1.THEME: Any themes?
Hiraeth-longing for home
2.ABSENCE: What was missing?
Anti-depressants took me from myself. I stopped.
But now I feel more myself and something is still missing, as it always has been.
3. ADJUST: What are you amid that is almost (but not quite) right? A draft, a relationship, an injury…what needs refinement and attention?
My relationship to myself.
4. NOSTALGIA: What was felt more deeply because it took you back to your past?
In Philadelphia, on South st., in between cheap clothing stores and trashy sex shops there is a rotted wooden store front. There is no longer a sign, and perhaps there never was, you just knew. With dusted display windows side by side of a door that is a always open, the illumination of golden chandeliers invite those curious to a time capsule of opulence, ornate maximalism, and wonderment. Like a penny jar filled to its very brim, every corner and ceiling surface is adorned by medallic fixtures, statues, and shining entities with stories of grandeur. An upstairs, as embellished as the first floor is a darker, Victorian form of its predecessor. Supporting the weight of every silver and gold possible, the floors strength almost serve as reminders of the virility of human creation.
I use to visit this store alone when I wanted to feel as though the world would never change and modernity would cease in the name of conservation and history. It was my hiding place from the despairing meteoric development of Philadelphia.
I walked by last weekend for the first time in several months. The door was open, with dusted display windows on each side. The store was empty and the owner was no longer enveloped by a time past. A part of my city died; a part of my child died.
5. MYSTERY: What happened that doesn’t have an explanation?
A song called Phantom Limb by the Shins played in three different places on a day, from beginning to end. It reminded me of school and it reminded me of ballet, my very own phantom limb.
6. ENCOUNTER:An encounter with a stranger or an acquaintance that resonates.
Yesterday on the bus, I heard the woman across from me cry herself through the Lincoln tunnel and out. I offered her a tissue while others awkwardly pretended not to look at her. She used the tissue to its brink of extinction. I’ve seen myself in that seat on the bus before. Do other people really get that uncomfortable around tears?