TheBanyanTree: Next

[Julie Anna Teague]

These are some things I will never quite understand about myself.  I've
had this feeling before--a tightening in the chest, a speeding heartbeat,
a sigh that rolls out involuntarily and bottomless.  My lungs struggle
against their ropes.  My heart wanders off.  My head is painfully clear
and running with wild speed through dangerous, creative, upsetting,
transformative thoughts.  I am constant guard lest I throw the baby out
with the bathwater.  Whoosh!  Next! 

One day I want to be alone in the woods with the sun filtering through
gold trees in that certain way that makes me feel like lying down and
napping on a mound of moss and old leaves.  And so I go there.  And the
next I want to be in crowds of loud people who are laughing and arguing
and leaving beer rings on the tables and smoking cigarettes without a damn
care in the world.  And so I do that. 

I want to spend this day painting, that day meditating, one on the couch
eating a half gallon of ice cream, several hours with my arms around my
sons, another several driving around with the jeep windows down and the
music so loud the speakers vibrate.  And so I do do do!  And then...And
then.... 

And then? 

I am restless, buzzing.  Can't sleep.  Every little thing INfinitely
satisfies--the purple-rose sunset last night, the cooing sound of my
chickens, the joint a friend shared, a joke my son told me, the painting I
finished, the sex with my partner, the spinach seedlings in the garden,
the book I'm reading, the coolness of the air.  The porch boards, my down
sleeping bag, some unexpectedly soft socks, an apple, cold creek water, a
magazine article, a thigh, a new pen with silver ink, a photo--everything
I see and touch and experience is delicious.  Tasty in a way that makes me
feel alive, here, now.  Good good good in a way that makes my eyes
burn bluer.

And yet -- and herein lies the conundrum, the mystery, the restlessness,
the voices -- *nothing* satisfies (what the??) because I am in the same
skin as yesterday and I feel squeezed in and suffocating like I need to
unzip it and step out and stretch.  Take a breath that will pop my seams. 
Is it possible to be both satisfied and unsatisfied?  Posssible, but
something that should be tempered with medications?  Possible to climb out
and up (out through the toenails?  up through the hair follicles?) and
find some new level on which to pitch a bigger tent, a broader tent, a
more encompassing tent?

Maybe that is what I want to do, need to do--step out of this well-used
fleshy container, all pink and new, drill a hole in this life-hardened
skull and let the fresh air whistle through, start the counting over
at today.  One.


Julie



  




 
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