stuff from, this unbearable clutter, I hadn't realized we gathered all these meaningless things. I wanted to throw it all out, but it seemed like the more I tried to declutter, the more things emerged.
Yesterday I took the train out of the city. The moment I sat on my seat, a profound peace crawled over me.
I took a deep breath. Finally.
Next to the residency, an old, idyllic cottage with flower ranks growing on it, there's also an old church. Upon arrival yesterday in the sunny afternoon, I went to a special peace service there, for prayers and candle lighting to end all wars and climate disasters. I liked the sound of that.
It also felt suitable for the next four days where I will live as a monk (who smokes and drinks and watches bad television).
Working in a church for over a year has diminished the awkwardness of going to a weird place where strangers sing and pray together, talking about an old, dusty book with very dramatic character arcs. Now I even enjoy it, and it somehow gives me peace, though I really can't explain why.
I gave the priest my wet, freshly sanitized hand as she welcomed me, and found a place to sit in the back of the church, trying to be as anonymous as possible. I didn't really listen to the talking, and I really tried to sing with my thin, crusty voice. The other 20 church goers sang their hearts out.
We sang a song that I had heard some weeks before, it really moved me, "Du spør mig om håbet" / "You ask me about hope" (Mads Granum/Lisbeth Smedegaard Andersen),
but just when you think there is nothing
there is
hope
it's there.
And maybe I came to the church just to hear exactly that. For a fleeting moment there was a notion of hope and peace in the world, in this little, round church, these old people with clear voices, the candles lit at the alter.
We all went from the darkness of the room, out the doors and into the crisp evening sun. I went back to the residency cottage and felt a deep peace and gratitude of being able to be here
I don't even know what I am trying to say with all of this.
It seems like I am warming up to something I'm not sure of.
I really want to work.
I really want to relax.
I want to work on my game.
And I want to write a book. I also want to make a children's book. And a song.
I really want to sleep.
I want to fall deep into the grass, until I am completely absorbed in the soil,
I want to be an organism, single cells,
I want closeness
To be continued while I spiral into the unknown
... "and be who I want to be"
