"An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet,
regardless of time, place, or circumstance.
The thread may stretch or tangle,
but it will never break."
- An ancient Chinese belief

Usually this refers to lovers who will find each other regardless of the obstacles between them. The string never breaks and pulls them toward each other as if by magic or magnets, even if they have to suffer the consequences.

The Poet and I have been discussing the effect of strings between people (among other things). I tend to see strings between me and people I love in a variety of colors- as if ribbons on balloons: dark blues and purples for those who are a part of me, yellows and oranges for those who cross my path and move on, red for the lasting love, black for the ones that only stop long enough to hurt you, green for the ones you watch grow, and white for the pure hearts among you.

Some strings become so unhappily tangled that the only solution is to slice through the mess and let the balloons fly away, following their own updrafts. I watch with a deep sadness that never goes away, an empty space inside me where they belong and only they can fill, but I’m helpless to prevent it. Strings can only be maintained in my world as long as people want to be tethered, and once they decide to break it, you have to honor their request.

Other strings are very long and they float out of sight for long periods of time until a gentle  tug brings them back home again. We pick up the conversation where we left off as if we’d never been apart. We end each other’s sentences, laugh at old jokes, make new memories, and then all too soon, the wind calls them away again. The sorrow when they leave isn’t as cutting as the ones that leave forever because we’ve traded parts of our souls. It’s the cost of maintaining the string; it’s the tangled knots that can’t be undone by yourself.

I believe in strings because of the Poet, actually. The string between us existed long before we met- two strangers on opposite sides of the earth with time, space, and culture between us but from the beginning there was a recognition that shouldn't have existed, a trust that shouldn't have been there, a friendship that grew quickly that neither of us expected or comprehended. It just was... is... and I'm sure we're not the only ones with that experience.

The connections we make affect us, change us, and ripples outwards towards others. It just is... destiny's knots!

We hang on to the edge of the pool in the late day sun, then submerge briefly before shooting out of the water into the air. Summer is almost over. Summer Art classes in the city have ended for him and we are slowly talking about the experience.

Since my new character is an artist, we decided to talk about the art process after I left last time, but somewhere between my visit six weeks ago and now, the question had changed.  It started jelling as I watched Sean Combs promote himself masterfully on Jimmy Fallon one night. It came across as arrogant and narcissist, but then I wondered- If Combs didn’t promote himself, who would? Who else has as big a stake in Combs and his art as himself? Who else knows Combs' work better than he does?

I've known from the beginning that the one true thing about my new character is that he is self-centered- that and he runs instead of facing things. Many creative people seem self-centered or self-absorbed, focused on their own stuff, their own issues, their own work. When you talk to them about something else, they may pull away briefly, but in the end, it’s all about them.

“Are creative people self-centered?” I ask between dunks. 

He pauses briefly, letting the crystal water trickle through his fingers onto the cement. “They look at things through a different lens,” he replies thoughtfully. “When I was on the train yesterday, the lights were flickering off and on in an interesting pattern. Some people weren’t thrilled with that, but I thought it was fun. I waited eagerly for the next time they went out so I could see the play of light and dark again.” He scoops out a dead fly and throws it away from the pool.

Creative people do look at things differently and the commuter train in and out of the city is a perfect example of that. Many ride the train; content to sleep, read, or talk on their cell phones, blocking out those around them, while others absorb the texture, mood, and emotions that interplay between strangers. Watching the patterns of the lights when they flicker, comparing the contrast in fabrics, craning to see the broken windows and graffiti on the abandoned factory window, listening to people talk and savoring their dialect- for some people, that’s as normal as breathing.

“I think they have to be self-absorbed,” he continues a bit later. “They have to protect the art.” Protecting/promoting the art is one of those things we don’t like to think about our artists having to do in order to survive, and yet… without that drive, the art never becomes more than drawings in a sketchbook.

“Make sure your character carries a sketchbook with him at all times,” he reminds me as he steps out of the pool for more sunscreen. As he dries off and picks up his assigned summer reading that he didn’t read on the train this summer, I say a prayer that he’ll always look at things differently, through his own lens, and I wonder what his biographers will say when he’s seventy and his art is hanging in museums. Will they know about the boy who played with light and texture on the train home or will they think that he’s arrogant and self-absorbed without understanding that it’s part of the process of being creative?

“Your fingers are going to look like prunes if you stay in there much longer,” he says.

I ignore him and dive deep. I have too much to think about to get out the water anytime soon.

I'm SUPPOSED to be at the Newport Aquarium with close friends and their grandchildren, but my body is protesting and I'm stuck home with a kidney stone while I sort through six months of papers and listen to a CD by a friend.

One of the songs on this handmade CD has all the makings of a real hit- a highly marketable song, but he's given up his dream and there are only two copies of this song in existence- one is playing in the background as I write this.

I've been moping more than thinking all week as I try to figure out where to go next with my writing, but the only thing I know for sure is that I'm a writer, and that writing isn't something I can give up easily.

One of the things I've done while I've been thinking is return to Dostoyevsky's The Brothers Karamazov because there's nothing that helps a big funk like reading a Russian classic.

Today this section near the beginning shouted at me as the old and dying priest, Father Zossima, encourages Madame Haholakov saying, "... Above all, avoid falsehood, every kind of falsehood, especially falseness to yourself. Watch over your own deceitness and look into it every hour, every minute... what seems... bad within you will grow purer from your observing it yourself. Avoid fear, too, thought fear is only the result of falsehood.... love in action is a harsh and deadful thing compared with love in dreams. Love in dreams is greedy for immediate action, rapidly performed... but active love is labor and fortitude..." (pg. 66) 

It's like my friend who writes about giving up his dreams of happiness and how it hurts to give it up once more, how there's no one to catch you when you fall, and how the miracle of love is diamonds in the dew that evaporate away in the morning sun.

Ack- we are so good at lying to ourselves and we believe the lies because we want to, knowing that cost is something we'd rather not pay when the time comes.

I wish you could hear this CD but he doesn't want it heard. It's his last song before he kills the dream completely. False hope can't flame the fire in his soul anymore. Disappointment has left cold ash behind where hope once dwelled. Diamonds in the dew...

 For the last four years, the following song has been my motto-

Once In A Lifetime

(Not my English translation!)

Shinhwa

Eric:
Everyday I pray...to help me through the day...
to make myself stronger...
and I pray...

Minwoo:
So long I've waiting for my dreams to come to life
Believe that faith would make them come true

Hyesung:
And when I close my eyes in my heart I knew that someone was..
gonna listen my prayers.. somehow I knew

Junjin:
Beneath the stars at night I promise I would always try
And now I know it was worth the while

Dongwan:
Although it's hard sometimes you know that my love is always on your side
You can make it happen just believe

Chorus:
Once in a life time Fly to the stars

Hyesung:
There's no denying just believe in who you are

Once in your life time, let me take you there
Cause you dont have to feel all alone you know

Minwoo:
I will be there

Andy & Eric's Rap

Junjin:
Through all the joy and pain my dreams wont fade they still remain
Rainy days always come and go

Hyesung:
But love is always there I know as long as you are here with me
That eventually you'll see u oh~~

Chorus:
Once in a life time

Fly to the stars

Hyesung:
There's no denying just believe in who you are

Once in your life time Let me take you there
Cause you dont have to feel all alone you know

Dongwan:
I will be there

Minwoo:
Don't you ever let go or shed a tear

Dongwan:
(No Baby No More Cry)

Minwoo:
I'll be there so have no fear

Dongwan:
(I will pray for you and me tonight)

Hyesung:
When the moment's right
You'll know inside it's time
Inside you always knew
Dreams can come true

Chorus:
Once in a Lifetime~

So... if I give up, if I quit, it's not a dream deferred,

but a dream declined...

and yet...

I'm not sure I can keep dreaming...

free book-

go download it today...

esp. since i'm no closer to a decision about my own writing...

yesterday was church, cincymuseum to see dinos, sushi, and d-wars (a korean dino movie made for hollywood...)

I haven't decided what I'm going to do about writing yet- but so far I've made an awesome birthday gift for a friend, painted a livingroom and an upstairs bedroom, picked a ton of veggies and dropped a bunch off at my kid's house, started a new korean drama, did the dishes, saved the cat from a cat fight, and driven to my Dad's and back twice (2 hours each way) in two days.

I'm going to get a haircut, mow the lawn if the kid we hired doesn't do it soon, plant a huge bunch of cheap flowers- if I can find them cheap, and at least a hundred other things. At the end of this list, I'll think about writing again and make a sensible decision... so that's where I'm at. Hope your weekend isn't rainy or too hot or too buggy or too chaotic.....

screenplay didn't advance to the next round- am comtemplating what next... in the meantime, i'm going to my dad's to paint his rental farm house.... brb...

One of the books I picked up recently is a literary criticism book about Chinese poetry- not an easy read, but the slim volume is full of gems. Here's a quote from its passage on understanding how Chinese poets view love:

"The Chinese attitude towards love is sensible and realistic; love is given its proper place in life as an essential and valuable experience but not elevated above everything else. Chinese poetry sings of love in its manifold phases: the thrill of the first encounter, the yearning for the loved one, the torment of uncertainty, the ecstacy of fulfilment, the agony of separation, the humiliation and bitterness of being deserted, the final despair of bereavement." pg. 57 The Art of Chinese Poetry by James J.Y. Liu

Sounds like the beat sheet of a new Asian idol drama to me... except for the sensible and realistic part- wonder where that came from? Love is never sensible, realistic, or in its proper place--- never... or at least never if you're a writer!

"I'm the mother of a handicapped child," she said almost as soon as her feet hit the first step of pool, barely wet. She didn't tell us her name, but the most important thing in her life. "I lost 100 pounds," she said a few minutes later, signing as she spoke. "That's why I'm here. He's in the day care over there. I had surgery."

It seems kind of useless to me to sign in the pool when we're doing water aerobics and no one is deaf, but our teacher is fascinated. I'm a bit envious over the weight loss, but am determined to do mine the old-fashion way- pure grit, determination, sacrifice, and lots of salad and swimming. I'm not the slightest bit envious over her having an eight year old child with brain damage. It's the gorilla in the room that will never leave- no matter how many bananas you feed it. It takes all your energy to contain him and maintain a semblance of a life. I am impressed that she's finding a place for herself, but I wonder when she'll be able to announce to the world, "I am me. I have my own gifts, talents, and abilities that have nothing to do with my child and his issues." That's what makes me sad, I think.  

Too often, as women, we define ourselves by things outside ourselves- I am a mother, a wife, an employee. Those are important things in our lives, but it shouldn't be the main thing, or the most important thing, should it? Maybe it's because those are the superficial and easy things to communicate to others- almost shorthand, like a code that helps us figure out who we want to hang with.

I am....

Lemme tell you a secret... I hate hiking.

I'm not an outdoor person, but hiking is one of those things you have to do-

like going to the dentist- it's good for you and everyone goes, so you follow along behind them. 

I love the beauty of wilderness, but in reality, the things I love most are the things outdoor people hate- the fearless graffiti and the odd litter along the path.

I know, I know! I'm supposed to decry the defacing of the natural beauty, but it intrigues me. Who planned to scale the sharp face of the cliff with a backpack full of spray paint and had the time to complete the elaborate masterpiece? I want to meet the artist, talk to him about his internal motivation, and discuss his next project.

We hiked in the Jemez Mountains in New Mexico Saturday with family and friends.

It's a fairly simple hike (except you're over a mile high and I left my inhaler in the car so breathing was challenging) and at the end you're at a snow runoff waterfalls.

The water is freezing and the bees are plentiful, content to buzz you when you rest along the way.

The old Latino grannies hiking to the falls with their young ones put me to shame.

Surely if a skin and bones 90+ year old can walk up the steep path, climb over the rocks, and not lose her balance, then I can do the same.

Lunch was fun...

And stopping at the sulphur water reminded me of growing up in upstate New York where the land we lived on had the old American Indian name of "Land of Stinking Waters" and it smelled like home in a stinky sort of way.

My favorite place is the tunnels- tunnels blasted through the mountains for a train that never traveled through them.

At dusk, the colors are brilliant and I am touched by the memorial words on the rocks.

I understand the need to leave a reminder of a loved one who traveled on ahead of you.

Remember he lived, 

he loved,

he was special... remember....

"Burn like fire in water" the graffiti reminds me.

Maybe hiking isn't so bad....