Frida Kahlo--current muse.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Love until your hands bleed--
Sunday, Sunday...day of rest, or at least in all books hypothetical. It has been a full morning thus far. I rose early as a bird (in night-hawk terms) in time to slide in some standing and kneeling and thrashing of my way through hymns. This was followed by a brimming spread of breakfast food...hashbrowns, french toast, black coffee and slivers of fruit all intertwined on the plate balanced between my fingers. Dreamy.
The sun is sweet and heavy today, and my body is aching to soak up whatever warmth and natural light that it can. Of late, my limbs are frail from repeated pilgrimages to hot yoga classes. It is a good ache; the best sort. Like my bones and muscles are cursing and thanking me all in the same breath, but mostly they are adoring it.
I feel like I have been thinking a lot about the frailty and fleetingness of life these past few weeks. Although impersonal, the death of Heath Ledger streaked me with immeasurable sadness. The night following the news of his slipping from life, I saw a film that spiraled me even a little further into this head and heart space of thoughtfulness and borderline-melancholy. It was called "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly", and it is a stunning story of tragedy and a strange sort of renewal. Maybe it is my own personal slant on the world and all things life-giving right now, but in the space of that slender hour and a half, my innards were stirred. I felt drawn into a degree of sadness and awareness that is new to me; unrecognizable even. It feels alien-esque still. I think it is maybe to do with the fact that the emotions brought forth were so beyond myself--they failed to revolve around me or those in my reality; but, rather, the human condition in general, and our state of absolute unknowing and vulnerability. I continue to find it difficult, impossible even, to grasp the realization that the precious things I take for granted today, right now, in this very moment as my fingers graze the keyboard, are not guaranteed. They fail to be now, and the truth is that they never will be.
My intention is not to make this a reflection drenched in darkness and negativity. On the far-reaching contrary, I feel like collecting these pieces of tragedy and pain in my extended surroundings...picking them up like deadened leaves or water-glazed stones on a beach, internalizing them and living in consciousness of the beauty and sanctity of life--that is inspiring and that is good.
To life in the moment.
RB.
The sun is sweet and heavy today, and my body is aching to soak up whatever warmth and natural light that it can. Of late, my limbs are frail from repeated pilgrimages to hot yoga classes. It is a good ache; the best sort. Like my bones and muscles are cursing and thanking me all in the same breath, but mostly they are adoring it.
I feel like I have been thinking a lot about the frailty and fleetingness of life these past few weeks. Although impersonal, the death of Heath Ledger streaked me with immeasurable sadness. The night following the news of his slipping from life, I saw a film that spiraled me even a little further into this head and heart space of thoughtfulness and borderline-melancholy. It was called "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly", and it is a stunning story of tragedy and a strange sort of renewal. Maybe it is my own personal slant on the world and all things life-giving right now, but in the space of that slender hour and a half, my innards were stirred. I felt drawn into a degree of sadness and awareness that is new to me; unrecognizable even. It feels alien-esque still. I think it is maybe to do with the fact that the emotions brought forth were so beyond myself--they failed to revolve around me or those in my reality; but, rather, the human condition in general, and our state of absolute unknowing and vulnerability. I continue to find it difficult, impossible even, to grasp the realization that the precious things I take for granted today, right now, in this very moment as my fingers graze the keyboard, are not guaranteed. They fail to be now, and the truth is that they never will be.
My intention is not to make this a reflection drenched in darkness and negativity. On the far-reaching contrary, I feel like collecting these pieces of tragedy and pain in my extended surroundings...picking them up like deadened leaves or water-glazed stones on a beach, internalizing them and living in consciousness of the beauty and sanctity of life--that is inspiring and that is good.
To life in the moment.
RB.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Best is best.
These are a few of my favourite things, January-style:
*grunge breakfast at The Toad.
*2 a.m. faux-fireside yoga sessions.
*blueberry tea.
*soundtrack to "I'm Not There"(magic).
*a fresh scattering of plants throughout our apartment.
*wool socks.
*jewels of thrift store finds. (boots. sunglasses. fur-trimmed coats. to be specific.)
*pristine new journal, asking for words.
*lingering again and again over trip photos. feeling inner warmth.
*tasting and tossing around the prospect of going back to school.
*candles candles.
*scorching baths.
*hair-hacking inspiration.
*cat naps at strange hours.
*embracing hibernation.
It is time to crawl between sheets and lay eyes on my book of the moment.
Here's to hoping you are all warm and curled in your respective burrows as I am.
x.
Rebecca
*grunge breakfast at The Toad.
*2 a.m. faux-fireside yoga sessions.
*blueberry tea.
*soundtrack to "I'm Not There"(magic).
*a fresh scattering of plants throughout our apartment.
*wool socks.
*jewels of thrift store finds. (boots. sunglasses. fur-trimmed coats. to be specific.)
*pristine new journal, asking for words.
*lingering again and again over trip photos. feeling inner warmth.
*tasting and tossing around the prospect of going back to school.
*candles candles.
*scorching baths.
*hair-hacking inspiration.
*cat naps at strange hours.
*embracing hibernation.
It is time to crawl between sheets and lay eyes on my book of the moment.
Here's to hoping you are all warm and curled in your respective burrows as I am.
x.
Rebecca
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Element Eden:
Today I took myself on a frosty afternoon walk to the bank. The walk itself was uneventful...my thoughts like fluttering birds, but in a good way...hopeful and smoothened. There is an evenness to things right now that I cannot explain.
(Hang in, I assure you this story is more than a brutal reiteration of me depositing a cheque into my still-anorexic bank account)
I fail to exaggerate when I say that the teller, a bespectacled grandmotherly-type, pounced on me as if I were her own flesh & blood. In her defense, she was quite sweet about it. She also felt compelled to shower me with a torrent of questions about my life et. al., all the while clasping my hand over the counter in both of her own. I am actually laughing now as I realize how strange slash funny we must have looked to the flurry of people all around us...who, more likely than not, thought that I was confessing my sins to her, or some such thing. Anyways. Tears virtually glittered in my now-(apparently)BFF's eyes when she extracted the fact from me that I had just traveled through Europe. And, ridiculous as this may sound, her heartfelt excitement disarmed me. Initially, it weirded me out just a little, but then it hit me like a weapon--she was right. This random person who had known me 8-12 minutes, had a perspective that has eluded me...one of wonder and acknoweldgement of the significance of where I have been these past few months. Ironically, she was a breath of fresh air...this encounter that started with me wondering how I could slide myself away from it ended up turning into something real and necessary for me. I tore myself away from her revived and smiling. Jewel, that one.
And so, continuing the theme of cherished times had and indescribable experiences whilst hanging out all over a continent not my own, here are a few more stills...some of the best that had been evaded in the mess of photo organization. Enjoy, if you will.
My kitchen is dirt-streaked and calling. Pots and pans, broom and rubber gloves await.
I am off to oblige.
Embraces, and such.
(Hang in, I assure you this story is more than a brutal reiteration of me depositing a cheque into my still-anorexic bank account)
I fail to exaggerate when I say that the teller, a bespectacled grandmotherly-type, pounced on me as if I were her own flesh & blood. In her defense, she was quite sweet about it. She also felt compelled to shower me with a torrent of questions about my life et. al., all the while clasping my hand over the counter in both of her own. I am actually laughing now as I realize how strange slash funny we must have looked to the flurry of people all around us...who, more likely than not, thought that I was confessing my sins to her, or some such thing. Anyways. Tears virtually glittered in my now-(apparently)BFF's eyes when she extracted the fact from me that I had just traveled through Europe. And, ridiculous as this may sound, her heartfelt excitement disarmed me. Initially, it weirded me out just a little, but then it hit me like a weapon--she was right. This random person who had known me 8-12 minutes, had a perspective that has eluded me...one of wonder and acknoweldgement of the significance of where I have been these past few months. Ironically, she was a breath of fresh air...this encounter that started with me wondering how I could slide myself away from it ended up turning into something real and necessary for me. I tore myself away from her revived and smiling. Jewel, that one.
And so, continuing the theme of cherished times had and indescribable experiences whilst hanging out all over a continent not my own, here are a few more stills...some of the best that had been evaded in the mess of photo organization. Enjoy, if you will.
My kitchen is dirt-streaked and calling. Pots and pans, broom and rubber gloves await.
I am off to oblige.
Embraces, and such.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Love and some verses...
I am cooking asparagus and yam fries, sipping water, while Emmylou Harris twines her brilliant voice throughout my apartment. It has been a day of the good sort thus far...lunch date with Hilary, phonecall from my brother in the land that is hot, some letter-writing, and snatches of reading slipped all in between. I am a free woman tonight...sans shift at work, or any obligations other than a hangout with Melissa further along in the night. I am whittling away precious solitary hours sifting through photos, piecing through my own writing both past and present, and generally just enjoying the luxury of time at my fingertips.
I came across a gold mine of photos taken by the now-absent Tristan Fast (a la moment, also in the sun-drenched land of Costa Rica with my brother...bitches...!). He is my fakey-roommate, aka Sambeth's lover, and also an amazing photographer. Here is a bit of his magic on the eyes...
My apartment is a keeper, oui?
I think so too.
Current status:
One brother less...
and this petit one remaining...
for the next three months.
I am off to talk a walk in the darkness of this balmy January night.
Out,
R.
I came across a gold mine of photos taken by the now-absent Tristan Fast (a la moment, also in the sun-drenched land of Costa Rica with my brother...bitches...!). He is my fakey-roommate, aka Sambeth's lover, and also an amazing photographer. Here is a bit of his magic on the eyes...
My apartment is a keeper, oui?
I think so too.
Current status:
One brother less...
and this petit one remaining...
for the next three months.
I am off to talk a walk in the darkness of this balmy January night.
Out,
R.
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