Illuminated only by the glow of my computer screen and a single candle, I sit tucked into a nest of pillows in a newly discovered corner of my bedroom with limbs jumbled, hair a mess, sans clothes in the cool darkness. I just read a letter from my gal Rabbi and my contented sighs flow in and out, in and out along with the pace of José's crooning.
My thoughts are with Rabbi; I am a million miles away right now. Actually, I am 1161 miles away. With personal beliefs up for interpretation, I bet my bottom dollar that this lady will either be transformed into a hundred white graceful doves the minute she steps foot through the pearly gates or reincarnated into a golden phoenix once her days here on earth are spent. I have no doubt that whatever may come of my dear Rab, the Lord will have His hands full trying to place her in the perfect niche without ruffling any Christian feathers; for her wisdom, resilience and goodness might make the other heavenly messengers jealous. Thankfully, she is alive and well and currently nestled somewhere in the scenery of British Columbia with her knees tucked under her and a book in her hands. This is good, she still has plenty to do yet before it is time for doves or phoenixes.
Dear Mrs. Banhart, I read a noteworthy passage yesterday and thought of you as tears coursed up and over the apples of my cheeks. Before I recount Kalman's work for you, I must say that Sufjan has taken over where José has left off and the song 'Boarderline' is making me think of you curled up on the floor of a train under a pile of pagmenas somewhere between Frankfurt and Vienna. I will never forget the florescent tube lights from the passing Banhof stations streaking your face every half hour or so. My nausea was intense that night, but my adoration for you and Kit surged in waves more jarringly than any illness I have ever experienced. This is love, I think. The feeling of absolute unflappability and certainty in one's admiration for another. I am unflappable in my ideals of love.
This is for you: Taken sans permission from my new favorite book "The Principles of Uncertainty" by the lovely M. Kalman.
"Sometimes when I imagine my own death, I believe I will be reunited with my loved ones. We are all floating around in a fluffy sky. I get a ridiculous cozy feeling. But then I remember that even my loved ones are sometimes very IRRITATING and even INFURIATING--so what is that about? And what would we DO all day, forever? Besides, the whole thing is INSANELY UNLIKELY. I prefer the notion of Heaven on Earth. Of sweet, funny, loving moments. For me, heaven on earth is my Aunt's kitchen in Tel Aviv. My aunt is 88 and until recently she swam in the ocean at dawn every day of the year. The kitchen is small, spare and shiny. We drink tea and eat honey cake in the hot stillness of the afternoon. There are four of us in the family who make this cake. My aunt bakes hers in a stove called The Valiant. We use a bundt pan. The inventor of the bundt pan, H. David Dalquist had a very good OBITUARY. We sit in the kitchen but we know where we are. We are in a land fractured by endless conflict. Our history is tragedy and heartache--to the marrow. But we will have none of it right now. We will talk about which cousin is a bigger idiot (it turns out I'm on the list). We speak of my aunt's love of Tolstoy and Gorky. Here they are in a photo taken by Tolstoy's wife. About a minute later he ran away. He hated her guts".
Tolstoy's wife probably rejoiced the day he left. I bet Tolstoy never laughed or enjoyed cake. Jerk. If there is anyone who is reading this that resembles Tolstoy or his heartlessness even in the slightest, go to hell.
We will have none of it right now. We will have none of it right now. We will have none of it right now. We will have none of it right now.
Today at a giant family gathering in the park, my Grandma told me what ich habe genug means. We will have none of the tragedy or heartache right now because we have enough. We have plenty. We have each other, and our brothers, and our sister, and our mothers, and our fathers. We have enough, I have had enough.
Ich habe genug.
Ich liebe Dich.
Madgeburg; not a trace of nausea, just love.
1 comment:
jesus, i love you.
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