Enter Here

July 21st, 2013

web hibiscus jun13

This morning, I went to Starbucks for my coffee and as a man held the door for me, I realized I’d left my card in the car. He insisted on buying my coffee and even upgraded the size. It was a gentle and kind way to wake up to the world. The rest of the day seemed to follow in that stranger’s footsteps. The night before, disgusted with my inertia, I’d made a list of 6 things to do that I could  choose from.

-Create some Skirt! Pinterest boards

– Sketch out a design for a linoleum block

-Start my XO page for next month’s Skirt!

-Do as many planks as my arms would allow

-Make a little digital quote board for my blog

-Post something here in Fridaville

After I came home with my coffee, I did 1 and 6 with no psychic turmoil or dragging of feet! For a change, I gave myself gentle choices instead of marching orders that I would ignore and then feel guilty about later. I spent the rest of the afternoon trolling beauty on the internet: exploring music leads like John Taverner and John Coltrane; looking at breathtaking photos; reading quotes and tracking the most haunting ones to the original source material. Hunting beauty down is close to an ecstatic experience for me, and I started wondering why it’s the last thing I allow myself to do. As if it’s wasting time. As if it’s not “productive.” As if it’s not quite grownup. And that’s probably why I’m so drawn to it. It’s the closest I come to that feeling I had as a child when I immersed myself in worlds I made up, in which time had no meaning and the inner life eclipsed outside reality. So here’s a glass of cold fume blanc and a toast to Wings of Desire by Wim Wenders, “Cristo Redentor” by Donald Byrd, a cracked china plate that is the essence of wabi sabi, “Encounter” by Czeslaw Milosz, a Japanese woodblock of a street at night in the rain, the word “dusk” and the colors and sounds and smells it evokes, a journal cracked and bent and stuffed with clippings and pasted-in quotes and ticket stubs, paper-thin petals that bloom for one day only. Here’s to all the lovely fleeting things, to the furnishings of an inner landscape that is always waiting for us to visit, to days like this that we spend doing nothing at all but chasing beauty.

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