November
Sadness's mystery school
If I see anyone coming, with or without a dog, I cross the street. The sign says walk but its not quite true - cars can still turn right, where I am. I stride past strollers, past cats looking out of garden units, past the personality’s plans. I arrive at the lake, and wait for pain’s gifts.
Sadness gives you things if it’s safe and a certain way. The gifts are sensitivity, vulnerability, seeing things very sharply, and hearing a voice that can’t reach you when things are good. Personal sorrow right now is coupled with constant perspective on that sorrow. One suffering is familiar, one is unimaginable, both are in front of my eyes.
In trying to avoid directionless shame I think about all the things that sound the same but are not: being emotional is not being sensitive, feeling grief is not being sorry, solitude is not loneliness.
I try to calculate my exact size in advantages. In my heart, there is a world, and in my groceries for one, there is a world.
You know how it feels when you meet up with an acquaintance. They’re someone well-adjusted, comfortable living on air, who talks about entire years in just sentences. You have a simple affection without knowing their flaws, you don’t mind taking two buses to get there. All their goals come to fruition by no effort, though it takes a few years, and they are doing now in Chicago what they always had in mind to do (maybe play in a band, art on the side). A life that looks like fun and ease. You talk about which part of the day is worst, you concur 2-5 pm, talk about how tricks don’t work, you can’t paint with a glass of wine. How was your trip, yes I know him too, I’m sorry that happened, if you need anything let me know. On the two buses home you think of the seriousness of your interactions with all people, the stakes.
I go with Simone and Jeremy to an art show at the pub. We will see a specific crowd of painters there. There’s no one like Leroy, there’s no one like Taylor, I tell them. I want everyone to love who I love. It’s dimly lit inside, 6 or 7 graphite drawings are displayed in a cluster high up on one wall, they are beautiful. Bar shows are always about periphery, being besides the point as drawings and paintings maybe should be. A world out of the corner of your eye.
I have been wanting to reconnect with an old friend who hurt me because I would like just one more person to love me. I said this in the last hour of Lillian’s birthday party last week, everyone said it’s a bad idea, don’t do that. Rachel said “I’ll love you Amy!”
My own name leads me to other Amy, to Taylor Payton who she introduced me to, to Peyton, painting, writing. Matt Morris, Morris Louis, Lewis Carroll, Carroll Dunham. Man Ray, Cat and Ray, Peter; Paul and Mary (my parents). We watch Lawrence Welk together when I’m home. Lawrence like the street I take to Erynn’s, last time on the bus there I saw Stevie walking westward, West Town where I used to work with Olivia and Rachel, the gallery job they let me in on. Jobs, jobbing, my new job has been okay so far, I’ve been lucky forever to be given such grace (Kellison), it’s almost like praying now -
I do this until all my thoughts become one thought and all my people become one person, and then I am satisfied.
Keep the pressure up on your politicians to call for a full and permanent ceasefire on Gaza and continued release of all hostages. Stand with the Palestinian people and their fight for liberation, life is so extremely precious.