The Cadence of April

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.

                                                                                           -T.S. Eliot  The Waste Land


Five days ago I started to write about my relationship with the month of April. My latest burst of productivity inspired me to examine what exactly it is about April that gets me moving.

And then the Boston Marathon Explosion happened.

Folks sometimes worry about leaving America. The world is such a scary place! Reports from Syria, Iraq, North Korea, etc, etc, etc can cripple the masses into believing that the only safe place, the only safe country on planet Earth, is here in the good ole U.S.of A. I don't know if it's because I'm getting older or the fact that virtually everything is digitized and instantaneous enabling us to know what's going on everywhere at every moment, but I gotta say...America is pretty darn scary and I have always felt more frightened living here than I did anywhere else in the 20 countries that I've been to or have lived in. Granted, I am aware that not all attacks in America are conducted by American citizens nor are all attacks abroad are conducted by the citizens of those countries...but I am consistently left feeling that in many ways we're no different from any of those scary and dangerous countries.

Of course every person is different just as every country will affect someone in very different ways. There's always a bad side, part, area and a good side, part, area of any town, village, city, or country. I'd like to believe that if you're aware of this fact and do your research your chances of getting involved with any sort of danger has a chance of decreasing. Of course that isn't a guarantee.   

I accepted a teaching position two years after the war in Georgia ended. I moved there despite the warnings from friends, family, and the media. On many reports listing the World's Dangerous Countries Georgia was listed, even as recently from a year a half ago. Having lived and traveled extensively throughout the country for a year and some change this seemed outdated and inaccurate. How many other places are misconstrued the same way?

Everyday something reminds me that sometimes there's a fuck-ton of bad out there but it never comes without some sort of good. I know, I know, it's sort of Hallmark-y and kitschy but it's not wrong, right?

I recently read an article on NPR titled The Cruelest Month in which the author lists the strange repetition of dark and grisly events to continuously occur in the month of April. Seeing it streamlined in this way definitely solidifies T.S. Eliot's case for declaring April as the cruelest month. But, for me personally, I have a very different relationship with April.

I am attuned rather well to the ebbs and flows, to the repetitions, to the coincidences that occur in my life. There is a cycle that exists and I would be a really poor observer if I didn't acknowledge that fact. Nobody wants to feel stuck repeating the same mistakes or events over and over again, and unfortunately I occasionally do, but I am also struck with the same manic rush of energy and productivity year after year- always in April.

Is it the beckoning of Spring?
The extra hours of daylight?
The realization that the dark cave of Winter is now beyond me and it's time to catch up on the many months of delayed creativity?
Is it the perseverance, stubbornness, and determination to subconsciously fight against the labels of the cruelest month?     

Perhaps.

All I know is that in April I am left feeling utterly and completely inspired to carry forth. To keep moving. To move on. Sometimes I forget that this is my relationship with April time and time again.

I recently went digging through boxes. There was one box full of postcards I had mailed to myself from my many travels across America and the globe. In this particular collection there was a plethora from April 2010. It was the first Spring I did not spend in New York.


Back in February of 2010 I had landed into a really tricky and dangerous situation that in turn led to the beginning of a heavy identity crisis/mental melt-down. I had placed myself in a multitude of toxic situations and relationships. Two of the three employers I worked for were, in a word, terrible. Borderline sociopath-ic terrible. I had absolutely no idea how to still handle my sexuality with any human being and engaging in a 'relationship' with someone twenty years older than me and who signed my paycheck was definitely not the absolute correct path to take at that time. The incidents that followed ended up being just the beginning to a long list of moments that often began with the thought "Well, this may not be a good idea...but, it will end up being a good story." It was often my go-to excuse for when I wasn't feeling confident about which decision I should make. It also paved the way for my occasional absence in New York and in America. I often wouldn't or couldn't stay in New York for longer than two or three months at a time. This continued for the next three years. Looking back during what now feels like a dark time I am not embarrassed or frightened any more. I feel proud because the last three years, despite the extreme dark lows, have provided so many glorious things. I have probably lived more purely and solely for myself in the last three to four years then the previous ten.

I ran away to Arizona, a state I had always had a strange fascination with. The name consistently brought forth images of freedom, of jean-short beauties standing amongst cactus, of tousled hair in the wind. I needed the infinite sun-drenched horizon. My excuse to my friends and family for quitting everything, picking up and running away to Arizona for about a month and a half was to finish my children's novel (end date: still nowhere in sight). I didn't mention the fact that my mental state was deteriorating drastically and that if I stayed any longer in New York I was terrified about what would happen to me. I abandoned the pressure of dead-end jobs, dead-end people, the romanticism that someone new would save me and left for Tucson where my best friend Danny was living. I would stay with him and explore a new frame of mind. I felt the need to become more withdrawn. I felt the need to become more protective. I wanted to appease my own desires instead of searching for answers in an imaginary figure. 

Danny and I drove for days in the desert, throughout Arizona, Utah and New Mexico. We often abandoned our plans to drive left when we should have driven right.

We hiked into low valleys and climbed to the tip-top of peaks that stood well over 9,000 feet.

We stretched our legs and climbed until we ran out of space.

"You are a warrior," Danny would preach to me.
"I am a different type of warrior. I have to accept that I can't do certain things," I'd respond sadly.
He'd shake his head angrily. "That's bullshit. You're capable and you know it. In my mind you are a fierce warrior. You always have been. You need to start getting what you want."

At times I feared Danny's approach was too selfish and too insensitive. But eventually I began to realize that there is no excuse for not treating yourself with respect. There is no reason why we shouldn't do what we feel is best for us- even if those things aren't, at times, acceptable. I had been living my life solely for others but neglected to strike a balance between them and me.


I fell in love with literature. I discovered my voice did exist in the familiarity of Douglas Spaulding's thoughts. The penned poetry of Ray Bradbury... the scents of smoldering memories lost in the pact-in sands and dust of the desert...it was the therapy necessary to reclaim my mind.


The postcards addressed to myself prove it. Eventually I gave up on dating the postcards- perhaps because I felt that these sentiments shouldn't be tied down to a specific frame of time, but rather a consistent way of feeling and thinking. It shouldn't just be tied down to April.

April 19, 2010

"And enchanted you were! Life is moving like a hummingbird and it's time- there is always time- to start humming along with it- to fly in freedom and scream at the top of your lungs."

April 25, 2010

"But there is 
still too much to see and marvel at, the world very much alive in the bright light and wind, exultant with the  fever of spring, the delight of morning...Love flowers best in openness and freedom." -Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire

April 26, 2010

 "The extreme clarity of the desert light is equaled by the extreme individuation of desert life forms." -Edward Abbey

April 26, 2010

"Go See America! And don't return until you do!"

April 26, 2010

"We climb down into the canyons to remind ourselves that there is a way back up and out to the cliff where there we can view everything we ever will need to carry on."

April 28, 2010

"Do not deny yourself happiness. Continue to live with your eyes wide open. Climb. Get up. Get out."

April 29, 2010

"'I want to feel all there is to feel,' he thought. 'I mustn't forget, I'm alive. I know I'm alive. I mustn't forget it tonight or tomorrow or the day after that.' Always remember, that you are breathing for one more glorious day and you have the opportunity to smell the upcoming rain blossoming again."Quote from Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

 "And
 everything, absolutely everything, was there. The world, like a great iris of an even more gigantic eye, which was also just opened and stretched out to encompass everything, stared back at him. And he knew what it was that had leaped upon him to stay and would not run away now. 'I'm alive,' he thought." Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine


And that is precisely how I felt. I felt alive and I didn't feel guilty for feeling as such. I didn't feel like running away then and as much as traveling and movement is engrained in every ounce of my body I don't feel like running away now. Every day I am training. Every day I am practicing my fierce warrior face.

 It is not an easy thing to love one self. It shouldn't be so hard, but at times it is.

One evening Danny and I decided to drive along a path on Mount Lemmon to watch the sunset and listen to Tucson cool down. In the sand and dirt he found this broken tile.
 

"I love you with all my heart. Forever & Always."

We're all broken. Individually. Collectively. As countries. As nations. But, I am consistently reminded that we are never as broken as we take ourselves to be.

I do not mind April mixing my memory and desires. I don't fear her stirring up my dull roots with spring rain. Sometimes, I need the agitation to get myself moving again. 

As Dreams Are: The Kitten and The Boulder

I am standing in a large room.

No. It is not a room. It is more than that.

A building?

Yes. An entire building.

It is the type of building that has layers.

Floors.

Levels.

It is tall. I can see myself from above and I look incredibly small. I can see the entire building from above. I can look through the walls and examine the space as if it were a blueprint. I feel as if something lives here. The space is massive. It is massive enough for a leader of a nation to call home.  

The walls are sandy. It has an Arizona tint. The atmosphere is a slightly burnt orange. The colors remind me that I should feel hot. 

                                                   But I am neutral. I feel nothing.

The building is a large corporation. Similar to a Walmart or a Costco. It is a large supermarket for your everyday needs. I am one of many; stocking shelves that rise with no end in sight.

The products.

Ceaseless.

There is no ceiling. There are only escalators and they only go up.

I ride an escalator to what I believe is the top floor.  It is time for me to leave. To go home. I don’t remember working very long, but I have the sense that I have just spent a lot of time in this building. I run into my father and step-mother. They have a kitten in their hands.

“We just found it. You must hold onto her and deliver it to your sister. Hide it,” my father says.

They are very eager to pass the kitten down to me. I don’t understand why I must hold onto the kitten since we are going to end up at the same place eventually. We will end up home. 

I agree to take the kitten. I smile as it fits into the palm of my hand. It is silent and small. Black and white. Luckily, I have a large knapsack and she fits perfectly inside.

I walk across a large glass ballroom where all of the cars for the employees are parked. It is an enormous square plot. A giant used car sales lot. I find my car and it looks as if it will be impossible to move.

I am inside, behind the wheel. I throw my knapsack behind me. In mid-throw I remember the kitten, but when I search for her I realize she is gone.

                                                              Did she fall out?

                                                        Hide it. Hide it. Hide it. 

I hear these words. I panic that whomever I am supposed to be protecting the kitten from will find it.

I run across the lot and retrace my steps. I see in the distance a large crowd.

Commotion.

People wearing black shirts.

My kitten must be there. Crowds always gather around a kitten.

Black cats and kittens scatter immediately once I begin sifting through the sea of people. My kitten is not there.

                                                                    Crack

A rumbling from above.

I look up and I understand why I never could see the ceiling before. The roof has been replaced by a mountain. The summit is indistinguishable because it is that high.

                                                                      The Himalayas

                                                                            Everest

                                                                             Nepal

                                                                             Japan

                                                                              Fuji

The base is hazy. Rust and sepia. Wisterias somehow have planted themselves amongst the rocks and grass. They fail to climb to the peak.

A dusty clay-like boulder detaches itself from the hidden tip. It happens so fast and before I know it chaos breaks out. The boulder is rolling quickly. It is suspended in midair. I am not sure where to go. The boulder is on a mission to destroy.

                                                                            People

                                                                           Running

                                                                        Everywhere

The boulder knocks through people.

Squishes.

Rolls flat.

It is a bowling ball and we are the pins.

Strike.

It crushes the vehicles. I watch from afar as it flattens my car.

                                                                            Snap

I never noticed the wires before. The boulder has detached metal wires from their post and they are now whipping throughout the air.

           

A man with sandy brown hair, brown eyes looks at me from across the room. I am reminded again of the recently frightening gaze men seem to penetrate me with in my dreams.

“I have a splitting headache,” he screams at me from across the chaotic crowd.

“I have a splitting headache,” he repeats.

A group of three runs in between us.

It is loud.

It is so very loud.

I think back to the kitten and wonder where it is. 

Is it safe?

Before I can go anywhere or say anything another wire snaps and whips through the sandy brown-haired man. It slices through him. His body falls apart vertically. Into thirds. Evenly spaced pieces. He slinks to the ground. His heart is in pieces but his head is partially intact.

I am standing next to him. His face, from his chin to his eyes, is sliced apart but his brain, his skull cracked open like an eggshell, is still as one. His eyes. Slowly blinking. I watch him breathing.

“I have a splitting headache,” he says once again. His eyes. Never leaving mine. He never stops watching me. He never removes his gaze.

                                                               And now it is quiet.

There are still thousands of people running for escalators and elevators. They are all searching for a place to retreat to. They are all searching for a way to get away from the mountain. Running away from the boulder. Sprinting from the wires. They can’t find a way to lower ground. But it is quiet now. I cannot hear them screaming. I cannot hear them yelling out for lost family.

I think back to the kitten. I think back to when the boulder crushed my car.

If I had never lost the kitten then I would have been inside when the boulder crushed my car.

           

There is no way I would have survived. This realization makes me feel uneasy. I am appreciative for the kitten.

                                                                         Panic 

Just the tiniest change in events could have altered everything. I feel as if I will be stuck forever feeling as the woman who beat death by a second.

                                                  And then everything is different.

I am back at the beginning, but it feels slightly off. I am still me. It occurs to me I am living in an alternative timeline.

I am back at the beginning. I am back stocking the never-ending vertical shelves. I am back with a kitten in my knapsack. I walk to my car in the lot of in-tact, packed-in vehicles. The kitten is in my lap. Before I can start the ignition a spherical shadow is looming behind me. I see the mountain in my rearview mirror. I never noticed I had parked at the base of a 30,000 foot mountain.

I see the boulder. It is heading straight for me.

                                                                        Déjà vu.

This is the timeline where the kitten never left. This is how this short-lived life plays out.

I stare at the kitten and I am angry. I do not understand why my life is so heavily determined on such a small object.

                                                                        Darkness.

I am back at the beginning.  Restart. The kitten has left. The boulder has never reached me. Wires snap, flailing left instead of right. The boulder rolling, careening right instead of left.

“I have a splitting headache,” the man screams out over the hysterical mass. A wire snaps through him horizontally instead of vertically. He falls apart again, still in thirds. His eggshell skull exposes his now barely functioning muscle.

The amount of timelines are endless. I fear that I may never wake up. I am worried it may soon be my turn to fall apart into thirds. I panic for when my splitting headache may be too much. I do not know how to escape this cycle.

                                                                               It is loud

                                                                              The cycle

                                                                              It repeats

                                                                                It ends

                                                                               It begins

                                                                   It repeats all over again

I am angry for thinking about the kitten. I fear that my thoughts have instigated this repetitive sequence. How does it end? How to make it end? I want this dream to end.

But it doesn’t.

And then… everything is hazy.

And then…everything washes out to yellow.

                                                                     And then…it is quiet.