Photographs of State Park in Washington (July 2012)
I am lost for words today. A woman in a forest of thoughts and mystery, both intrigued and frightened by her own mind.
I am between two rivers, two streams of thought, of how I am to be and what I want to be.
I question my every need, my every desire, my unyielding passion. And yet I know I am pure. I know I am enough. But I wonder where to turn in my mind. Where to stop. Where the boundaries are…when thoughts are exhausted and nothing else exists.
I only want to be loved. I only long to give love. But why do I long? Where does the longing rise from? Where is the switch? This knowing? This intensity? Where is this me that calls from beneath the shadows?
I measure everything. I place abstractness on scales. My actions are spared, as my thoughts have been filtered through and through, weighed out, analyzed, scrutinized…my actions don’t have a chance…they are absent…missing…vapors evaporating before they breathe.
Where do I travel? Where do I go? Why am I a lone wanderer on a planet that does not feel familiar and in a body and form I do not recognize? Why can I see others more clearly than my own self? And where do I stand? If I do not follow and do not lead, then where is my place in line?
Where is my reflection? Where do I find me. I cannot see me except through the eyes of another, and still this perception is so broken and shattered. And in my own mirror, I do not know this me. Everything in physical is not me. Every angle different and obscure. If I am not what I see and not what another sees, then what am I?
Am I my words? These symbols? These sounds? Am I energy? Am I flesh? Am I this still beating heart? Or am I more so this ache, this deep and unreachable ache. Yes, I am this ache. I am in totality this intense ache.
So where to put me, this angst, this invisible pull that spins me into unwanted need and unneeded want. Where to put me?
Perhaps to the moon. Fly me to the moon, so I may be made whole. So that I may exist as an unmistakable mass dancing in empty space. My purpose only to move and stir. Paste me there. My image melted into one form. This searching ended. Paste me to the moon, so that I may watch from above and you may watch from below; and then we can both, from where we exist, imagine the world of the image before us.
My great-grandparents came to the Monterey Bay Area in Northern California in 1906. My Nana worked in the canneries my Nano was an Italian fisherman. They were Sicilian. Photos of some of my relatives can be found at the Monterey Bay Aquarium. I consider the town of Monterey and Pacific Grove my home. I was raised here for many of my childhood years and graduated high school in this area. Here are some photos I took of Pacific Grove during my recent trip in July 2012. I was able to see a good friend and two of my aunts during the visit. I had a joyous time. Very healing. Thankful for photos, as I am all talked out, after staying up until about 1:30 am every night of my trip, chatting it up with relatives.
We stayed in this 1915 house that has been converted into a hotel.
Along Lover’s Point
Very friendly and trusting gull
I walked all three days for an hour around the sea.
Sea lions basking in the fog.
I like this photo of the seagull.
Tree outside out hotel. How old, I wonder?
And the song I cried to often when I had to leave Pacific Grove and move to the East Coast…..only to return some eight months later…had I only known…