How’s life? – August 2020

By | August 8, 2020
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Dear Readers:

Eight months into 2020, how are you doing? What has shifted for you?

I am in a funny place. I feel free, stuck, happy, sad, loved, lonely, infinitely big and small. I miss touching my mom’s hand and kissing her. The search for home, can feel like a futile pursuit. Being on the road is all. If all is not enough, what is.

I am teary-eyed, listening to Tom Adams’ “A Flower Disappearing” . (The song starts at 5:24)

I want to start noting down the flashes of image visiting me. Pen and paper are more reliable than my head.

Recurring thoughts of late:

  1. Feelings are real and fleeting.
  2. What I want the most and what I want now are often at odds.
  3. I miss my mom. I miss her so much.
  4. I learned to talk in circles. I am unlearning. Go directly to the truth. Start there. Waste no energy and time on things I don’t like.

Reading:

I put aside self-help books unfinished. I am reading poems, lots of haiku. They leave me laughing, crying and in awe.

Here is a haiku by Issa,

Arise from sleep,
Old cat,
And with great yawns and stretchings
Amble out for love

Another one by Basho,

Dewdrop,
Let me cleanse,
In your brief sweet waters
These dark hands of life

Aah.

Reading more poems from:

  • Jericho Brown
  • Sharon Creech
  • Ocean Vuong
  • Amanda Lovelace
  • Billy Collins


    • Playing:

    Music. I am playing music more. Some Chopin. Some Bach. Some Mozart. Just playing. No rules. No timer.
    Dancing to Kpop.
    Sketching. I have a few ideas for tattoos.

    Learning & Observations:

    I learned that our eyes are brains, exposed.

    I noticed that I write in search of resolutions. Resolutions hook me. They are not the point. It is the same old programing in a different dress. If A, then B. Life is not a piece of computer code. Accepting my life, any life, will remain an unfinished mystery, not to be solved, rather to be lived, is a worthwhile practice.

    Acclaiming writing is mine, terrifies me. Wobbly and shaky, I am inching forward. Zipping on my nakeness and plating my sensitivity, I am a chef that is cutting deeper into myself. I am terrified and, so awake.

    Outro:

    What are you thinking about of late? What small joys have visited you?

    I am sending you a melting-hot hug. I want to be the cheese, will you be the bread?

    Love,
    Xiaoyu

    Now, your turn, any thoughts? I care to know.