Gotta keep plugging....

(another part of the story- I'm doing this randomly and will have to figure it all out order-wise later)

Nic showed me a photo of herself today.  ONe from when she was younger.  And while I know she used to club Miami-Vice style with the short skirts, padded shoulders, and Earl Klugh playing in the background, while I know she was probably pretty (she's beautiful now in her 50s), while I know she must have been fun (she's still so silly she can bring herself to tears), with all this running through my mind, it's still hard for me to ever imagine her young.  It's hard for me to picture her with life still laid out before her, untouched, unmarred by bad experiences, unwritten, unscripted, still open to possibilities and achieving her potential.

Because when I met her, she had already decided it was over.  SHe had already decided that, though she wanted desperately badly to go back to school, she could never learn anything new.  Havign lived through several partners and living with a failed ex-husband, she had already closed the door on love.  Having flown by the seat of her pants, she had already decided that it was better to stay grounded.  Even if that left her unenthused about future prospects.  Even if she even realized that she had assigned herself to defeat.

So here was a young Nic- more than beautiful.  Hair streaming down her back, the full watt smile,  her double dimples puncturing both round, full cheeks.  And she looked carefree.  A misnomer, I know, because I dont' think the woman has ever had a day of peace.  I don't think her inner demons have ever let her go, ever let her enjoy the moment she's in now because they keep expecting her to pay back atrocities that were done to her.

I consider myself lucky.  I've never been asked to peddle a religion that turned its back on me.  I've never had my family turn a blind eye to a respected church member, an uncle, who was abusing me.  And others.

I've never had to run away, drop out of school, shield my child from violent men, live in a car, deal with the mob, ask my children for a forgiveness they won't extend and my parents for an admittance they won't dare deliver.

Maybe that's why I see both myself and her as still full of potential.  I only wish she could see it in herself.  She sometimes reminds me that she was smarter and more beautiful then than I will ever be.  I think she does this because she's envious of the opportunities that I have squandered.  I'd be mad at her if we weren't such good friends, but deep down, I understand that Nic needs to be appreciated and loved.  Which I do.  We have a bit of a mutual admiration society going on between us.

I admire who she is for surviving.  Sometimes I'm not sure what she admires about me.  It isn't the brain- though that's what she claims- because I know that's envy and that she occasionally despises me for how easy I learn.

I admire her for not falling victim to all the traps that someone of her past so easily falls into (booze, abuse, crime).  I don't htink she believes me when I tell her she's strong, that I have faith that she can still conquer the world.

We've both given up.  I think most people might claim that the things we have in common are we are both strong, passionate, caring women with a ridiculously silly streak.  They're wrong.  What we have in common is that we don't push ourselves out of fear, that we take our current situation (of which we are both deeply unhappy but will only complain about the superficialities of it when it is the deep, oh the deep deep pervasive melancholy of not being where we want to be) as the way it has to be because we've already declared ourselves a failure.

And I know that people think I'm great at a job I think I half-ass.  But the same goes for her.  To an extreme.  She's a talanted, dedicated woman working a low pay, thankless, mediocre job.  I'm not where I'm supoosed to be, but at least I'm in a related realm.  Nic's worlds away from where she ought to be.  And worlds away from that photograph.

But all I could say was "You look cute" and move on to somethign else.

As I don't usually give men credit for anything, I'd like to throw them an unusual bone for recognizing something that women forget: boobies are magical.

I think that as little girls, we know this.  We can't wait to grow a pair of our own and are mystified when we see them on adults.  But then we get a set and lose interest.  We chastise men for being so enthralled with what we come to consider just another body part. And then we have children and for a very short while, we are reminded- boobies are magical.

My son can fall and skin his face; he can be wailing over some invisible threat, he can be cranky about teething, he can be sad, lonely, any negative emotion, and I can thrust my breast in his mouth and suddenly the screaming stops, the tears cease, his body becomes limp and sometimes, he even falls asleep.  You can solve just about every baby worry with a little bit of booby, because somewhere deep in the recesses of the primordial human mind (which is what the baby functions off of), everything is okay when there's booby.

War, famine, a failing economy, the destruction of the earth- none of it matters so long as there's booby.  There will always be food; there will always be comfort, there will always be a soft place to rest one's head.  There will always be booby.

IN other news, I've had one of those weeks where I actually feel appreciated (unfortunately, this has nothign to do with my son, the ingrate).  I missed Monday and Tuesday because the day care was closed.  When I came back on Wednesday, this new girl told me that she had had so much fun the last two days and everyone had told her, "Just wait until the teacher gets back."  I also received an e-mail from the company from which we contract skills trainers for the kids saying that my classroom is the most requested place to work and that when people are 'shadowing' as part of their job training, the reason why we get so many is because they think of my classroom as an ideal environment and want the skills trainers to see how a program shoudl be run before they get placed in some other school.  Wow.

On eof my aides sat me down and told me how it's not the same without me (I only missed two days!) and that she really loves working with me, that I'm her favorite teacher (and she's been in the system for over ten years).  Also, usually when a teacher is gone with sub plans, everyone turns it into a free day.  Not my team.  Turns out they followed a schedule very close to what I would plan and engaged in the sort of activities I usually do even thought I know they'd rather not.  That's a high compliment on how orderly and routine we must be, which is odd becaues I usually feel as though I'm floundering.

On Thursday, I brought out a mat and had wrestlign matches (some might call this exploiting retarded children for my own amusement; I call it PE).  They don't really wrestle.  The number one rule is you can't hurt anyone; plus you have to stay on the ground and most the time I have them wrestle adults.  A little later in the day, one of the students from next door was crying silently at the table and wouldn't go to lunch.  No one knew what was wrong.  I went over, stood him up for a hug (again, the magic of boobies as he buried his head in my chest) and asked him if it was because he lost the wrestling match.  He shook his head "no."  Then I remembered he hadn't really been into the wrestling which is odd for him.  So I asked him if it was because everyone had made gingerbread houses that morning and he's not supposed to do holiday- related activities (because he's Jehovah Witness- this was done in the classroom next door; I would not have been so culturally insensitive).  He sniffed a bit and hugged harder.  I just held him and then asked if he felt better.  He said yes and went to get his lunch.  Afterwards, this hippie-dippie nurse who was tube-feeding one of my students told me how amazing I was.  That even though she's only there for a few minutes each day, she keeps witnessing these events where I intuit what a student needs or what has gone wrong even when the child is unable to communicate that on their own.  She says she's learned a lot watching how I validate the students feelings, but never feel sorry for them or allow them to feel sorry for themselves, how with a few words and gestures I seem to solve problems and make everyone feel better.

I had been unaware that I even did this.  I guess I just don't even think about it.  I told her that and one of the other adults chimed in, ":That's what makes it so effective and amazing.  Because it's natural"  So I'm feeling pretty proud of myself. Or at least as though I've found my calling and it doesn't matter so much that I don't make a lot of money.  Even if I were independently wealthy, I woudl keep doign htis because it's where I am needed.  It's where ican make a positive difference and not everybody can say that about their jobs.

Hooray for me!

pre-continuative

(okay, so now I'm doubling back to an earlier part of the story)

I decided to join a writing club.  I was excited about the prospect of writing again, but secretly I was more enthralled with the idea of getting out of the house.  Everyone seemed... I don't know... Excited with themselves, with what they were doing, and I felt I couldn't muster up that same enthusiasm.  I've always wanted to write a book.  Maybe a collection of essays.  But I'm beginning to believe this is one of those crackpipe fantasies like making it into the movies.  I could get self-published, but then that's the same as appearing in home movies and telling people I've been in films.

I've never understood that particular fantasy- wanting to make it big in Hollywood.  I get the 'wanting to be rich' part.  But then why not become an investment banker.  At least that way you don't have anyone looking through your garbage, critiquing your every social move, or trying to fictionalize your 'real' life (though I guess we all do that for ourselves to some extent).  Plus, you can never wear sweatpants in public again.

I guess some people do it for the glory, for the fame, but let's call it what it is- a trifecta of deadly sins- pride, lust, and reversed envy.  They want people to want to be them.  To be as beautiful (airbrushed) or as talented (though you don't necessarily need any of that these days).  Becoming a star is a bit of a crapshoot.  And it's not like anyone goes into it because they want to change lives, open people's minds.

Or maybe they do.  I want to win the Pulitzer.  Not for the cash, not for acclaim, just for the recognition.  Just a nod of acknowledgement that hey, that's pretty good, you're pretty talented, now you can go back to your 'real' life with the house and the kid and the mortgage and responsibility.

I wonder if I'd quit.  Maybe I'd opt to do a movie, adapt it to a screenplay.  So then I could dress up in Roberto Cavelli haute couture, get golden hair extensions, hire a personal trainer, dazzle them on the red carpet, and have them go through my garbage.  Stalk my children, take pictures through the windows of me in my ratty tatty underwear.

No thanks.  I just want my son and future daughter to know that anything is possible if you dream it (and then, of course, put in the requisite effort- hard work, diligence, and talent).  Not like Hollywood where all you have to do is sleep with the right people and find an agent who isn't afraid of hard work, diligence, and lack of talent.

In any case, we gave ourselves an assignment- to write every day for a month, and I thought, "wow, what a fabulous idea (bask in the glowing sarcasm)!  So that's the answer to all my writer's block."  Except I shouldn't be sarcastic.  I go months and months without writing a thing, and a novel that will never make.

I used to write everyday, and if I could get back to that I would, but I'm not going to solve my fictional sparsity by churning out crap.  Because I've tried methods such as this before and they always turn into thirty page lamentations on how I need to exercise, why I shouldn't have eaten that deep-fried bacon-wrapped hot dog, who pissed me off that day, and most vexingly, what I want  to write.  I just never follow through on that last part (nor on the exercise).

But I get the point.  It's hard work.  And every time I actually do sit down and write, I rid myself of the blockage that keeps me from writing.  Sure, I'll have to sift through thirty six pens of ink to discover one nugget of wisdom, but perhaps there's a story on all of that.

I just don't want it to be about my baby (damnit, I don't want it to be about him).  And I don't want it to be about myself in some former life (like before the baby, damnit there her is again).  I want to write about somethign I know nothing about.  Like engineering or science or royalty falling in love with a warrior. I want to write something blaringly false, but comforting in its ignorance.

Nah, nah, nah, I want to write the truth.  Or at least some truth as I somehow see it.  So I guess this isn't too faulty of a start.  It'll be laborous and time-consuming to start, but if it's not a trial, it's not worth doing.  Lies.  Sitting at the beach is certainly worth it, as is sitting in a lazy boy reading trashy romance novels.  Those aren't difficult to push through; they just don't produce any tangible results (excpet for this fabulous tan and this vague conception of how the ton functioned).

But I'm not gonna follow the rules.  I'm not gonna work on my story; I'm not gonna keep a journal; I'm not gonna give myself any needless instructions or strive for some end product.  I'm just gonna meditate and open my mind to the resuts, letting them flow through my fingers, onto the page, and pretend that this is the beginning of somethign I want to do.

cont..

.(scratch the last paragraph)

Or so I've been told.  What Sapiens refer to as Gods have been around since the sapiens (I'll cease capitalizing as one does nto capitalize dogs or fairies) began civilizations.  The true difference between sapiens and the other animal species is their capacity for Belief.  And imagination.  So the Almighty created Beings that addressed these beliefs and imaginings and let them intermingle on Earth.

But by definition, these Beings did not fit into a three-dimensional world, could not be constricted by time and space, and so an additional Sphere was created that encapsulated the Earth but could not be seen from it.  At first, the Beings choose to live amongst the people, retreating to their outside Sphere when they so desired.  Yet as time passed, the sapiens grew less interesting, more fundamental and dogmatic.  Gone was the creative, enterprising spirit that allowed for humour and tragedy, for wisdom and magic.  Civilization, societies, day-to-day dronings, acceptance of what is, arrogance and apathy- these killed the Being's interest.  Where was the fun?

But it didn't kill it for all.  And it was at about this time that I came into the picture.  I won't go into my origin story; that's unnceccesary to the plot.  What I will say about myself is this: I am the Clerk, the cataloguer of which Beings have dabbled in which sapien lives.

I came after Hercules, after Hanuman, after Gilgamesh.  I came into play when the stories continued to be told, but ceased to be created (except for some politician's glory).  I came to document interaction between Beings and sapiens that would go unnoticed, because no one really believed anymore.

Loki, Eris, Coyote- they all still act in devilish ways, scheming, playing, making fools of those they choose.  They just do so less often and in increasingly subtle ways.

So here's how I file- there are Regional Beings, ones who have etched out a sphere of influence on the Earth, tied to the land in which they first emerged and continue to have an affinity for.  There are traditional Beings that follow a specific religious, spiritual, or ethnic grouping and migrate with them wherever they might go.  Lastly, there are the guardian Beings, who pick and choose at their own volition the sapiens they will both serve and master.  These categories are loosely specific as any Being acts at will.

In any case, densities of where the Beings hang out is directly related to the history and unearthly magnetism of a place.  Jerusalem is a hotbed of Being activity- which is why it is in constant turmoil.  It is a place of miracles and unbridled emotion, of illogical desires and single-mindedness.  More recently civilized regions located where the ground/air is not infused with proper aspect- these towns (think Los Angeles) do not attract Beings.

Perhaps I have not explained this all well, but all that matters is that one gets the gist, understands that magic still exists, that the world sometimes functions beyond scientific understanding.  Sapiens knew this once.  It's only a reminder I offer so that the rest of my story makes sense.  (baby woke up; time to go to Costco)

 I'm going ot attempt to continue my story.  But seeing as how I don't remember where  left off, perhaps it'd be best if I started in the middle.  Or maybe somewhere off to the side.

In the beginning, there were gods.  And as gods begat beings and beings invented gods, there became an Almighty, and then a legion of powers that be.

The Almighty is air, breath, light, and energy.  Earth, wind, water, fire.  The Almighty created the powers, the field of the powers, the underlings for them to toy with, and the ground on which those underlings played.

The Almighty created creation, conceived conception, and imparted into each of us, those above and below, with a sense of vocation.  And within our existences, he created conflict so as to judge....

I go too far.  I only know of what he has done.  I certainly don't understand, nor can I pretend to understand, the inner workings of her why.  If we all have purpose, surely s/he has one to. Maybe belonging to some higher realm again in which even s/he is a plaything.  But I know none of this.  Only what contact I have in this circle as a file clerk, tracking the movements of the Beings, the Sapiens, and the myriad of wonder in between.

Hmmmm.  I see I am no good at narrative.  That's what happens, I suppose, when one merely takes notes.  The shuffling of the index cards is one thing- a list of facts I could easily give.  But putting them together into a story that makes sense?  And I forget myself.  I do not weave the tales; that is not my forte.  I merely keep the data and for what, I still do not know.  But this particular case, not alone in its cross-filings, not exceptional in its circumstances, certainly seemingly no more important than any others... somehow it has managed to capture my interest.  I, who pride myself on being detatched, on being able to look on the Sapien world and the Beings Space with a critical, objective eye, disinterested yet dutiful in taking notes and keeping files....

It is notable to me to have a pronounced opinion.  That is what I noticed first.  And then I began to think, have I been biased?  Have I been partial?  Have I allowed my thought to sometimes be independent of events?  Have I strayed?  And then does this mark my trial, the great hurdle, the philosophical turnign point?

Or have I been begging over the millenia to have such a crossroads and therefore manifested it into being, at will, a spiraling of interest sparked by one case being catalogued at such a time as my independence asserted itself?

Logically, I conclude the latter.  And with all this being hashed out, I should chose to return to the story, but not before offering up some clarifying information for those who don't have the details I am privy to.

As I said as I began, there exists an Almighty, whom for the intent and purpose of this story probably does not bear mentioning again.  I was not there in the beginning, so while I can not be positive on how it all went down, I can conjecture from what stories I have heard from those who were there nearest to the onset of this existence we know.

It started with the rock, with minerals and vapors, then with flora and fauna.  And then came the Sapiens, different from the experimental species before because, while all creations bear the mark of the Almighty, only these new Beings had somethign more.  An additional element of the Almighty.  And as s/he morphed them, evolved them, they became further separated from the other animal species, already differentiated from the flora, again from the minerals, again from the vapors of light and space and energy.

And then another idea emerged, another set of Beings, with again a breath closer to the Almighty, and in this set we find what some Sapiens call Divinity.