it is like this
Jan. 31st, 2002 02:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
enteleinI want to forget the words that pop into my head as I think of the audience, the response, the reflection, the echo, the timbre of rehearsal.
There are trees outside my window laden with snow. The branches are heavy and cold and wet with new snow. The world is quiet, the world is orange with sodium light, and I am tired and sad and aching, here in my little office.
Mostly, my heart is aching. I feel so much ... immensity, in this world. All around me, people creating, using fantastic words to weave. All around me, the air is cold and slightly damp, and I am sitting here, many windows open on my computer, creating new pages, new words, not getting much of anywhere.
I have the taste of mustard and salt on my tongue. My feet are warm in their boots, my eyes are heavy with the snow, the end of January, the happy tears I've wept over seeing beauty right outside my window, right on my computer screen.
I want to be more profound than this. I want to rise above what you'll think of me. I want to trust, throw my body heavily into the netted arms of faith, that you will like me anyhow, no matter how much or how little I worry about what you'll think. It is a leap, a rush of air, a sense of weightlessness, a freedom.
Strangely, I felt a little of this on the plane ride back from the East coast, two days ago. I've gotten much better at falling asleep on planes, in the last year or two. Mostly, I work myself into such a stressball the night before the flight, that I am literally exhausted into sleep, and must take advantage of every minute that I am not fastening my seatbelt, being served soda, getting my seat thunked by the child behind me who is kicking their tray table. But, I always sleep on guard, tensed for a moment of emergency - the guy in the window seat needs to pee, the jerk in front of me pushes their seat all the way back into my bosom, the plane is falling out the sky and there is only wilderness and mountains below us. I can never truly sleep. Well, on this last leg, as we passed over DC, the greenery of Pennsylvania, and then smoothed our plane shadow over the Midwest, I let go. I slept for real. I probably even snored softly.
All I know is that I awoke, and I felt transported. I didn't have any idea of what had occurred in the past however-long I'd been asleep, and I didn't care. I was refreshed, and my head felt warm and pleasingly heavy. My arms went from folded over my breasts to flopped at my sides, my fingers unclenched, elbows loose and relaxed. Amazing.
I want to create as well as I sleep, you see.
There are trees outside my window laden with snow. The branches are heavy and cold and wet with new snow. The world is quiet, the world is orange with sodium light, and I am tired and sad and aching, here in my little office.
Mostly, my heart is aching. I feel so much ... immensity, in this world. All around me, people creating, using fantastic words to weave. All around me, the air is cold and slightly damp, and I am sitting here, many windows open on my computer, creating new pages, new words, not getting much of anywhere.
I have the taste of mustard and salt on my tongue. My feet are warm in their boots, my eyes are heavy with the snow, the end of January, the happy tears I've wept over seeing beauty right outside my window, right on my computer screen.
I want to be more profound than this. I want to rise above what you'll think of me. I want to trust, throw my body heavily into the netted arms of faith, that you will like me anyhow, no matter how much or how little I worry about what you'll think. It is a leap, a rush of air, a sense of weightlessness, a freedom.
Strangely, I felt a little of this on the plane ride back from the East coast, two days ago. I've gotten much better at falling asleep on planes, in the last year or two. Mostly, I work myself into such a stressball the night before the flight, that I am literally exhausted into sleep, and must take advantage of every minute that I am not fastening my seatbelt, being served soda, getting my seat thunked by the child behind me who is kicking their tray table. But, I always sleep on guard, tensed for a moment of emergency - the guy in the window seat needs to pee, the jerk in front of me pushes their seat all the way back into my bosom, the plane is falling out the sky and there is only wilderness and mountains below us. I can never truly sleep. Well, on this last leg, as we passed over DC, the greenery of Pennsylvania, and then smoothed our plane shadow over the Midwest, I let go. I slept for real. I probably even snored softly.
All I know is that I awoke, and I felt transported. I didn't have any idea of what had occurred in the past however-long I'd been asleep, and I didn't care. I was refreshed, and my head felt warm and pleasingly heavy. My arms went from folded over my breasts to flopped at my sides, my fingers unclenched, elbows loose and relaxed. Amazing.
I want to create as well as I sleep, you see.
