The Forgotten Dialect of the Heart

The Forgotten Dialect of the Heart
Jack Gilbert

How astonishing it is that language can almost mean,
and frightening that it does not quite. Love, we say,
God, we say, Rome and Michiko, we write, and the words
Get it wrong. We say bread and it means according
to which nation. French has no word for home,
and we have no word for strict pleasure. A people
in northern India is dying out because their ancient
tongue has no words for endearment. I dream of lost
vocabularies that might express some of what
we no longer can. Maybe the Etruscan texts would
finally explain why the couples on their tombs
are smiling. And maybe not. When the thousands
of mysterious Sumerian tablets were translated,
they seemed to be business records. But what if they
are poems or psalms? My joy is the same as twelve
Ethiopian goats standing silent in the morning light.
O Lord, thou art slabs of salt and ingots of copper,
as grand as ripe barley lithe under the wind’s labor.
Her breasts are six white oxen loaded with bolts
of long-fibered Egyptian cotton. My love is a hundred
pitchers of honey. Shiploads of thuya are what
my body wants to say to your body. Giraffes are this
desire in the dark. Perhaps the spiral Minoan script
is not a language but a map. What we feel most has
no name but amber, archers, cinnamon, horses and birds.

Vows

This weekend will be our one year wedding anniversary. I can’t say I feel like much has changed in our relationship post rings. The only notable difference is my own attitude towards our relationship. I do feel there is stability now that is comforting. And although the permanence of anything is a bit terrifying to me, that fear dissipates a little every day. I enjoy the partners in crime aspect, having someone that is forever on your side.

The thing that has always turned me off about marriage is the legal aspect of it all. The license. Why do I need to pay the government for a piece of paper that says I have the right to pledge myself to someone? There is so much controversy about the legalization of gay marriage – which seems weird to even write – marriage isn’t something that should be up for legal debate, something that some unknown person in some far away place has the right to decide for me, it’s about love, right? Or at least in our culture. I get why there needs to be paperwork. The merging of assets, insurance, property. I get that. But that legal document has nothing to do with the ceremony of it, the agreement to love and honor, to be someone’s partner in crime, their biggest fan. For those who are against gay marriage for religious reasons, so be it, we’re all entitled to our beliefs. But please keep your hatred to yourself. And don’t for a second think that God has anything to do with the paperwork.

Imposter

I wish someone would give me permission not care about work. To do a crappy job. To not follow through. To not worry about the aftermath of bad decisions. You know, like everyone else. Every morning when I realize it’s time to get in the shower, to start the morning routine that eventually ends with me walking through the doors of frustration and exhaustion,  I feel like I am putting on someone else’s life. And it doesn’t fit very well. In fact it’s tight and restricting, a size too small. How do I get out of this place? How do I find my life, my home? Where is it? The only thing I know for sure is it’s not here.

Spiritual Clock

“I could make promises to myself and to other people and there would be all the time in the world to keep them. I could stay up all night and make mistakes, and none of them would count.” Joan Didion, Goodbye to All That

The saying “everything in moderation” does not count when it comes to time. Does anyone ever really have enough? I don’t know that I ever really thought about time as something I may run out of. There is always tomorrow. Always next year. I don’t know that at my age I can keep throwing those ideas around so carelessly. No one really knows if there will be a tomorrow or a next year. I suppose we all have a ticking clock. There is something that all of us our meant to do. That one thing that you have no regrets about when you’re time is up. How many of us actually do it? And how many of us spend our entire life going through the motions? Stuck in the hamster wheel of work and bills and laundry, just trying to make it to the weekend so you don’t have to wake up to an alarm for two whole days. Maybe the better question is how many people are ok with that?

The Thinking

Sometimes I wonder if my real problem is the thinking. But how can it be? How can going over things in your mind, hashing things out, finding answers to questions, be a bad thing? When you are up at 2:00AM and the thoughts circle your head at the speed of light and you couldn’t catch one if you tried so what’s the point? They say meditation is the key. They say if you can learn to quiet your mind you can change your life. I believe them. Part of me thinks I would miss it though. Just a little.

Tribe

I realized immediately that I felt definitely there among them. For all of the uncomfortable encounters I have had in the past few years since I’ve lived in this town, finally I belonged. Interesting conversation was happening all around me. Not once did someone ask me where I worked, what school my my kids went to school at (or if I even had kids), what church I belonged to. There was no awkward silences. There wasn’t never a moment when I had to explain myself, not once did someone stare at me in judgment after I made comment that didn’t conform to the norm of the women that I’m normally surrounded by. I hope with every once of my being that I get to spend time with those amazing ladies again. But if I don’t, I will forever be grateful to the Universe for letting me know that I’m not alone out here.

Exhausted

Is it true that if you do something you love you never work a day in your life? Does that also mean if you love your job it doesn’t obliterate you every day? Because I am exhausted, every single day after work. Exhausted like I can barely pick my feet up to make them move me across the parking lot to my car. Exhausted like I have to sit there for a moment before I drive away because I haven’t the energy to put the key into the ignition. The thing is, I don’t hate my job. Not hating isn’t the same as love I suppose. Not hating feels like settling.

Failing and Flying

Failing and Flying
Jack Gilbert

Everyone forgets that Icarus also flew.
It’s the same when love comes to an end,
or the marriage fails and people say
they knew it was a mistake, that everybody
said it would never work. That she was
old enough to know better. But anything
worth doing is worth doing badly.
Like being there by that summer ocean
on the other side of the island while
love was fading out of her, the stars
burning so extravagantly those nights that
anyone could tell you they would never last.
Every morning she was asleep in my bed
like a visitation, the gentleness in her
like antelope standing in the dawn mist.
Each afternoon I watched her coming back
through the hot stony field after swimming,
the sea light behind her and the huge sky
on the other side of that. Listened to her
while we ate lunch. How can they say
the marriage failed? Like the people who
came back from Provence (when it was Provence)
and said it was pretty but the food was greasy.
I believe Icarus was not failing as he fell,
but just coming to the end of his triumph.

Allow

Allow
By Danna Faulds

There is no controlling life.
Try corralling a lightning bolt,
containing a tornado. Dam a
stream and it will create a new
channel. Resist, and the tide
will sweep you off your feet.
Allow, and grace will carry
you to higher ground. The only
safety lies in letting it all in –
the wild and the weak; fear,
fantasies, failures and success.
When loss rips off the doors of
the heart, or sadness veils your
vision with despair, practice
becomes simply bearing the truth.
In the choice to let go of your
known way of being, the whole
world is revealed to your new eyes.

Morning

“I knew who I was this morning, but I’ve changed a few times since then.” – Lewis Carroll

I get up early, around 4AM. The house is quiet, the neighborhood still asleep. As far back as I can remember, I’ve taken morning walks, starting out while it’s still dark in order to see the sky change as the sun comes up. The sky before the sun rise is just as remarkable, as it changes from inky navy to increasingly lighter shades of blue and gray. Louie, our Lab/Boxer mix, accompanies me on my walks now. He’s good company, if you don’t mind stopping every 15 feet so his nose can follow a scent that has distracted him.

There aren’t a lot of street lights in my neighborhood and the rows of maple, oak, and birch trees that canopy the sidewalks block out what little light there is. The mysterious tunnel like experience of being surrounded by dark foliage ignites the imagination, makes you wonder what’s around the next block, what’s hiding in the bushes, on the other side of thick tree trunks.

We encounter so few people around at that time of day that when we do see someone, it’s a bit of a shock. There are the regulars of course, the lady that delivers newspapers in her minivan with the yellow blinking light on top. The old man who drives a three wheel bike and collects cans from all the garbages around town. Once in a while we’ll come across a jogger or biker. But for the most part the only life we encounter is the light coming windows of random houses. I have to wonder, what are they doing in there? Are they getting ready for work or did they just get home? Are they insomniacs passing the time by watching infomercials? Do they just love the morning like me?

Morning holds all the possibilities of the day for a short time. But then the alarm clocks sound and the rest of the world rolls out of bed. The mystery of morning fades, stamped out once again by routine of every day.