29 January 2009

Remembrances

The winds are back, booming about my house, but this morning was just warm, breezy and very clear.

When the Santa Anas blow, the planes take off in reverse from John Wayne, heading back inland rather than going out over the ocean, so they are, in effect, taking off into the wind. Homeward bound, I watched one, two, three fly over head, in quick succession, just moments after the airport opened for business.

I've been on those planes: one headed toward Northern California, one toward Phoenix, the last probably Las Vegas. I'm a veteran of the 6:45 am flight.

I'm a veteran of flight. I've been known to be a flight risk.

I've learned to stand my ground.

I look back at how it all happened, and I see how it all played out, and I understand why I no longer fit into my life. Why reintegration is not possible. There is nothing to reintegrate. Jigsaw falling into place.

I saw this happening as it happened, and I took the chance. I understand that one of my failings as a writer of fiction is that I keep trying to write stories from the perspective of the person I no longer am. I know I live and grow, and then I deny that it's happened. How silly.

But one of my successes as a writer of truth--and truth is a slippery concept, to be sure, and can be unintentionally lost in translation--is that I'm learning to make the words real. I wasn't sure at first, but I want the connection.

Epiphanies are lovely things, energizing things, and I've certainly had my share. But often I've not seen the farther reaching effects of those moments of truth and imminent change, and sometimes I've been so intensely focused on the moment that I missed why it was happening. And there are times that I haven't been conscious of the fact that while the epiphany is mine, the impact is not only upon my life. But there are those times--frightening, magic and wide awake times--when everything is so incredibly clear, and there is no doubt, and the road I'm intended to take is so brightly laid out in front of me, lit with flares and fireworks.

This is where it stands.

The sun rises and the jets catch the light, a brief but blinding flash. From the opposite direction, another on its way to land, a streak of pure orange fire. And in the distance, far above my head, a contrail, pink in the brightening day.

There is a bond there that I don't understand, but I take it as a gift. Every moment was a gift.

Go listen to some good music: "Remembrances" from the album ...undone by The Lucy Show. I am beyond exhaustion at this point, and yet, everything is crystal clear. A little scary. And while the above is truth, life informs work. Meaning the work has begun.

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