On Watching the Irish Sea with American Eyes

•August 24, 2008 • Leave a Comment

DNA creating cells, creating tissues, creating blood in my veins

Pre-determined in embryonic eggs within the embryo of my mother before she was born

Of her mother’s embryonic eggs,

And of her mother’s mother’s embryonic eggs,

as were all the mothers and all the eggs

 before me

born in Ireland,

                                                End with me - American

In the tide that rips and ripples north to Belfast shores

Is there a drop of Eastern seaboard, New Hampshire snow melt, Connecticut grime, Atlantic Ocean in that foam that calls itself the Irish Sea?

Is there a drop of Alabama protozoa, Californian mitochondria, American nucleus in that foam spewed forth from my father?

Is there Andromeda stardust in the sand whipped from these rocky shores?

                Molecular nebula in the wind that shakes the barley,

                                Rays and particles from long since past supernovas in the sunlight

                                                That died with all of their pre-historic atoms

And the pre-historic atoms of all of the stars before them

The nerves that serve my sight 

               designed of Irish elements

The air and water, vitamins, minerals, they fed upon, American

Do my eyes’ cells recognize the seas’ cells as foreign or domestic?

Everything I know of sea

          – Pacific and Atlantic

Everything I know of me

          – Celtic and Romantic

Although oceans have tangible drops, though unfathomable their origins

My genesis, an intangible thought, though traceable my origin

I Want For Nothing

•August 2, 2008 • 1 Comment

I have dreaded this moment all of my life.  I have nothing.  I have no job. No income. I am alone. And after all the screaming and clutching against this moment, now that I am here there is peace. Solitude and solace.

In a few short months I will be 40. I have €15 to speak of.  I have no career. No husband. No children. I have debt. I own only the decisions that brought me here.

The kingdom of heaven lies before me.  In anything I do.  The bottom is an expanse so wide and limitless in its true glory that I am thankful to be able to gaze upon it.

I, who has been terrified of who I am and what I am capable of, now realize how silly I have been because I am nothing and am capable of less.

The terror is in watching others like me thrash in their silent violence against a world they want seen. 

The terror is the fear that they might actually succeed.  How far can I go?

The terror is infinitely absurd because no one will look – ever.

To see me, you have to see yourself, and the glance upon that mirror is more brutal than torture – rape – murder. 

I am telling you to save yourself.

Don’t look at me.

Thus It Begins

•June 20, 2008 • Leave a Comment

The myth of Orpheus has always called to me. His descent into the underworld to reclaim his bride, Eurydice, and then failing in the last moment because he turned to look at her before she had crossed the threshold, somehow strikes a chord for me. I’ve often wondered what that moment must have been like for Eurydice, knowing that his action, beyond her control, would separate them forever. So much lost in the balance of a fleeting moment.

I descend into underworlds of my own design or the designs of my own madness. When I return to the living world, it is as though I have lost something beyond my control.

I understand why Virginia Woolfe walked into that river with stones in her pockets. To look into the eyes of the one or ones who love you, who are trying desperately to exhume the body from the mind’s underworld, those who turn to look too soon, who see that look and never look the same, to never again want to see that look and to never want them ever to descend again to find you-not because you don’t want to be reclaimed, but because you don’t want to put them through the horrid experience of reclaiming. I understand why Virginia Woolfe walked into that river with stones in her pockets.

Orpheus played the most beautiful music for Hades, and he was moved to grant Orpheus passage. I do believe that such music exists. I just don’t think we’ve found it yet.

 
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