Sunday, September 13, 2009

BALANCE

I have just finished a weekend of writing with my Big Yellow Writing Group. We meet twice a year, write and read from Friday night to Sunday at noon. There are 8 to 10 of us, including four singer-songwriters, and on Saturday night, after we write, we sing.
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The following piece is long and if it's too long for you to read, please, no need to be polite about it, I understand. It was hard to write, probably overdue, and perhaps more hopeful than is often the case. Still, I'm glad it's out. xoxo

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Balance
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It might have been a little slice of danger from the start. Whatever is exhilarating is also risky, kind of like riding a roller coaster with your hands above your head and your feet so casually placed they won’t help you brace, especially during that first long wild dip, when your hair flies behind you at lightening speed and you can barely hear your own screams because they are folded into the chill of the collective scream, all the way down, until you level out waiting for the next rapid rise and fall.
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True, there is a steel bar across your lap that holds you to the seat, makes sure gravity will not pick you up and throw you into mid air and sudden death, but let’s face it: you want to ride that roller coaster that way—reckless and reflectively—and you hand over a piece of yourself without knowing the ropes, the same as if you choose a back country trail without provisions or a map, You do it that way and you’re taking your chances that you’ll know what to do when the danger rush comes flying at you, when there’s no time to think and certainly no time to plan.
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You know in general it makes more sense to size things up, take your time and venture slowly, get familiar with what you know and what you don’t. You know It’s better to not be surprised when you are not prepared, to keep the rudder steady, to drop Hansel and Gretel corn kernels behind you so the path stays familiar, but then again when you know your way, you’re not surprised, and when you’re not surprised, you’re not deep in the thrill, and the rush the ride that’s lost to you is not exactly small.
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Isn’t that why sooner or later you’ll come to admire people who just throw their arms up and go with it and venture forth, no map, no plan, no umbrella, no kernels of anything except the wild stallion within them, why you react with amazement when someone decides to let loose, finally, fully, foolishly yes, but who’s to say the benefit will not be the lovely freedom of unleashed passion, newly minted wonder, a way of moving in a sometimes flat world, a level of deciding that transcends and transforms everything that’s come before it? Don’t most of us envy people like that, wish we could do it that way too, at least sometimes? Don’t you want the earth to move, the foundation to shake, the stars to explode right in front of you, to throw you off your feet and in high into the air in one explosive bolt? Really now, don’t you?
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I knew a woman who traded in her compass and her raincoat for the thrill of the open road. She burned her house down and everything in it one October morning and she never looked back. When she ventured forth, she was anchorless, weightless, unencumbered, clueless, totally wide and open and fresh and full. It was like her had heart split down the middle, pulsating with a raw recklessness, spilling forth deep love everywhere, no fences, no ambivalence, no back doors, not a molecule of second guessing. She slid onto that roller coaster seat and for two years she rode up the track and down, letting an unfamiliar and totally exhilarating passion slap her face, toss her from side to side, spike her right off her seat. Treasured moments, vibrant images, new possibilities flew by her with lightening speed, new colors and new words and new ways previously unknown to her.
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She lived that way for two years. She cared deeply and loved foolishly and picked up a palette knife and painted amazing faces and landscapes and emotions, mostly in the caladium reds and brilliant oranges and an occasional tempering blue. She made love at least once a day, losing and finding herself in the ecstasy of her muffled screams and unbridled lust, savoring the sweat that trickled onto to her breasts in the smallest molecules, she lying there having been taken and expelled and depleted all at once.
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One roller coaster dip after another, thunderous conditions that told her she was alive, ready to be taken and expelled and depleted again, and then again. She was free, a wild stallion without fences, finding her way to the top of the terrace, looking down on small pebbles and unsure footing that caused her no trouble.
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It’s hard to know what happened next. The change was imperceptible, like that story of the sleepy frog in tepid water, who does not notice the temperature is rising until the boiling point is reached and all options of the frog’s escape are gone.
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It might have been a brilliant day in early May, or perhaps a heavy rain in late August, but one day she was simply no longer herself. Her heart was still split open alright, a straight incision so wide and so clean she had failed to notice how much of herself had slipped away. She looked for a familiar fence in the distance, wanting to confirm the boundaries of her territory. She walked along the woody path she had traveled since childhood, shocked at the erosion of its sturdy riverbanks, dismayed that the steady current had over spilled on what was once dry and fervent land. She still rode the wild rollercoaster, but the lifts and spikes now exhausted her, no longer satisfying her reckless hunger, and instead blurring her vision, knocking her into a crazy dizzy confusion where the quest for passion had heightened her hunger to an unsustainable level. She had lost herself when she thought she’d been found. .
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Did you know this could happen? Have you already learned that fences sometimes protect, not just restrict? That passion sometimes overtakes, not just exhilarates? Do you know that hearts can roam free and wild for only so long, before they need to slow down, level out, open up and wide, yes, but did you know that hearts prefer the a clean cut that expands instead of explosives that blast? Because when your heart explodes, dozens of shards blow and fall everywhere, and you may spend years picking the blown apart pieces, trying to put them back together rightly.
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That is what happened to this woman I knew. It took her a long time to stop running around looking to find and repair all those pieces. It took her a long time to learn about balance and safety and steady sails. But she did learn. Every once in a while she is back on that roller coaster, whoopy-ing her way through a wild arms-in-the-air ride, letting the wind take her again, leaving her umbrella and compass in a back room somewhere.
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But still, she has a back pocket now. And in it she has the smallest folded map, just in case, that shows her the way home, just in case. There are still nights she screams in wild passion, risks it all with gleeful abandon, but that little map in her back pocket: well, let’s just say she knows her way.

29 comments:

  1. Holy shit kj.

    That is an amazing and wonderful and incredible piece of writing.

    Well done my friend.

    Love Renee xoxo

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  2. Brilliant kj. I'm one who errs on the cautious side and always has a map in the back pocket. Doesn't stop the roller coaster but it helps me with a softer landing.

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  3. Wow. Is this something to ponder or what? In it, I do see myself in my 20s and 30s - a time when a new acquaintance, a young dentist where I lived who brought me a dose of Valium after listening to me on the phone, asked "Don't you ever think about security?" Well, I didn't...hadn't, but his question at first ignored later became like a scrap of a map back to a safer, saner place.

    Now, how this relates to the Robert Service poem at my post is perplexing...free will v. a guidance system. And how that relates to the photo I included seem to be summed with this from your post:

    . . . you can barely hear your own screams because they are folded into the chill of the collective scream . . .

    p.s. Your writing group sounds remarkable!

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  4. This is just stunning. Well done. I need to get myself to a weekend writing group.

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  6. Excellent! Well done KJ Babes!

    "It took her a long time to learn about balance and safety and steady sails."

    Yeah - I've been shipwrecked LOL

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  7. this from my loyal and fiercely protective wonderful friend studio lolo, one sentence left out because the details of someone else's life are theirs to tell, not mine:

    Kj, this sssssssizzles!
    With passion and conviction, sadness and glee. Wow!

    Try this on for size. As much as it hurts, you're richer for the experience. You have many people who adore you and love you for who you are.
    For her, well, it was always just about conquest. She even admitted that.
    I'm not judging, merely observing and listening and it's all so clear.

    Bless her KJ and let her go. Look at the team that's here ready to catch you if you should still fall.

    Hey, be sure I'll call on you the next time I fall. It could be as soon as tomorrow.

    love you girlfriend,
    Lo
    xoxo

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  8. What a wonderful piece of work. I envy you your group weekend. I have a seminar NEXT weekend, but it's about dog aggression-not quite as exciting but I am looking forward to it.

    Was it Kahlil Gibran that said "let passion be your rudder, and reason be your guide?" I don't know, I know there is a famous metaphor about reason and passion and a boat.

    When John was dying and I fully realized what caring was going to cost I was truly, truly horrified. But when I sat quietly I had to admit that I wouldn't have changed any of it. But, death is easier to accept than "I just don't love you".

    Maybe hearts are like velveteen bunnies-they aren't "real" until they are broken and a little dirty.

    Obsession though, is not love. Oliver the Parrot and Moon-dog both are obsessed with shiny things-to the point that they will injure themselves showing off for them. When that sort of thing happens, it's always good to have a friend to lead you gently away till you get your head on straight.

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  9. And how boring to have not taken the ride.
    If you had it to do over again,,,would you?

    Fine writing!

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  10. renee, thank you very very much.

    baino, i'm all for soft landings. one of my favorite expressions is 'never cut what can be untied.' it's an ironic favorite these days, but i'm still holding it near and dear. xo

    lydia, hello, now nice to see you here. thank you for your comments. that young dentist made me laugh--valium and security in the same breath! my writing group is indeed amazing--a safe wonderful place to write and share and give and take feedback.

    purest green, hello and welcome. i will soon be on my way to visit you. thank you for your kind words.

    miladysa, oh! oh! hello! you've been shipwrecked and you know damn well i have too! :)

    lo, you fall, i'll be waiting with a safety net! while i may feel remorse, i don't want any part of bitterness or shame or regret. love may recede but it remains, and i won't try to change that. you are the best friend, lo. tsup! tsup!

    debra kay, sometimes your wisdom just bowls me over. xoxo

    aah, babs, you've asked the core question. i will answer it. i would be a better listener, i would remember what i now know, but yes, i would do it again.

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  11. Oh, my! Kj!! This is outstanding! Thank you so very much for sharing your tremendous gift with us all!

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  12. j--you should have been there. gotta figure this out. i can see you sitting in the rocking chair. thanks so much for taking the time to read this and for your abundant generous support, always. xo

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  13. This was brilliant kj.

    I think you have written something that everyone can see a bit of themselves in.

    And like anything thats really good, I was sorry to see it end so soon.

    I love that you sang. You have a good heart my friend.

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  14. lori, to have posted such a long piece and to have you say you were sorry to see it end: oh jeez! i'm keeping you, lori, i'm keeping you.
    xo

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  15. I echo Renee, KJ ... holy shit!! :) Awesome work. And I loved hearing it for the first time this weekend. xo

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  16. melissa, our secret words shared in a yellow house....

    xoxo

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  17. kj,
    i was wondering the same about yours, are they on your sidebar? those tiny ones?
    mine are a bit bigger, they don't want to be talked about too much, but they are sprinkled throughout the blog, naturally!
    look in the labels for "my kids", and any names you see, there they'll be! it would be lovely if you wanted to email,
    lorix5@hotmail.com
    have a great monday ☺

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  18. oops, there are more names than i thought, look for kim(berly)kyle erik jacob hannah...

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  19. Wonderful! And not too long at all.
    It is lovely to run wild and free, but sometimes you have to stop and sit down and catch your breath :-).It took a while for me to learn this too.
    xoxo

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  20. you are a writer from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, or as renee would say 'holy shit kj'.xxx

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  21. I'm so glad you posted this! It's a beautiful piece. It was so great to see you and hear your wonderful writing this past weekend!

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  22. Awesome!

    :) x Ribbon

    thanks for taking the time to share

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  23. lori, those tiny ones are ryan and drew, sons of my beloved daughter jessica. i am their very fun grandmother. i will email you shortly, with pleasure! and i'll be looking for kim and kyle and erik and jacob and hannah. xoxo

    annie, breathe in, breathe out--right? :)

    soulbrush, you are SO sweet to me. i hope you know how much i appreciate you. xo

    tracie, it was totally absolutely great to see you this weekend. hearing your songs is so special to me. you are a wonderful songwriter with an awesome voice. xo

    ribbon, have i told you how much i enjoy your blog? :)

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  24. Oh, kj. No one writes the hard truths like you do. I am a lucky girl, because even though I was outside playing when you read this, I've sat in that warm living room with you so many times that I can hear you reading this. Thanks for sharing it.

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  25. kris, your comment touches me deeply. thank you SO much. it means alot to me. xo

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  26. Aging brings the longing for security. the body doesn't freely travel as well anymore but by God, the mind can ever be on the road looking.

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  27. Awesome piece - amazing.

    Being a cautious person, I've always respected and counted on fences, but love a roller-coaster ride just slightly outside the perimeter of that fence. Keep the fence within touching distance but not holding on.

    But maybe I need to have it out of my view for awhile, I just don't know.

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  28. Did I mention that you have an unbelievable talent for writing from the soul and asking people gently to look at theirs?

    you are my favorite author

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