I'm home this year. Without the love of my life. And he fell for you, Grandmere. He fell hard and sure. Like I knew he would. Like I do for him, like he does for me. And in following that love, I saw many things. Festivals of incredible beauty and symbolism, unfathomable poverty, glorious temples, strange creatures and unbelievable stupidity. In following our path I saw faces that I didn't know were there. Maybe faces I'd forced myself not to see.
Being away for 6 months last year was eye opening. I knew I'd miss you, knew I'd be terribly homesick, but the reality still landed on my chest like the air had been sucked out of my lungs. And now that I am back, you are humbling me and I am trying my best to learn my lessons. I have become much closer to this culture. More invested in the little things. Less dismissive. More forgiving. More honest with myself. I let go with more grace and good will. You provided me with a wonderful teacher whose whiskey sweet voice guides me through phone lines.
It's all a flow. Tennessee Williams spoke of New Orleans and the moon. And he was right.
"New Orleans and the moon have always seemed to me to have an understanding between them. An intimacy of sisters grown old together. No longer needing more than a speechless look to communicate their feelings to each other.
This lunar atmosphere of the city draws me back whenever a time of recession is called for.
Each time I have felt some rather profound psychic wound, a loss or a failure I have returned to New Orleans.
At such periods I would seem to belong there and no place else in the country."
At such periods? At all periods.
Listening to: Words