Word Gatherer: Life in a Time of Saturn Rising

Thanks to the many little pep talks, encouragements, chidings, stories & praise, I finally made it out of car-stalling, moving purgatory & onto the wide highways!  (Also, I gave in to what is my newest addiction — it’s like myspace for writers & people who love books — goodreads.com)

The first night because we were behind schedule, we ended up driving through the night & ending up at my brother’s doorstop the next morning in St. Louis.  Since then, we’ve been visiting relatives in the Midwest ("the in-between" as one of my cousins put it at dinner last night) and doing random things like visiting the Oklahoma City memorial, going to the 50 cent movie theater in Dallas &, of course, watching my aunties at the buffet.  Harry Potter on tape has been getting me through the drive as well as an assortment of snacks my family prepared for us of the pickled and chopped variety.   My big uncle’s favorite activity has been teasing me (I’m reminded of all my boy cousins in Taiwan who used to make fun of me growing up, especially when the adults made us sit together & then observed us talking shit & gossiping), but I made the ultimate threat — that if you talk to a writer, you might end up being written about …

I’m still here and slogging through one of my least-favorite activities
in the world.  But the good news is that I’m 2 suitcases & 3
conversations fuller & a room emptier of clothes than at this time
yesterday.  Another day to go before we hit the road …

Here’s where we’re headed over 10 days — New York through Ohio to St.
Louis, Missouri; Oklahoma; Dallas, TX through Arizona to southern
California.

TODAY,
I AM THE REALIZATION of a full belly after my last lunch in the North
Country.  TODAY, I AM THE REALIZATION that I am too dependent on the
computer, waiting out the thunderstorms at the library.  TODAY, I AM
THE REALIZATION of an unraveled breath before reeling in, winding
back up to the real world.

I
AM BEING the patient eyes following Basho’s journey across the page.
I AM BEING aware of the sharp fresh rain wafting up out of the newly
bathed grass.  I AM BEING a witness to the heavy cry of
the waterfall plunging to its still death.

I
AM RELEASING the skirt the creature hiding in the drawer ate its way
through.  I AM RELEASING the spider who will not give up spinning its
web on the side of my car door.  I AM RELEASING my annoyance at shady
landlords.  I AM RELEASING my separation anxiety.  I AM RELEASING the
idea that I squandered precious time.  I AM RELEASING
my fear of squandering my time to pack when I return.

I
AM CREATING a new appreciation for what is possible to create from
the imagination.  I AM CREATING a sense of wonder at my body, a
magical living entity.  I AM CREATING a record of my
time in cottage 23, which I learned today is named Apple Blossom.

WHAT
I LOVE ABOUT MY LIFE is the chance to go out in the lake in the
Touhey’s Boston whaler and hear the stories of the people who live
next to the lake.  I LOVE that the local diner has a Webcam.  I LOVE
the high green dips of the Breadloaf campus.  I LOVE Arthur Sze and
his generosity as a teacher introducing me to the famous poets.  I
LOVE that I was able to tell three poets I was introduced to that I
had heard them read their work before.  I LOVE being able to say
proudly that I finished a manuscript.  I LOVE deciding to stay in.  I
LOVE spice tea and honey.  I LOVE reading a book in one day.  I LOVE
the shimmering water in the morning.  I LOVE setting mice free
outdoors.  I LOVE friends from afar who keep in touch.  I LOVE the
beauty of the waiting journal.  I LOVE the chubby book.  I LOVE books
of gratitude and appreciation.  I LOVE big, wide windows.  I LOVE
interfaith nature trails.  I LOVE memorialized poems in the forest.
I LOVE trail logs.  I LOVE guessing where boats have been.  I LOVE
knowing my way around.  I LOVE watching the farmland go by.  I LOVE
joining the Paden family.  I LOVE walks lit by moon and talking about
the trees.  I LOVE watching the thunderstorm cascade over my
windshield in the safety of my car.  I LOVE late night chats rolled
up in the warmth of five blankets.  I LOVE that it took over a year’s
worth of planning and effort to finally make it here.  I LOVE books
on tape.  I LOVE sneaking out in the middle of the community concert.
I LOVE tall tales of travels.  I
LOVE people excited to bring me adventure.  I LOVE postcard poems.  I
LOVE the idea of picnics on an uninhabited island.  I LOVE that Lake
Champlain sometimes feels like an ocean.  I LOVE being seized by a
great inspiration yet being able to say no.  I LOVE radical nerds.  I
LOVE that I made it through my month of quiet in the woods.  I LOVE
the anticipation of visiting a city with a main drag, ethnic
restaurants and coffeeshops.  I LOVE that other people around me in
different parts of my life are newly inspired to write haibun, like
it’s a bug you can catch.  I LOVE writing dream lunes with Tamiko.  I
LOVE receiving sweet well wishes from friends and acquaintances.  I
LOVE that driving through lush mountains will get me home.

I
CELEBRATE AND NURTURE my existence as a word recycler, receiving
inspiration, silver dreams and magic from those who came before.  I
CELEBRATE AND NURTURE my existence as a chameleon moving from
mountain to desert.  I CELEBRATE AND NURTURE my
existence as someone on the edge of her life willing herself to fly
forward and trust in the wind.

TODAY,
I AM THE REALIZATION that I am the pact between the sun and the writer
– one comes out and the other goes back outside.  TODAY, I AM THE REALIZATION that I am the edge of a year of labor in the pages. TODAY, I AM THE REALIZATION of being above the thorny bumps of mountain rock and underneath the spread of hawk in flight.

I
AM BEING the horizon between wakeful day and watchful night. I AM BEING
proud of the 47 items stored in backpack, car and cottage from the
Clinton Essex Library system. I AM BEING the breath exhaled I am
focusing on while the pen moves to fill the space.

I
AM RELEASING loathing of my body. I AM RELEASING disappointment in
myself for not banging out a certain quota of words each day. I AM
RELEASING my fear of being irresponsible. I AM RELEASING the desire to
stay under the covers and read Harry Potter all day. I AM RELEASING the
idea that I will be able to accomplish everything I thought I could in
my month here while prioritizing deep rest. I AM RELEASING the visit of
daddy long legs.

I
AM CREATING a fresh palate to start a new life. I AM CREATING a new
stockpile of ideas for writing. I AM CREATING a sense of what it is
like to not multi-task.

WHAT
I LOVE ABOUT MY LIFE is that I look back at the trail I just walked and
it takes on new beauty. I LOVE taking stock of what I appreciate. I
LOVE Mars and Jen for helping me to do it. I LOVE the friendly meat
market guy who gave me food for free so I could try it. I LOVE that I
drove up and am the only car here. I LOVE that I am a sunbaby. I LOVE
the idea of Beat the Clock Lobster Bake. I LOVE discovering feminist
science fiction. I LOVE reading young adult books by Asian Americans. I
LOVE interlibrary loan. I LOVE that people are beginning to leave here
but it’s not my time yet. I LOVE the cascade of light spilling through
the green leaves. I LOVE entering the forest after being in the hills.
I LOVE the sidewalk tomato sales. I LOVE the gas station for boats
floating on the lake. I LOVE sweet corn. I LOVE dessert and drunken
stories. I LOVE impromptu porch parties. I LOVE two degrees of
separation. I LOVE getting to watch stupid movies for no reason or
purpose. I LOVE falling in love with books again and not being able to
put down the page. I LOVE generous people I have only met twice. I LOVE
re-visiting areas you thought you knew and finding more. I LOVE people
in the trades whose knowledge comes from making a living. I LOVE
hearing about how people discover each other. I LOVE the deep blue of
the lake. I LOVE the feeling that the sun is a friend. I LOVE the
stillness at the top of the world. I LOVE that the water comes from a
pump. I LOVE that I found clothespins for the clothesline. I LOVE that
I choose not to drive everywhere. I LOVE the red table in the kitchen.
I LOVE sitting on the porchbench and eating breakfast. I LOVE that my
refrigerator is filled. I LOVE that there are rocking chairs in my
cottage.

I
CELEBRATE AND NURTURE my existence as someone committing to her craft.
I CELEBRATE AND NURTURE the part of me that craves beauty. I CELEBRATE
AND NURTURE the part of me that climbed the mountain.

TODAY, I AM THE REALIZATION that I am steel, untiring in the face of
challenge, particularly my own. TODAY, I AM THE REALIZATION of the lull
between fury and exhilaration. TODAY, I AM THE REALIZATION that rest is
a wonderful gift which does not come along easy.

I
AM BEING the eyes of the observer of the winding lake, a curve between
green breathing flanks. I AM BEING mindful of the mountain where I am
guest. I AM BEING the solitude which all beings crave and relax into if
offered.

I AM RELEASING mice dung on kitchen counters. I AM
RELEASING suspicions cast on the neighbor trees in the crawling
darkness. I AM RELEASING the annoyance and worry about encounters with
the rich white summering people. I AM RELEASING brown many-legged worms
in the bathroom. I AM RELEASING the hulks and spirits of dead flies
caught in every room’s sticky death papers. I AM RELEASING
self-criticism about the amount I am producing. I AM RELEASING
impending doom about packing everything I need to drive cross-country
with my dad and forging a new life where none existed before.

I
AM CREATING an alarmless sleep, trusting the rising sun to nudge me
into the day. I AM CREATING the aroma of stew from the harvest of
farmers’ markets and my creative spirit borrowed from my mother.

WHAT
I LOVE about my life is that every day, I watch the moods of Lake
Champlain at all times of the day and record them in haibun. I LOVE the
little library which boasts of its little beautiful waterfall rising
behind the little couch next to the librarian’s desk. I LOVE that
everyone knows where Rattlesnake Mountain is though there’s no sign. I
LOVE that nobody locks their doors. I LOVE strangers who greet you on a
morning stroll. I LOVE the new bike for writers and flying down the
hill. I LOVE that I’m scared of going uphill but I do it anyway. I LOVE
the non-working Essex gas station restored to its old-school sheen. I
LOVE the friendly meat market man who didn’t take my suspicions to
heart. I LOVE libraries without dues, but a conscience jar. I LOVE
Merrick’s Bread & Coffee and their hippie granola. I LOVE getting
lost and wandering all morning in the fields watching the sky. I LOVE
watching movies at night to distract myself from the weird wood sounds
at night. I LOVE collaborative writing with Tamiko & James. I LOVE
daily check-ins with Aimee. I LOVE talking Harry Potter with Sham. I
LOVE missing Harry Potter books in the library. I LOVE that Alice &
Charles sued the Crater Club for race discrimination & we live
three doors away. I LOVE the promise of a boat ride. I LOVE late
afternoon porch visits. I LOVE perching on the dock bench. I LOVE
visiting the bay & disregarding the No Trespassing sign. I LOVE
that anybody can take out books from the library & they don’t ask
for ID. I LOVE that I have a holding library in my cottage of books
from many sources. I LOVE 50-word short stories. I LOVE carrots pulled
from the ground which still bear their leafy manes. I LOVE Vermont
Public Radio. I LOVE the Essex Ferry. I LOVE the story of the man who
lived in his car for 7 years here with only a propane tank to keep him
company. I LOVE the storytelling festival. I LOVE reading Adirondack
writers. I LOVE that Charles’ mom’s house used to be a stop on the
Underground Railroad. I LOVE that I took all the Asian American books
out of the library. I LOVE hanging everything to dry on the
clothesline. I LOVE living on the edge of a field in a cottage.

I
CELEBRATE AND NURTURE my existence as diviner of myth, spinner of the
talltale. I CELEBRATE AND NURTURE the small fire passed on from my
mother who gave me the gift of music when I couldn’t and didn’t
appreciate it. I CELEBRATE AND NURTURE the word.

Today, I got a Myspace message from a union organizer I met a year ago
who struggled with what I had struggled with when I was deciding
whether or not to take a break from community work.  At that time, I
remember many of our group encouraging her to persevere, but I made
sure to tell her that she needed to do what she needed to survive and
be healthy and sane, the same things I think friends at the time were
telling me throughout the months I agonized over what to do.  I
remember feeling a whole range of emotions — relief, guilt, stress,
emptiness, sadness, anger, joy, excitement, fear — but also knowing
once I made that decision that I had made the right one.

What
a different place I am in now receiving that message of thanks.
Yesterday, I drove through Vermont & saw the Green Mountains
looming above me for the majority of the day, reminding me of the first
writing residency I went on in the beginning of the year and the
beginning of Xiaomei’s book and now having completed the first stage (I
hope) of that process at Poetry Boot Camp two weeks ago.

A week
ago, I visited Minnesota for the first time, discovering a lovely green
city and the largest (& also green) university I’ve ever been to in
my life.  I felt lucky to get to see old friends and that nobody I knew
was affected by the bridge collapse, though it felt weirdly dislocating
to be a stranger in a city where a disaster affected everybody I knew
in ways when I had only glimmers of understanding.  But still lucky –
and lucky to be so soon working on a new project, 50-word stories about
a new idea I developed on nature walks in Squaw Valley.

Last
weekend, the APA spoken word & poetry summit in NYC.  Much love to
Hanalei for her central organizing role & her heart which I felt
throughout the weekend.  It definitely felt different than others in
the past — I felt I was less present as a participant (both due to
exhaustion & delirium from all the travel & lack of rest &
sleep) & glad not to be an organizer, but I am glad that I got to
see old friends, renew old ties, meet new folks & hear people’s
work.  In one of the last circles, J. said something I felt so wise,
that things arise always when we’re in this space with each other,
because this space is so important, we all want it desperately to be
our space, and that we’re learning as a community (hopefully) to deal
with it in all our varying levels of political understandings.  This
time, it was about an offensive video posted to the summit blog on the
website by the summit webmaster (disclosure: I haven’t seen the video
but have only heard it described in broad strokes), which launched
discussions about how queer/trans-inclusive the summit really is.  Two
summits ago, it was a poem which traumatized a lot of the participants
because of the content of sexual abuse; simultaneously for me, I was
having a fallout with a male friend over gender brought up during a
summit workshop.

Now I am by myself in a little cottage facing a
open green field next to Lake Champlain right across the ferry in
Vermont.  When I first arrived, looking at the visitor’s book, I noted
that the person who had just left this past Sunday was a friend I know
from New York City.  Last night, my first night in the woods, I dealt
with my fear of the noises of night-time critters.  Today, I woke up in
the coolness of the Adirondacks, feeling how right it is that the last
leg of this year’s writer’s life is me on my own, resting and
reflecting and listening again.

We live in The Lucky House.  We are five women (varying ages, backgrounds, regions).  We support each other & help each other procrastinate.  & we’re thankful we don’t live in the house where you can’t put anything wet, dry, hot, or sharp on the kitchencounter.  Also, if I perch my laptop on my knees & move my pelvis up to the sky, I can steal wireless to write to you:-)  Such are the gifts of this house.

Overheard at Lucky House in the last 24 hours:

~ It’s like we’re on a ship and we’re all helping each other steer ahead.

~ It feels like we’re crossing the sahara desert & we’re a long way from the end. 
~ It feels like exam time (said my roommate waking up at 5am this morning to begin her draft).

~ I wish I were here during fiction week where they get to party & socialize & network.

~ on why Sharon Olds doesn’t seem nervous & only gives herself 2 hours before workshop to write a poem whereas the rest of us are mumbling to ourselves all night: it’s like I’m a burrowing scrabbling animal trying to make it to sunlight & she’s already over there basking in the sunlight.

I don’t think it’s the producing part that’s causing stress but more the fact that we have to share them with other people & sound not like our inner demons have taken over.  Brenda Hillman refers to them as "blobs" instead of poems.  But the cool thing is that the teachers have to do it too.  Jimmy Santiago Baca gave an amazing craft talk yesterday, talking about how poetry came into his life while he was in jail.  What I really appreciated was the vulnerability he shared with us about being nervous around writers, nervous about giving us a craft talk & that he hadn’t written in 2 years until he came here & started writing with us!

Yes, you guessed it, I’m at poetry boot camp aka Squaw Valley Poetry
Workshop & yes, I’m procrastinating from writing my poem for
tomorrow.  I took a deadly train-bus-train-bus combination overnight
from Union Station in LA to Truckee, California starting Friday early
evening until Saturday late afternoon.  Though Amtrak is always late,
it also guarantees that your connection will wait for you (which may
account for one of the lateness factors).  I slept & slept &
slept & spent a brief period of time revising my manuscript &
slept & slept & slept some more.  There was a brief 2 hour
stint where people were getting antsy because a freight train had
killed somebody and we had to wait for the rails to get "cleaned" — I
wanted to say 2 hours is nothing in perspective, but I was too sleepy.
Finally, picked up & dropped off at a really SWANKY house with a
SWANKY bathtub where I am staying with 4 other women.  The owners of
the house don’t normally lock the doors, which is just as well because
apparently none of our keys work anyway.  It’s gorgeous here with the
mountains & the conifers (I learned this today about the birds
& the trees on the nature walk), but I haven’t had as much time as
I thought to go on hikes or do much of anything besides workshopping
because we have to produce one brand new poem every day.  Our house
seems to have a torturous stretch of time after dinner when everyone is
stressed about production & there’s an elaborate pick-up system
which involved us leaving poems & zip drives & disks in a
little basket by our front door when the poetry elves break into every
morning around 7:15am to steal our poems.

For the past 3 days, I have been driving non-stop in southern
California in the search for a new home.  Riverside is very brown;
breathtaking towering brown mountains, brown fields, brown dust,
brown-ness everywhere.  On the plus side, almost everyone is brown:-)

I have:
**
been told I sound like California, not "straight" like Massachusetts by
a self-professed Jersey girl who hates California because people are
unstable except for in the OC & Fisherman’s Wharf.  I decided
against her corporate-style gated house & it wasn’t because she
repeatedly called me at 3am in the morning & I couldn’t get her off
the phone.

** met some notable landlords — an African drummer
with a temptingly green front yard; a bald white guy who reminded me of
my old landlord The Dark Lord; a young mother whose house used to be a
nursery & had fire extinguishers perched up everywhere.

**
seen a house I originally thought was an antique shop with mannequins
attached to a trailer in the back crammed full of stuff, attached to a
patio with 4 washers & dryers, attached to an inlaw which came with
more fridges & 2 boys & a daughter hiding in the back.  When
she said, I have everything you could possibly want here, I thought
there couldn’t possibly be space for 2 packrats in that house with so
many attachments.

** ate at the majority of Asian establishments in the area with the exception of the sketchy-looking "Chinese" restaurants.

** rode in a golf cart around the campus on a campus tour

Even directionally challenged me has a pretty good grasp of the area after driving up & down the main drag 50 times a day.

Prayer Before Orienting West:
– I’m searching for a new homey corner where I can write, cook, flirt, laugh, soup, read, honey, dream, juice, sun.

Where I’m coming from, the last month:
–
{Western MA} a five day sacred space for people of color to become
quiet and still so they can listen to themselves, cleanse their bodies
and spirit.  Where I prayed for my friends (some of whom called me the
same day I prayed for them, but of course, I couldn’t pick up my
phone:-)), for people who weren’t my friends anymore, for people I used
to love, for people I’ve loved and fought and challenged and loved
again.  One of the instructions during lovingkindness meditation was to
choose a "neutral person" to pray for and I picked this beautiful man
in front of me with a wide smile who felt like family.  (I didn’t
realize when I first picked him that it was somebody we weren’t
supposed to like already, just thought that it had to be a stranger).
I didn’t know his name, but he smiled at me every time I sat down &
I tried to pick someone more neutral, but I couldn’t.  I kept picking
him as my neutral person.  When the retreat was over, he gave me a big
bear hug & he just felt like someone I had known from another
lifetime. 

– {P-town, Fine Arts Work Center} ferry, clams,
gayness & skin-ness, a crazy summertime resort town, ocean, ocean,
ocean, sand everywhere.  Instruction to be wild Buddhas, visual
artists, the opposite of what we always thought we were.  I kept
thinking, this is where my writing can bring me, this is where my
writing can bring me.

– {William Joiner Center, Boston} I’ve
never gotten the opportunity to take a translation seminar, which was
the best thing I took away from the workshop.  It’s like struggling
with the ghost and soul and spirit of another poet, who has laid down
the bones of a poem for you to work with.  It made me want to work on
the languages I have buried within me, to try harder to untwist my
tongue, to read things in their original beauty.

– {Summer
Solstice Writers’ Conference, Boston} - the beginning of my summer
writing journey. Blessed to have the chance to work with Cornelius
Eady, who told me that he felt I was close to finishing the end of my
manuscript project (after only reading 8 pages of my poems)!  Thanks,
Cornelius.