quickly, quickly and slowly
"Seymour once said that all we do our whole lives is go from one piece of Holy Ground to the next. Is he never wrong? Just go to bed now. Quickly. Quickly and slowly." -J.D. Salinger, Seymour--An Introduction
"There is the heaven we enter/through institutional grace/and there are the yellow finches bathing and singing/in the lowly puddle" -Mary Oliver, "Yellow"
(saturday, august 4th, 10:20 pm)
You know the strange thing about moving places? It might just happen that one Saturday, you are sitting on your bed in your soft nightgown, with things strewn about as usual, novels and poem collections that you really want to read but for some reason can't get yourself to open, listening to Carole King's heart wrenching always relate-able album Rhymes and Reasons, looking up at your wall, and realizing that your all your things- your clothes, your books, your keepsakes, everything- are just about settled into a new room in a new city. It might just happen that in those last three months you were just doing the next thing in front of you to do (a good strategy), you and your things were transported from Chicago to Boise to San Jose. It might just happen that you realize how grounding it is to see your things and think "well these are my things, my pictures, my books in this room in San Jose. They are here, which must mean I am here too." Does that make any sense?
•••
(sunday, august 5th, 3:15 pm)
While I was thinking these things, the magical thing has happened in which all the things I'm reading seem to correspond with my current thought life!
I imagined that, being so close to the library here, I would live that young-working-woman life to the fullest and get a new book a week, etc. But, after three weeks I have finally finished my first book in San Jose: Salinger's duo-novel Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters/Seymour--An Introduction. How I wish I could write like Salinger, "quickly, quickly and slowly," as he writes in the last line of the book. Thoughts materializing in seconds, and yet taking 137 pages to paint a word-portrait of a single person. Quickly and slowly.The aforementioned magical thing is that- after I finished writing last night, I felt like reading the strewn-about novel and finished the book. Salinger concludes with the beautiful quotation I included at the top of the post. "All we do our whole lives is go from one piece of Holy Ground to another." And I thought, "exactly. EXACTLY! Exactly." That's what I was trying to say. Pieces of Holy Ground, moving from one to the next because that is how we live life.AND then! After finishing, I ripped open my journal and re-read the Mary Oliver poem I scribbled into it the night before. It just so happens that I rented a Mary Oliver poetry collection, Evidence, from the library as well (this will not be the first time she appears on my blog. In fact, I would not be surprised if she has a post dedicated solely to her, soon), and unsurprisingly, the very first poem struck me. I also included this particular poem at the beginning, but because it's short, I'll put it again here:
"There is the heaven we enter/ through institutional grace/and there are the yellow finches bathing and singing/ in the lowly puddle"
I think Mary Oliver and Salinger and I are getting at the same thing: pieces of Holy Ground surround us. Ordinary pieces, sure, but pieces nonetheless. And to think the joyous thought that everyone has their own, which probably makes the whole world Holy Ground, to someone! A city, a classroom, photos on a wall, little birds in a puddle!
(At this moment, there is a little girl watching herself dance and swing her dress around in the reflection of the window, and I can't help but watch her.)
Anyway.
As I was thinking about this, I remembered something else I wrote in my journal on my very last plane ride home from school. As long as the ride is, I always looked forward to the Chicago-Boise flight because it became a ritual of sorts, a bridge between the two different lives I inhabited, a special appointment of reflection and looking forward that I came to cherish. My journal entry then is exactly how I feel now, now in San Jose, now living yet another different life. So. Excerpts from my Last Plane Journal Entry. Maybe I'll end with this. We'll see.
•••
(sunday, may 22nd)
I can't believe this is the last- THE LAST- time on an airplane home from school. How did that happen?How did the very brave and trembling and wide-eyed little girl turn into this grown woman coming home? How does a body and a soul and a human being do that? How can humans experience so much, so visceral and close... and, just keep on going? PEOPLE ARE SO BRAVE... But-oh God give me courage to GO and to experience the world You made. I can't just stay in one spot my whole life where there are so many other PLACES and PEOPLE. Thank you for asking me to move because I don't think I would've been brave enough to move if you hadn't....So many questions today.
I guess I'm excited and scared and wanting so badly to be brave... well. Here we go.
A new chapter... maybe a new book, actually. A new book. Because- think of all the new things: new places to go, and new things to learn, and new people to meet, and new adventures and new creations that You've made. A new place that will probably take some of my heart.I hope my heart is abundant. And not functioning out of scarcity. I hope that- not that I will stop falling in love with places and people- but that my heart can fall in love with so, so many places and people and not ever run out. WHAT ELSE IS THE POINT OF BEING, LIVING AS A HUMAN ON THIS BEAUTIFUL PLANET? If it weren't to fall in love, God wouldn't have placed us in such a magical, big place. There is much to see, much to love!
Places that have my heart:
Boise
Oregon Coast
London
Wheaton
Arena Theater
Knighton, Wales
•••
And now San Jose is starting to work itself slowly in my heart too. Surrounded by beaches and hiking trails and the high school in Eastside San Jose I'll be working at. Flying from piece to piece of new Holy Ground in this beautiful world.
That's all for this week I think. I should mention that just now a new friend from work came to the coffee shop with her friend and introduced me, and she said: "this is my friend Alyssa, from work."
My friend, Alyssa. I could cry.
How these things happen. Quickly. Quickly and slowly.
Until next time, dear friends.
-Alyssa