| 11 jun 99. | |
|
spinning: |
enya, storms in africa. |
i woke up this morning with an intense feeling of being
exposed -- so utterly exposed.
unprotected. i wrote an email last
night to a dear friend which may leave me feeling more alone
than i already am.
i woke up this morning out of a torrent of dreams, dreams of
not knowing what i exposed on my website and what i exposed
in email. of the exposure being out of my control, terrifying --
not knowing who was reading what about me.
i woke up to the din of roaring city buses and
honking car horns below my window, as i do every morning.
the noise is at once chaotic and comforting.
i woke up inexplicably, involuntarily, hearing the beginning
notes of an old song in my head, gathering strength with the
consciousness. i rise from the
bed, the sheets loosely falling off my bare form -- i fumble
through my rows of CDs in a groggy haze, grab the disc, hastily
slam it in the tray, press Play,
i'm already hearing it in my head. it needs to come out, i
need to hear it from the outside, going in.
i'm
playing it
endlessly on infinite auto-repeat as i write
... as i sit behind the wheel, blinking away the droplets from my eyes,
the morning san francisco traffic
emptying onto the 80 like loyal worker ants dropping down the anthole.
... as the 280 plays host to a sideshow of thick fog clouds in the
distance, rolling, like a slow-motion tidal wave, rolling over the
2-mile-wide panoramic expanse of California hills.
... as the sky presents scrolling, shifting layers of cloud-strands
just overhead, cotton candy barely out of reach, waiting to be tugged at ...
i'm
playing it
endlessly, never wanting this state of being, where time suspends and emotion
is all that exists, to come to an end.
maybe you're feeling it too, as you read and as you listen.
not joy, not sadness, not
pain, but something overwhelming, indescribable, yet to be named.
maybe the tears are the same.
maybe you're hearing it as you read this.
Time goes from present to past. - Dogen Zenji
