The Birthday Wish

Photo By Geo Gellar

It has been a long time--too long--since I have written here. Today might be as auspicious a time as any to do so; it is my birthday today. Since my last journey story there has been much--too much--happening. Shades of light and darkness have become overwhelming almost.

I am old enough now that birthdays are a time of reflection. I'm not sure how well or true I should feel about this, mostly because I feel that something is.....missing.

Sure, every year is a story of highfalutin', ramshackle adventures. Four years ago, when I started this crazy journey, there was a whole arsenal of surprising events that would leave one breathless. In some ways, that has never changed.  However, behind the scenes, there was another truth the story. I was leaving a life, and a man, that had broken my heart.

My life wasn't working. I was too sensitive and too tired to be working in an expensive an punitive city as loud and as brash as New York City. While I carried a torch for performing arts, I was having a devil of a time figuring out how to make it all work for me, while having to answer to someone who had changed from a helpful life partner to someone utterly a stranger.

So I was leaving.

Along the road, I had met a million beautiful faces: the sort of folks that I could imagine calling on the phone, getting together over Saturday potluck, and doing the random fun things that a kinship of friends do.
But I was leaving them, too.

I had seen a hundred different beautiful sights, epic sunsets across hundreds of pastures in a dozen states. Forests so old and elegantly haunted as to inspire a million children's wayward fairy tales, denizens of houses so old and beautiful they could make you cry--or make you curious as to each history that whispered within their walls. I have waterfalls, and heard owls in the mountains, and seen swans and herons in peaceful lakes. I have held baby sheep, goats, small donkeys. I have ridden and hugged a million equines. My soul has been full......
But I was leaving.

And pretty soon, there was that slight twinge of acknowledgement: every single person I know or care about is, almost universally, a long distance phone call. Every experience both a reward and an immediate puff of memory.  I have no particular place to park my shoes and, while that sort of life would seem to spark envy in some--for the vagabond, "the grass is always greener" would likely be simply someone to meet them at the end of a long day, in a humble little house. It will be a place where someone will listen to their stories, or hold their hands, and where good food and kinship is struck.

And indeed, if you thought me a fine and fair independent maiden, think again. Sure, I'll wrestle a horse and get myself dirty and bruised in the name of adventure, but I would park myself (and almost did) for a fine writing or farming or performing arts dream job, and a kind and funny person to love. A passel full of warm and creative friends wouldn't hurt either.

I suppose it came full circle--back to writing--that the notion of it all hit me.See, when you are writing a book about your family's third generation beekeeping, do you see all those old stories written out in front of you. And when I did, all I could keep thinking was "who do these stories get passed down to?" I sometimes stare at people with small children and indeed, there is a strange twinge there, and a place where the heart cracks when I think that there would have to be a bit of repairing to do if I am to mend a heart torn by relationships.

Until then, there are other interesting stories to pursue, and other goals to start. Perhaps it is time to find a foundation for this old tree woman, whose roots are far too stubborn to rig themselves too deeply into the earth--which is a strange notion, indeed, for a child born under the Earth sign of Virgo. Then again, I've always been the contrary, unpredictable sort.

But know this much is true: when you ask a vagabond what they want for their birthday, The Birthday Wish is likely this: a place to call home.

Leviathan

This Place Is A Beast!

New York City.

 Here it is. And I am back. As always, this coiling thing inspires both awe and dread in me. I suspect most New Yawkahs will tell you this too, if only in private moments.   Two years ago, I fled this place, figurative arms up over my head, as though running from some proverbial house fire. It would be ironic, considering my secondary name "Asha" was given to me as a teenager, a nickname for avoiding the "ashes" of getting burned; I had the ability to stay out trouble then. But not in New York.

Indeed, everything was burning then, everything I thought to be important going up in smoke. Somewhere in between my father's death, and a dream job in Kansas falling apart, all the New York anchors were cast off. My work in the arts, my work with bees, my fiance. It all sort of lay in shambles, one right after the other. In some ways my journeys on the road started by just walking away from it all in New York City, the uselessness of believing in certain people or circumstances, and realizing it might have all been a strange veneer of falsehood. New York will do that to you. It lures you in before it bites. Only the highest of skilled warriors have enough armor to avoid being vanquished.

I came here years ago, like so many, courting this stunning, sparkling, alluring mistress. But she was a fickle thing, viper-ish, with a love that ran hot-and-cold. Trust me, New York is just that kind of beast. Even now, it churns and moves, a leviathan of energy and chaos intertwined.

Oddly, I'm much calmer now, years of meeting people and being in unusual circumstances having probably better prepared me to dissect and examine the strange bedlam that makes this thing what it is (and who wouldn't be calmer, when the least of your problems has been driving through two states, for two hours, with no brakes).  And it is extraordinary indeed. It starts with the massive tumult of traffic, as you enter the gates of this place.The static, jerky, daring bravado of its impatient drivers extends down to the constantly inhabited streets--pedestrians, dogs, bicyclists--all intertwined in some sort of furious street carnival that one dares not understand.There is yelling in the streets, from building to sidewalks, down the block, loud and drunk, young and crazy. There is running, jumping, rolling skating, roller blading, too much movement. Lights emanate big, loud, from everywhere, and the glare blistering. I sit in subways and watch the faces of people, masks of tired resignation or, at least, self-preservation. A car-full of one-hundred strangers who do not realize they can be friends.

But there are shining acts of kindness. I watch a young woman--pretty enough to be a model, and with a killer outfit to match--stop and help a woman that may be as old as the prophets cross the street, inch by inch.  I help a man who is lost by letting him use my cell phone, and he thanks me profusely. Young kids are enchanted by a street mime, who will not take their money. It's a strange reprieve from the pummeling mayhem.

There are too many touchstones here: the East Village, where I graduated, and which still holds ideas of success and love, the Bronx, where it all came toppling down. It's always interesting to see the stores that have closed and metamorphed into something else. This place is like that, cannibalizing part of itself in the name of money, space, time. Capitalism reeks in this place.

I am in the midst of this Fellini sideshow, as my own part. It is a respite (if one can call New York City a respite), and a place where at least my creative soul feels at home. For now, it is a temporary little camping spot, as I am putting out feelers for a couple of projects. For now. There will be more travels to come, of course, as there ever are.

For now, I will watch this carnival of dark and light, a serpent of so much contortion and surprise and frenzy and fancy. It is a strange dance, indeed. So far, I have not been jangled, which is a good sign. I have seen friends and they have buoyed my spirits and reminded me that there is good kinship here, too. It is a big crazy blur of EVERYTHING. For now, I will dip my toe in these waters. It will be, I'm sure, an interesting journey unto itself.

Stay tuned!