There is something in the air that bridges against deep depression, and deep love.
I’m suspended in the center of these two spaces, and it seems as if a simple breeze can push me in either direction.
Perhaps this is a space of intense feeling, nothing more, and I shouldn’t place any further explanation into it. Moments like these, I take pictures of myself when as a child, I would stare into the mirror for 20mins too long and think about how my face was changing, and if I recognized myself. I have a memory of the act of this, but never of the reflection staring back.
Still, I went to sleep last night suspended in the ringing metal that pains my back. This time last week (or was it two weeks ago?) I was in the emergency room for back pain. I bent low at the library, then stood up, and realized I was instead, horizontal on the kid’s tic tac toe blue and red and yellow carpet of the children’s room at Central library. All of the moms peered over, wondering if something unsafe had occurred. The guards who are usually my best friends at work, were my solace, assuring me that I didn’t look too bad, even though hoisted and teary atop a gurney, rolling to the ambulance in the grey rainy Saturday morning.
And it still plagues me, this pain. But more so, this face-to-face imposition of my own mortality.
Recently, I’ve been asked to moderate a discussion for Black Lesbian elders, and their untitled film project being led/curated by Tiona McClodden and Lisa C. Moore. I’m excited to be a part of such an historic conversation. We are all doing this, us documentators of lesbian herstory, us archivists, us writers, us filmmakers, us lesbians, us. We want to capture the women who were here before us, whose lives are but a second, ephemeral and real, but passing, through our fingers, like water.
I stayed home from work today, overwhelmed and discontent, stuck between this space of depression and love. I’m falling closer to my own ending, feeling my body in ways that are adverse to my need for movement. I want to fuck, and instead I have to sleep (Oh My, to be TIRED!)
I stayed in, and worked.
I looked to my wall, and tore down to-do lists, and looked at the ones that I wanted to keep. I’ll keep Fire & Ink, I’ll keep Her Saturn Returns. Lesbian Herstory Archives is undone…
So many things to do, and I fall deeper into their process, depressed in their grasp of my time.
And yet, the love is still there.
Tonight, I will co-produce Rivers of Honey!!!
The theme is Love Grows,
(created by Ileana Rosa Marin for Rivers of Honey)
And together, we audience and artist and producer and staff will honor Oshun’s alter, each other, our mothers, and we will all, fall in a deep-pressed-love state. I pray for this cocoon of safety.
Saturn, is it you that makes me so uncomfortable, unable to leave my bed, with lists of things to do, stacks of books to read?
My belly is still empty. Barren. A woman will be in my bed tomorrow, on bed-rest, pregnant, and she is not me… That is the thought that I fell asleep to. I dreamt of a woman I know whose voice is like chocolate. Her lover and I found each other at a Halloween festival where everyone was masked, and the world was dark and spooked with surprise. I lost them, and instead found a table of two young girls playing a floating tea party. We poured tea into our floating pink cups, and then a woman appeared beside us. She smiled bright, and said, “How do you like it?” I pointed, and the configuration of the hovering china turned to a symbol of balance. The woman, who became light, and peace, and calm, and water, and all things grandmother, affirmed my choice, and brushed my cheek familiar, as if in granting.
When I woke, I cried to Jaz, still overwhelmed confused, feeling empty and rushed to move, to finish something, to plan, to complete. But then I remembered that feeling of balance, that affirmation of love. Jaz brushed her hand against my cheek, and told me to relax. I emailed my boss, rolled over, and went back to sleep.
I awoke, to reevaluation, to no back pain, and a large bowl of oatmeal, balanced by water, and coffee, almost suspended, by the window.