Monday, April 16

Wax and Wane

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My energy as of late has been rather unsteady. It puts the more ambitious, industrious part of myself to shame. I know that it is part of preparing for delivering Luca but still I hate not being able to check off my to-do list. As an act of kindness to myself, perhaps suggested by my doula-self, I have ceased to write my daily lists so there can only be triumph from the acts I managed instead of guilt from all the things I have left undone.

When my energy ebbs and the kids allow it, I indulge in siesta. These naps, if they result in actual slumber, produce some of the most vivid dreams of water. I wake up almost aching to go back to sleep so I can dive and swim, light and free from this walrus body of mine. It makes me homesick for the sea which produces a little bit of resentment for the comfortable confines of this city.
I am weary of the Pacific due to inaccurate superstitions about the damage from Fukushima. I know that the current that is carrying the bad stuff doesn't pass this way but still, I don't feel comfortable carrying my little ones there. I feel landlocked by this refusal to visit the nearest seashore. I miss Kyushu and the clear blue-grey waters of Nagasaki.

Is it obvious that I am writing this in a post-dream state, feeling heavy and restless for salty air and the sound of waves lapping against the sand?

Once Luca is big enough, I want to travel to Fukui and the lovely Sea of Japan. It is something I have unconsciously wanted for a while but have not had the time to recognize until now. Oh, the luxury of a nap.

You are the daughter of the sea, oregano's first cousin.
Swimmer, your body is pure as the water;
cook, your blood is quick as the soil.
Everything you do is full of flowers, rich with the earth.

Your eyes go out toward the water, and the waves rise;
your hands go out to the earth and the seeds swell;
you know the deep essence of water and the earth,
conjoined in you like a formula for clay.

Naiad: cut your body into turquoise pieces,
they will bloom resurrected in the kitchen.
This is how you become everything that lives.

And so at last, you sleep, in the circle of my arms
that push back the shadows so that you can rest--
vegetables, seaweed, herbs: the foam of your dreams.



Neruda- Sonnet XXXIV

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