Joined: 06 Sep 2011
|Posted: Tue Oct 18, 2011 4:51 am Post subject: A Grandmother's Roses
|This story is about breaking out of the perception of the boundaries that are communicated by society and conditioning and realizing that a whole new world can be constructed out of your own designs…look for the techniques, look for the ability of memory, perception, and experience to play out in a way that certainly helps us along the way in its own divine way.
A Grandmother’s Roses:
I know a woman who could use a hug. Her favorite color is red and no one gets close enough to her except to smell her rose perfume that I’ve never noticed that she physically had. She just smelt like roses. Her house smelt of roses. Her couches her kitchen her bed all smelt of roses and now I don’t like the scent of roses. Now I cant buy rose soap.
Rose soap reminds me of her who would face herself in mirrors all day for hours upon hours she would look at herself and fix her hair for hours even though it did not come past her shoulders. She loved her hair it was so thin. It was so wavy. It was so black with gray bits in it. She would stare so long I would become hungry. She would stare so long I would become bored. She would stare so long she would not eat. She would stare so long she did not sleep.
I lived in two worlds back then. The ones I sketched on paper. The 2d construction with no straight lines. I don’t think straight lines exist. The friends I constructed who would help me build tree houses out of wood we could not pay for. We rowed boats in swimming pools and slept no more. We only congregated to speak of what else we could build. The colors would bleed into each other and it never rained even though the sky was moist. The sky looked as watercolors blue into purple red into yellow. The streets had no sidewalks so we pronounced ourselves in their middle with bare feet sounding so loud as we walked the neighbors would hide and never want to know who we were.
Then she would come and tear me from that world with her antics that never made any more sense then the worlds that we could not pay for.
Then one day while I was walking home from school past Adair St. I saw an alleyway and wanted to taste the fear of walking unknown territory. I saw writings on the walls and bricks that were coming apart. It pained me to know that this neighborhood belonged to children and their grandmothers. Where were the baby’s mommies, daddies, and grandfathers? I guess for once it is easy to see that grandmothers and children can easily build the new world. I saw a door that had been walked through so many times and I saw a table in the middle of the room I wanted to sit at that table. I wanted to sit in that shaded dark room. I dreamt of who would meet me there. The owner of the building might come in and say hey you I know you cant pay for the wood of that clubhouse you drew and I know where you can find that boat for the pool. I will give you the money for all of this and you can call your stick men and women this land I will give you. So long as you never stop drawing the world renewed.
I walked through that door and sat at that table. And a woman came in. She was old why was I not surprised. Do you own this place I said. She did not speak. Do you know who owns this place? Does this place belong to a man with a lot of money that will buy me wood for this place? I took out my design from my pocket and laid it on the table unfolded. I wanted her to say she knew the man. But she didn’t. This is not my store little one she said. This is not my building even. But you know what it is ours. This is our store. This is our building. And you can take anything you want from this place.
I said I want to take my clubhouse from this store. I want to take my boat. I want to take my grandmothers I want to take their grandchildren. She smiled. Then who would care for this place? This neighborhood. Who will defend its gates? Who will take notice of its age, its beauty, and who will bring it from the edge of its destruction if not for the grandmothers and their grandchildren?
I said but this place is so broken. How can it be fixed? She said I will show you. She grabbed my hand and took me to the ally way and laid my drawing on the ground. That is not where I wanted it to be. She said the ground would hold your drawing because this is your mother she will help you. Then she said all you have to do it become the lines on this paper. All you have to do is remove those lines and your drawing will be free. All you have to do is become your drawing. Become your clubhouse and become your boat become your pool or become the ocean. How does that look I said? How can you become the lines and become a boat. How can you become the ocean I said?
She dropped down to my drawing and slipped underneath the paper and covered her entire body with the sheet. Her breast became the blue lines her hair became the edges. Her toes became its three little holes. She became the sheet she lay under and I saw the lines disappear. Her voice came in the wind to my ears she said remove the boundaries this is not your truth. She became the clubhouse she became the boat I saw them light up. Her voice rose in the breeze as she said, you are all that you can and want to be at any minute in time. All you have to do is see yourself beyond the mirrors.
Then I saw the wood that we could not pay for and the boat that I did not have yet in the distance in the street it took up the entire block. Then it flittered away ripping my scroll to shreds. Did I smell roses when she went?
I ran to her house the woman who loved to stair for hours in the mirror and not eat nor sleep because I could see she loved sight more than she loved herself. I ran in the house and to the floor and threw my crayons on the floor and spread out the sheets and began to draw for hours and hours. She never saw this because she never departed the bathroom. I drew till I sweated and my heart began to race. I thought of all of the grandmothers and all their grandchildren and all our land we shared no matter how people say we did not own it. Yes we did. This was our land this was our neighborhood. This was our hood and now it would become our heavens because I would become the power that brought the lights to their vision. When I was done with the farms, the gardens, the altars, the grasses, when I was done with the temples, the open spaces, the dens, when I was done with the turtles, the stones, the gems, when I was done with the tables, the chairs, the thrones, when I was done with the roses, the lavender, the rosemary, when I was done with the trees, the birds, the clean streets that was not paved with concrete, when I was done with the boats, and then when I drew the ocean and the forests. I said a prayer and lay down underneath the sheets and felt the lines all around me I became them and they became apart of me. I would not be taken over I would not stop. I embraced them and drew them into my mouth and turned them into lights that spread all over the scrolls. I felt the oceans flicker, the temples become like the sun. And I became the heavens I drew for the grandmothers and their grandchildren. I took away their mirrors they would have to use the waters edges now. I took away their hunger and their pain. I took away their loneliness and their strife. I took away all their longing and their ” I cants”.