Saudade

An Update.



I finished two months in the desert (slowly walking, medicinally yelling, generally caterwauling, exhausting, elating, impressing) and made a choice I've made, and suffered the consequences of, before, to drive my vehicle to California full of all my worldly possessions. Two days later, my truck and all my things were stolen, from the Oakland Hills (a mighty nice neighborhood) and I was left considerin'.

Understand that what was in my vehicle are not the only things I own, but they were the things I had made some extension of an attempt to protect in my gypsy manner, for years upon years, to keep and hold near my person, a place I deemed more safe than left alone for months in the sweltering and moldy heat of a new orleans summer, aboard my ship. My art porfolios, my tools, my music boxes and shiny things, my stuffed bear I'd had since, literally, my moment of birth, silly things, foul weather gear and leather boots, sentiments, photos of childhood and boxes of sage, you know. Treasures. Possessions. Weight.

It is that moment when something you were familiar with in a physical sense is replaced by a void. Its when your house burns down or your loved one dies--what was one there now is, simply, gone. I've addressed it before, its Hiraeth to the Welsh, Saudade in portuguese, its haunting and strange and difficult to process regardless of the name. Hell, there's nobody alive that can process that type of thing instantly, it takes us all a few days, a few months, the course of a life we spend reeling from one event to the next wondering, "what the hell was that?"

The truck was recovered. Its a damn miracle. Truckleberry smells weird, feels weird, and has some scars, and the act of banditery and subsequent recovery revealed some as heroes and others as foul. Like it does. I am immensely grateful for the support and recovery, and curious as to my feelings of owning a vehicle that I now know everybody wants to steal.

Theft, in this sense, is difficult for me to swallow. Its a bitter pill. I can understand, and even commend, theft as a response to true need. Hell, I have empathy for Somalian Pirates in that sense.  I do not, however, have empathy for a bunch of greedy, senseless motherfuckers who pirate my precious things just to throw them on the ground or make an easy buck. In a country such as this one, where there is already way too fucking much, the last thing anyone needs to do is steal from the fellow underbelly. Its injustice, and its wildly frustrating. You're lying to yourself to ignore the ever increasing baseline of fuckery in this country. Accept it, wise up and git tougher. Its pretty much par for the course, and pretty much so, so lame.

So, its another kick in the psyche. Its been a year chock full of 'em. Suicides, sicknesses and episodes of grief abound. Its a strange time. But, what can you do? Whats the response? Its like I've said, and will probably go down screaming, its about what you see from here. The future shapes itself to your whims. Its about what you see when you look at the pile of shit that might be your past, hell, maybe you take your hands and literally shape that shit into something new. You might not have a lot of friends if you go around sculpting piles of dog shit into dragons, fairy tales and fat men in little boats, but you'll be making a hilarious, and poignant, statement about life. I'm not here to judge. Whatever it takes.

Unless it is, its not the end of the world. Things are replaceable and more money exists. There are more trucks and there are more accordions, I can make more, and way better, art. I can look at this as the world telling me to let the fuck go, man, shed that skin. Its easier to get dressed in the morning if you only have two outfits. Many a time in this life i've only owned what I could carry, and there is, indeed, a particular type of elation in that experience that a lot of people never know.

Also. Also this. This is important. What you carry in your hands and in your heart and in your mind--those are things that they can never take away. Not when your things are stolen, not even in jail. You can sit pretty much anywhere you want with your memories, your ability to speak, your stories and your skills. Once you've learned something, its there with you, forever, regardless of the shirt on your back or the number of zeroes in your bank account. Who are you, without the things you own?  I can sit with that. I can also know that I are loved and safe and protected if I can be brave enough to ask by an astonishing number of truly wonderful people in this world. Its a big deal, that sensation. Imagination, and mental capacity, has no boundaries. They are the final frontiers, y'all. You can go farther there than anywhere else in the world, and you get to chose your experiences and your perceptions. Its just like those choose your own adventure books, except its our lives. Tally ho!

I'm working to heal and to recognize my own needs. Through this, and everything else life has written on her steel toe boots and then slammed into my lower diaphragm, I see more clearly all the time; I'm a very, very lucky girl.

"I am abstinent from the vice of pessimism."
--JEB Stuart

Thank you for your support, now and in the past. I intend to continue getting better all the time.


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