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charcoal filled the room
Feb. 7th, 2007 09:25 pmin case i was prepared to ignore said universe in it's desire to kick my ass and make me grateful. ok. i get it. plus - reminders - the birds were singing. that does in fact mean it all gets better. rain came tonight. rain and a rediscovered leonard cohen album which i can't stop listening to. i feel happy and like i want some of the old powdered sandalwood incense that i used to buy from the witchy shop on clark & belmont to try and burn tonight.
i used to have this hand me down candleholder that travis had made and then gave to me one day when we were feeling too dramatic and sentimental. i held onto it like a lifeline all through high school. i would go to chicago a lot in those days to visit claire. claire who i always had the big crush on and so we would make out with the same boy in the same room - trading his mouth between us to get closer to each other. claire would burn incense to hide the smell of cigarettes from her father. her mother would give us cartons. but her father - we had to hide them. she didn't just burn sticks though. much like she only wore chanel perfume, and her stompy tights cost $75 from bloomingdales - er incense also felt like a rich person ritual and i ate it up like the late night pizza we ordered every time we did acid. she lit charcoal and poured the incense over to make it burn - filling the room with stronger sweeter more delicious smoke than any simple stick. she took me to "her store" and i got my magic bag of sweet powder. i felt like i had bought contraband. something that was sacred.
i was absorbed in the glamour of her ritual - but didn't pay enough attention though. it was style over substance and so when i took my packet of charcoal and powder back to the cluttered walls of my plain bedroom I always ended up with charcoal smoke and water putting out the fire. my candleholder from travis was the safest place to try and light the incense. combining lives and friends and this close to my heart sort of magic. i moved out of my parents house and into my own and went back to buying sticks of incense. and then stopped buying it altogether.
tonight is the first night that i want it again.
rainy and romantic and writing and
this sort of dark and relaxed and pleased warm in my chest.
i feel like a sleepy cat just woken to petting.
and it's all coming from in me. a return to liking the person in my skin for a while.
i had lunch with a good friend today. i wrote / fixed / edited / revised a thingy. i got all fancy effiecient at work.
i ate a healthy dinner. i have the music. i talked and hung out a bit with the wife and now we're both in our offices working on our own art stuff. i feel balanced and good. it always feels so tenuous. so delicate.
i miss the people in my life that aren't anymore. but i miss them in a good way. knowing that we needed to move on to become who we needed to be. and that now - for some of us - we're not the right people to be friends anymore. still though i love them. love how we were friends. our innocence and energy and connections. when i am 65 will i look back at my friends now and who fell away and see the same innocences? who will stay for the long haul in the rollercoaster of human connections and who will veer onto other paths. i don't think that any of the people who are in my "past" are locked there forever. and in some ways - they are the makeup and background and part of the tapestry that is who i am now and who i will be evolving into.
it's a lot to think about. and for once. it feels like a lot of good - no matter how much work it is. good heart work. not easy to always look at. but good - regardless.
i used to have this hand me down candleholder that travis had made and then gave to me one day when we were feeling too dramatic and sentimental. i held onto it like a lifeline all through high school. i would go to chicago a lot in those days to visit claire. claire who i always had the big crush on and so we would make out with the same boy in the same room - trading his mouth between us to get closer to each other. claire would burn incense to hide the smell of cigarettes from her father. her mother would give us cartons. but her father - we had to hide them. she didn't just burn sticks though. much like she only wore chanel perfume, and her stompy tights cost $75 from bloomingdales - er incense also felt like a rich person ritual and i ate it up like the late night pizza we ordered every time we did acid. she lit charcoal and poured the incense over to make it burn - filling the room with stronger sweeter more delicious smoke than any simple stick. she took me to "her store" and i got my magic bag of sweet powder. i felt like i had bought contraband. something that was sacred.
i was absorbed in the glamour of her ritual - but didn't pay enough attention though. it was style over substance and so when i took my packet of charcoal and powder back to the cluttered walls of my plain bedroom I always ended up with charcoal smoke and water putting out the fire. my candleholder from travis was the safest place to try and light the incense. combining lives and friends and this close to my heart sort of magic. i moved out of my parents house and into my own and went back to buying sticks of incense. and then stopped buying it altogether.
tonight is the first night that i want it again.
rainy and romantic and writing and
this sort of dark and relaxed and pleased warm in my chest.
i feel like a sleepy cat just woken to petting.
and it's all coming from in me. a return to liking the person in my skin for a while.
i had lunch with a good friend today. i wrote / fixed / edited / revised a thingy. i got all fancy effiecient at work.
i ate a healthy dinner. i have the music. i talked and hung out a bit with the wife and now we're both in our offices working on our own art stuff. i feel balanced and good. it always feels so tenuous. so delicate.
i miss the people in my life that aren't anymore. but i miss them in a good way. knowing that we needed to move on to become who we needed to be. and that now - for some of us - we're not the right people to be friends anymore. still though i love them. love how we were friends. our innocence and energy and connections. when i am 65 will i look back at my friends now and who fell away and see the same innocences? who will stay for the long haul in the rollercoaster of human connections and who will veer onto other paths. i don't think that any of the people who are in my "past" are locked there forever. and in some ways - they are the makeup and background and part of the tapestry that is who i am now and who i will be evolving into.
it's a lot to think about. and for once. it feels like a lot of good - no matter how much work it is. good heart work. not easy to always look at. but good - regardless.
