Tuesday, November 15, 2011


there are infinite ways to look at something.  so many ways that you, with your two eyes, will never -not once- see the same thing twice.  blink and the scene has shifted.  don't blink- and still...change.

it is this reality that equally fuels me and deflates me.  because i am bored easily- so easily- i want nothing to be as it is, as it was, as it might be.  and yet, the very idea that something, or someone, i enjoy as is will be different- or merely look differently to me- is distressing.

i think i only like change when it is changing something i don't like much.

boredom haunts me.  as a mom- it is my worst enemy.  and the worst enemy of my children.  not that they are ever bored.  they aren't.  they find inspiration in chicken poop.  however, my boredom causes them harm- they just don't know that's what is doing it.

they know that mom freaks out, her eyes turn red and she suddenly cannot handle small injustices like lost library books, hidden hats, neglected chores.  they don't understand that underneath all that ridiculous rage is a very bored woman madly trying to drum up some excitement amidst the repetitive aspects of motherhood: the cleaning, the cooking, the shopping, the dropping off to sleep at 9 pm because....what the hell is there to do?

honestly- this is not something "they" do a good job of warning would-be mothers about....how boring it can be.  or maybe i just never read that article.  or even that magazine.   maybe i was too busy having fun being spontaneous and fancy-free.  you don't really expect to be bored if you have never been bored.

just when i am almost bored to the point that i forget what it is like not to be bored- a birthday party invitation arrives.  and not a party for my child or for any child.  a party for not children.  children are not invited at all.  while children will not be there, all the necessary ingredients for a good time will be: live music and dance floor.  there are other potential perks mentioned, namely some fun friends, bonfire, desert pot luck.  but really- i'm attending the party in order to dance.

of course, before dancing starts most people have to get drunk.  not me.  i get drunk by dancing, not in order to.  but i understand that some folks need/want to drink before dancing- so i chat it up and wait.  i sample deviled eggs and pumpkin chiffon cake and whiskey.  i'm not bored.  but i'm not dancing either.  i'm not idle, but i'm not airborne yet.  i'm taxi-ing on the runway though.

the band gets going and then going more.  they've got stand up bass,  drum kit, horn, keyboard,  voice.  many songs inspire dirty twist dancing moves.  i comply.  the small dance floor with the throw-rug-foot-grabbers are limiting at first until we roll those bastards up and flail about some so that the neighboring dancers get wary and give room.  some small distracting thoughts pop up in my head- reminiscent of middle school- possibly brought on by small clusters of pretty girls dancing at each other and giggling. 

but honestly, i'm so bored of my thoughts too.

i ignore them by focusing on my feet, in red shoes, and how they feel moving about without tripping over a toddle or a supposedly barn cat yowling at me for more food.  how my knees respond to the message from my tired soles and how my wide hips follow suit, my spine stretching and curving, my chest opening, arms raising up, mouth parted for warm air to escape from and return to.

there are moments then when i am fully in body- so much that my ego finally gives up her relentless cries and jibes- and this soaring sensation takes over.  this feeling of freedom and unlimited possibilities when i am so much larger than "i" am and i feel like i am everywhere and no where at once.

later, much later after i drive home around 3 am and nurse my son back to sleep- i would dream about dancing.  i would dream about dancing with these same friends, complete with top hat and mohawk, and when they tried to convince me to leave the dance, i would crumple and confess to them that i've never in my life danced to the point of exhaustion- that i have never danced so fully and so much that i was ready to stop.  i always wanted more.  even as i dreamed this i felt how beautiful and sad this thought was.  that i had something that would never be extinguished and that i had not ever found the end of it - and that the passion had been largely unexplored.

but it would be hours until i had that dream that still haunts me days later with it's clarity and confusion, so i continued dancing.  until the songs became too slow or the room too hot.  or the wind called me outside to stumble on bumpy grass and swirl in the gusts of rain-splattering wind with my friend's laughter and smile shining in the dark.

at some point in the night, either before, during or after the dancing, i stood next to a fox and looked up into the cloudy sky just as the wind blew away the coverage and exposed the moon.  she was graceful and aloof with a rainbow shining around her like a collar of pearl around a queen.  and the november wind blew the clouds continuously and steady until it looked as if the moon was flying up, ever faster, toward the center of the sky and never reaching it.

it looked as if she was moving swiftly toward something, with her eyes piercing the place she wished to land, fully believing she would land there soon. 

it looked as if she was swimming upstream past salmon, stones and stars to an open ocean and waves ready to wash her clean.

it looked as if she were leading a flock of swans over mountain ranges and over sky scrapers to land in warm muddy puddles of delight.

it looked as if it were all real and possible and completely perfectly right, just as one should expect from the moon.

and she didn't look boring at all.