Only you
I see others have touched in to LJ every once in a while ... a respite from the oh so public 'other worlds' online. It feels intimate here -- possibly because so many of us are still virtual, and not even considering any ftf meetings? Yes, I've seen so many of you in the other worlds (how do we juggle them all?!) - even followed some of you to these more vibrating, chattering places. And, yes, I still write here -- only, most of the time, I lock it for myself alone.
Odd? To write and never share? LOL. I have bundles of journals from over the decades that have never been read by anyone! I write. I write and I write. I think it is often more a 'sorting' process for me. Sometimes I find my answers. Mostly, I guess, I just don't want those that are near me to inhibit my writing. That is why I am here today ... sharing my writing with only you.
I have been traveling for three months (and have been in Fethiye, Turkey for the past month). I write in FB; write on couchsurfing; post pics in flickr; post stories in my other LJ account; send emails and ... write my intimate thoughts in a thin blue student journal that I carry with me everywhere. I sit in tavernas, in cafes, in bufes ... over expresso, over çay ... I always have my secret blue friend with me.
Some recent snippets from the blue journal:
10/22 (Rhodes)
I miss real discussions I must note these feelings. Travel is wearing me down? (Well, four languages in two months...) I am just sliding over the surface -- like those water spiders. I want roots for a while.
It has occurred to me - those days of feeling "unfettered" and floating off into the ether ... have resulted in this. What does one do with such freedom? (Panic?! LOL)
'Things Happen' - this is the book the taverna owner, Phil, is writing. I am sitting here with my tea writing. I am now officially stalling - my boat doesn't leafe for 4 hours. I do a lot of stalling while traveling. It creates spaces into which people flow.
... I celebrated the full moon last night with a glass of wine at Nikos' cafe. He has been kind - sharing a special dessert (his mother's recipe) and a locally brewed peach brandy. We have chatted and laughed. I hugged him goodbye. It made me aware of how much I miss conversation/contact. I don't have to be without it It has been my choice to stand back and watch. I can invite myself in. I can recreate myself each time I move. But, I'm finding I prefer getting closer to the real me. And ... I really like it when others see and embrace her.
10/27 (Fethiye)
...I should move on; I just want to sit here. I want to watch the rain. I want to feel. I want to imagine. Maybe I want answers? How much longer *can* I travel? Why would I? If I don't travel - then what? Hawai'i? Seattle? I have no idea how this chapter of my life is supposed to move. I tear up when I remember my life in Hawai'i - how hard and limited it was. Hawai'i has never held me gently. I've been allowed to 'perch' ... precariously. Will Turkey embrace me? Can I serve here?
I need to think "nagdeo" -- keep to things that feed my soul; move (gently) away from those that don't.
Moving without language is a kind of blindness, muteness. Aside from the obvious challenges, I also find that I am talking differently - much more precisely, carefully. It is much like feeling my way in the dark.
Most of the culture is hidden from me. One can't 'read between the lines' if one cannot read the lines at all.
"Throw the fish heads over the rail," she said. How delightful - I could hear the cats below munching.
11/8 (living in the hotel in Fethiye)
My spirit is collecting way too many feelings to process. S's hospitalization was hard for us. But we all know he probably won't stop drinking.
So ... several nights of dreams. Some parallel the day in tone -- quiet acceptance and warmth without any expectations. No pushing, no pulling. S is teaching me how to flirt. Simple, non-threatening play. He loves it - laughs loudly; acts like a clown. It took me a while to understand the game of it all. I can be such a pompous ass. On another level, I feel the warmth. Yes, if *I* were the one to collapse at the cafe, he would have been next to me instantly.
... then there is the deja vu. I feel it all the time - having been here and having lived all this. My dreams of the water place and the town (almost like a cartoon) ... it is a round harbor and the people are colorful; there are boats. It is Fethiye? I feel as if I've stepped into a painting.
11/18
Which will end first, my money or this journal. Today I leave for a couchsurfing adventure.
S. was hounding me this morning. Every time I turned around, he was behind me with a sad face. I told him I'd be back - I left my large backpack, for heaven's sake. I had to stamp my foot and tell him, "Stay! Stay!" when I was leaving for the bus. I should have remembered what happened when I thought it would be cute to feed the squirrels.
OK, funny, but not quite sincere. I have been spending many, many warm moments with S. Our tavla games are hilarious (he is a great teacher), We sit for hours reading from the Turkish-English dictionary, sipping çay, miming and laughing while we correct each others' pronunciation. He was the perfect person to go to Kayaköy with me. I like silence; he was a forest engineer -- has lived in silence. He knew how to feel the experience; he makes no demands.
11/22 (end of visit in Candir)
There are huge spaces in my understanding of what Turkish people say to me. And I can misunderstand them in a million ways. Perhaps that was a big part of my emotional crash into the man. We could talk (and talk, and talk, and talk) It was so intense, so brilliant, so alive.
But, after it all, I must remember this: a man who hated his mother will - inevitably - hate me. Very sad. Some scars cannot be healed I guess.
It was an important lesson; though one that I didn't want. He was H. from my past (re-formed); I was O. from his past. Perhaps that was the core attraction. We could not really focus on each others' face - we were looking beyond that, back into our history. I saw. My eyes burn.
A talk with my sister helped. "Peter Pan, self-absorbed, inconsiderate (his priority is the next fix of the drug)" -- she defined "pot head" for me. And they don't change (she talked about the way they transfer their addiction to something else -- without loosing any of their flippant self-delusion). I didn't imagine it. But ... still ... I am torn.
My body aches. Opening that sensual door was dangerous. I see myself - and all men - differently now. I want to be wildly free and screaming. So strange. I thought (as Augustine said in Ata) it had left me. I am moving like a sea anemone - trembling in the gentle currents.
I don't feel rejected; just sad. It should not end in rancor, I will have to initiate reconciliation (albeit, it may be better to give him a few days to smoke out all his stash, lol)
... back to strolling through Fethiye ... breathing in all the life around me.
Odd? To write and never share? LOL. I have bundles of journals from over the decades that have never been read by anyone! I write. I write and I write. I think it is often more a 'sorting' process for me. Sometimes I find my answers. Mostly, I guess, I just don't want those that are near me to inhibit my writing. That is why I am here today ... sharing my writing with only you.
I have been traveling for three months (and have been in Fethiye, Turkey for the past month). I write in FB; write on couchsurfing; post pics in flickr; post stories in my other LJ account; send emails and ... write my intimate thoughts in a thin blue student journal that I carry with me everywhere. I sit in tavernas, in cafes, in bufes ... over expresso, over çay ... I always have my secret blue friend with me.
Some recent snippets from the blue journal:
10/22 (Rhodes)
I miss real discussions I must note these feelings. Travel is wearing me down? (Well, four languages in two months...) I am just sliding over the surface -- like those water spiders. I want roots for a while.
It has occurred to me - those days of feeling "unfettered" and floating off into the ether ... have resulted in this. What does one do with such freedom? (Panic?! LOL)
'Things Happen' - this is the book the taverna owner, Phil, is writing. I am sitting here with my tea writing. I am now officially stalling - my boat doesn't leafe for 4 hours. I do a lot of stalling while traveling. It creates spaces into which people flow.
... I celebrated the full moon last night with a glass of wine at Nikos' cafe. He has been kind - sharing a special dessert (his mother's recipe) and a locally brewed peach brandy. We have chatted and laughed. I hugged him goodbye. It made me aware of how much I miss conversation/contact. I don't have to be without it It has been my choice to stand back and watch. I can invite myself in. I can recreate myself each time I move. But, I'm finding I prefer getting closer to the real me. And ... I really like it when others see and embrace her.
10/27 (Fethiye)
...I should move on; I just want to sit here. I want to watch the rain. I want to feel. I want to imagine. Maybe I want answers? How much longer *can* I travel? Why would I? If I don't travel - then what? Hawai'i? Seattle? I have no idea how this chapter of my life is supposed to move. I tear up when I remember my life in Hawai'i - how hard and limited it was. Hawai'i has never held me gently. I've been allowed to 'perch' ... precariously. Will Turkey embrace me? Can I serve here?
I need to think "nagdeo" -- keep to things that feed my soul; move (gently) away from those that don't.
Moving without language is a kind of blindness, muteness. Aside from the obvious challenges, I also find that I am talking differently - much more precisely, carefully. It is much like feeling my way in the dark.
Most of the culture is hidden from me. One can't 'read between the lines' if one cannot read the lines at all.
"Throw the fish heads over the rail," she said. How delightful - I could hear the cats below munching.
11/8 (living in the hotel in Fethiye)
My spirit is collecting way too many feelings to process. S's hospitalization was hard for us. But we all know he probably won't stop drinking.
So ... several nights of dreams. Some parallel the day in tone -- quiet acceptance and warmth without any expectations. No pushing, no pulling. S is teaching me how to flirt. Simple, non-threatening play. He loves it - laughs loudly; acts like a clown. It took me a while to understand the game of it all. I can be such a pompous ass. On another level, I feel the warmth. Yes, if *I* were the one to collapse at the cafe, he would have been next to me instantly.
... then there is the deja vu. I feel it all the time - having been here and having lived all this. My dreams of the water place and the town (almost like a cartoon) ... it is a round harbor and the people are colorful; there are boats. It is Fethiye? I feel as if I've stepped into a painting.
11/18
Which will end first, my money or this journal. Today I leave for a couchsurfing adventure.
S. was hounding me this morning. Every time I turned around, he was behind me with a sad face. I told him I'd be back - I left my large backpack, for heaven's sake. I had to stamp my foot and tell him, "Stay! Stay!" when I was leaving for the bus. I should have remembered what happened when I thought it would be cute to feed the squirrels.
OK, funny, but not quite sincere. I have been spending many, many warm moments with S. Our tavla games are hilarious (he is a great teacher), We sit for hours reading from the Turkish-English dictionary, sipping çay, miming and laughing while we correct each others' pronunciation. He was the perfect person to go to Kayaköy with me. I like silence; he was a forest engineer -- has lived in silence. He knew how to feel the experience; he makes no demands.
11/22 (end of visit in Candir)
There are huge spaces in my understanding of what Turkish people say to me. And I can misunderstand them in a million ways. Perhaps that was a big part of my emotional crash into the man. We could talk (and talk, and talk, and talk) It was so intense, so brilliant, so alive.
But, after it all, I must remember this: a man who hated his mother will - inevitably - hate me. Very sad. Some scars cannot be healed I guess.
It was an important lesson; though one that I didn't want. He was H. from my past (re-formed); I was O. from his past. Perhaps that was the core attraction. We could not really focus on each others' face - we were looking beyond that, back into our history. I saw. My eyes burn.
A talk with my sister helped. "Peter Pan, self-absorbed, inconsiderate (his priority is the next fix of the drug)" -- she defined "pot head" for me. And they don't change (she talked about the way they transfer their addiction to something else -- without loosing any of their flippant self-delusion). I didn't imagine it. But ... still ... I am torn.
My body aches. Opening that sensual door was dangerous. I see myself - and all men - differently now. I want to be wildly free and screaming. So strange. I thought (as Augustine said in Ata) it had left me. I am moving like a sea anemone - trembling in the gentle currents.
I don't feel rejected; just sad. It should not end in rancor, I will have to initiate reconciliation (albeit, it may be better to give him a few days to smoke out all his stash, lol)
... back to strolling through Fethiye ... breathing in all the life around me.