March 14, 2008

Being in the moment

It is a sunny Friday morning, sitting at the Windmill Coffee spot, spoiling myself with a hot, buttery croissant and a fatty mug of creamy mocha over my usual frugal breakfast of a small coffee. This week the theme seemed to be “enjoy the moment” - I laugh, because as I was driving Amber to school I kept thinking about being in this cafe blogging, instead of enjoying our car moment together. When my goodies arrived, I wanted to start blogging - “I’m doing this right now”- but was I? I pushed the laptop away, took the time to dip each buttery morsel into the chocolate tinged whipped cream, and contemplated the particular burgundy the walls are painted, the sound of reggae from the kitchen, the quality of the early springtime light out on the dappled deck.

How do we enjoy the moment, stay in the moment? What the hell is “the moment”? This second/minute/hour that I write? Or is it the second/minute/hour that you read this?

I can see a black raven, then it is gone. I have a moment when I question myself - did that really happen? - my mind filters the importance of this fact or fiction, the meaning of a real bird, the personal symbolism I attach to ravens and I chuckle - raven says, don’t over analyze.

The sooner I fall behind
The more time I have to catch up

I was sick with the stomach flu for five days last week. I feel like I lost a chunk of my life, and that I’m playing the “catch up” game. I have to say, I love my lists. Lists help me me efficient & organized, and end up with huge chunks of time doing absolutely nothing. The ability to create a list that allows one to continuously re-prioritize without having projects fall through the cracks is one of the greatest tools I think I have at times. I have a “List of Lists” file is my computer that includes my daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly lists; spreadsheets of schedules for both Amber & myself; Long term goals and vision statements; house rules; and various business plans.

The Tao of Homecaring
Time to dust again
Time to caress my (space)
to stroke all its surfaces

I want to think of it as a kind of lovemaking
...the chance to appreciate by touch
What I live with and cherish.
—Gunilla Norris

Wednesday I spent the day doing chores: trash and recycling, dishes & laundry, cleaned the bathrooms & kitchen, vacuumed out the furnace and went for a gorgeous walk to buy a new filter. It was one of those “being in the moment” moments, or as Dr. Z would say, “being in the puddle of my miracle”. I was so deeply in love in that moment - I was loving Santa Cruz, the color of the flowers in the field by the railroad tracks, the sound of distant traffic on Mission street, the fact that there still was a local hardware store. All day I floated around, loving my house, loving my body, getting things done in a joyous way so I never felt like I worked my chores, just played house instead.

Little bird, little robin
Help me build my nest
Little bird, little robin,
show me your breast
Little bird, little robin
Help me build my nest
Little bird, little robin
You bring out my best

Coyote came a knockin,
Seven years ago
Coyote came a knockin’
Seven times now
Coyote came a knockin,
Seven years ago
Coyote came a knockin’
Seven times now

Little bird, little robin...
(kgr 2005)

In true Santa Cruz fashion, it is now raining. I have that moment of wondering who am I writing for, who is my audience. Do I write for myself, simply spewing out my thoughts in pixels instead of my old journal as part of my own introspection? Do I write for you, the disembodied other, who seems a million miles away and perhaps as fictitious as the raven. Do I write for an imaginary audience of adoring blog fans, who somehow derive comfort or insight from my ramblings, from the quotes of inspiration that have lit my own way so far.

It has been an interesting medium, the blog, as it spirals out like some sort of endless ticker tape, seemingly linear in form. Yet with links, comments, replies.... the ticker tape begins to widen and weave, split from itself and return, more mobius strip or endless double helix folding back on itself . Then there are postings of things I wrote, in the past or music lyrics in particular , how they seem to reflect my current situation.

Language is a virus
Transmitted orally...
-Laurie Anderson

This moment, this right now, this cafe, this is all so reminiscent to my being in my twenties, staying in Berlkeley for a couple of weeks with my best friend Ilana, between jobs, between houses, between lovers. How I relished that between time, spending my mornings browsing the used bookstore for fiction by African American women authors; spending the afternoon in one of the cafes, nursing my latte as I read an entire novel, or scribbled fragments of poetry in my journal, agonizing over all that a twenty year old agonizes over.

Osho writes that we experience bliss in the moments of transcendence, whether during sex or meditation. Our suffering comes from wanting that feeling to last forever...

On Monday we sat at the end of the wharf, watching the sunset, and I knew I was so deeply in love with you, with the moment, with the seals, with the teenagers hanging out at the corner, with my tears because I knew it was not going to last. When I’m with you each moment is so bittersweet, because I want to enjoy every last savory bit of bliss, but the longing to have it last forever overshadows me at times. I thought of every sunset I had watched with every lover, and felt so incredibly blessed to have been so loved in my lifetime, by so many people. And the truth is I much as I wanted each one to last forever, in that moment I could feel how the love is what is eternal, no matter what the form, no matter who I am with, as long as I enjoy the moment for exactly what it is: a moment.

Life can make you bitter,
Life can turn you cold
It seems I’ve spent most of my own
Just trying to crack the code
But if I die tomorrow
May the last words that I know
Be praises,
Praises for the world...
-Jennifer Berezan