I took a series of self-portraits last night under the blazing shine of the reading lamp -- and then spent quite some time going through them trying to decide which was the LEAST HORRIBLE to send as my self-portait of the day.
I had been skiing, my eyes were kind of bloodshot, my hair was a wreck and I looked tired. But the way I see it, if everytime I take a self-portrait I take the time to spiff myself up, then exactly what does that say about myself?
You're so vain, you probably think this blog is about you!
Well, that's probably not all that far off, but the best thing about all of my bad attributes is that they are mixed in with others, and in this case, a good dose of laziness overwhelms the vanity in me.
So anyway, that is just a bunch of words saying yeah, I know that I don't look that great, but that's not why I posted it. The reason I did was because as I was going through them, this one jumped out at me -- because of the eyes. When I looked at it, I thought to myself "those are the eyes I have been looking at my whole life."
Now what kind of sense does that make, right? Well, what I mean is that those times I've stared in the mirror just to see who is looking back, it is THOSE eyes that I see. Always. (Without the white flash dots of course!)
So as I looked into those eyes, I thought, I have been questioning who I am, why am I here and what exactly is the point (not in a bad way, just philosophically) for as long as I can remember.
I am of course still seeking the answers to all those questions, but those eyes jigged a memory from way back, I was probably 10 or 11 (is there any reason why we always say there were three or four men, five or six people there, or I was between the ages of 10 and 11? Cuz we always do. Why not commit! I was 10 damnit!)
Anyway, basically I think what those comments mean are we really have no idea but it sounds good. So let's say I was 10 years, three months and five days and I was awakened in the middle of the night by nothing really. It was a dark night and windy. I went to the bathroom and I was keenly aware that everyone was sleeping. I could hear my brother and sister breathing in the room across the hall and I was made even more aware that my parents were very far away in their downstairs bedroom. I turned on the light and proceeded to the toilet, where I was struck with the most heady thought imaginable in the middle of the night for a kid.
Why am I here? Why am I on this planet?
What I felt most was that there WAS one. It wasn't random, I felt this. And that thought alone brought me a little peace. I stared out the window and could see some branches moving in the wind. I felt very alone. I went to the mirror and stared at my reflection. And saw the very eyes I have posted above staring back. (Mirrors will do that, huh!)
What those eyes said to me as a child, and what they still say to me today, is that it's out there. You just have to look. And as I stared (and this still happens because I just tried it) a tingling feeling starts to cover me, my nose, my toes, the top of my scalp -- everywhere -- and the way I look in the mirror is the way I feel. I am not sure if that makes any sense, and I am not really sure I can describe the way I look in the mirror -- I am not sure what emotion those eyes are conveying. But if I had to hazard a guess and obtain the proper words I would say that they are looking beyond ... looking forward, beyond my own reflection ... those eyes have been looking and looking and looking and you can see that there is a faith within them -- they know.
And here, I've had them my whole life, and the problem is that they have this thing called an eyelid and it's very easy to close these powerful tools and not look. Stop seeing.
I stared at those eyes ... because I am doing this self-portrait thing ... and those eyes reminded me of something deep ... and I blogged about them because I started this blog with the intent of writing a lot because writing fuels my soul.
There are no coincidences. Those eyes know it and now I do too.
9 comments:
I must say there is a knowing and a faith in those eyes. I too can see you at 10 or 11...ha ha ha. You always conveyed a sense of knowing whether you really did know or not! I think your certainty has only added to my UNcertainlty! I mean really, I used to think, what in the hell is she doing, collecting all of those Newsweek magazines about Nixon? What does she know that I don't? I still never collected, but always got this sense that you were on a mission. Most of those missions were unknown, it seemed, to most everyone...and maybe even yourself, but your conviction never wavered.
Self-discovery requires that we go back and back and forward, allowing us to "see" the purpose in the lenses of that particular moment. It is striking to me that for the first time in perhaps all of my life, there is a very strong knowing deep within me. I assume (although I should not make an ass out of you and me) but I will for the sake of why not, and I almost think you have had that knowing...as you write about...for a very long time! Sometimes I think I know your eyes better than my own! Hardee har har! There are times my eyes decieve me! How about yours?
Have you read the Alchemist? A very interesting little read that talks about everyone's "personal legend" or reason, if you will, for being here. I am not done because I am not liking the ending...so I can only recommend on what I have read thus far.
Your eyes are the window to your soul and getting in touch with that is such an incredibly powerful experience...
I am blabbing on and on now...Just wanted you to know that I really liked this entry, because it is often this kind of place that I fin my mind meandering!
Peace Sistah!
t
GRRRR, I just commented on this and it didn't go through. Now that is frustrating.
Anyway, the whole Nixon thing -- wow. I'd forgotten about that. Did I know what I was doing? Well, no, but I knew with all my heart it was very important.
I AM NOT A CROOK, he cried.
Well, umm, according to all this information it seems that you are.
I AM NOT A CROOK, he cried.
And I thought, oh, I think you are.
Nixon was impeached in 1974. I was not 10, I was 11!
If I am not mistaken, what was important about this to me were the facts. No one seemed to have them straight, and I needed to know why one president was no longer there and another one was in, and he was SUCH A KLUTZ! I know this seems like an inane thing, but to me, I just couldn't understand why the PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES could fall down the steps of an airplane and be smart enough to be president.
Little did I know! But if you think about it, I was already questioning why I was put on this planet ... and I think at that time I still believed that adults knew what they were doing -- that they were to be trusted.
So, let's see, at the age of 11 I had the facts. NO ONE knew what the hell they were doing! Oh shit!
I like that ... self-discovery requires that we go back and back, and then forward. Two steps backward, one step forward for all mankind! HAHAHA.
No, I have not read the Alchemist, but clearly I should.
Do my eyes deceive me (that is the classic I before E except after C!!!) no. They really don't.
I was going to say that the eyes are the window to your soul in my post, but it seemed like such a cliche! And yet, when I look at that picture, when I stare in the mirror, I know that is true.
Cliche, yes that is true! But again, I cannot think of any other better way to say it! If you think about it, the eyes are the only part of our body that is at all transluscent...thus allowing us some access to the inside. They are multidimensional in that they also allow us to bring the sights of the world in. I always remember thinking when I was 10 or 11...ha ha ha, whatever, when Grandpa was losing his hearing that if I had to choose I would rather be deaf than blind. Funny I would spend so much time thinking about that...but I did! For me seeing is everything...although now that I am older, I cannot imagine life without music. Anyway, getting off track here.
I think you can tell so much by looking, really looking into someone's eyes. Sometimes it can be scary to look that hard. What is most fascinating is when I see nothing. When I look and look, but there almost seems to be a wall around their eyes. They are closed off and unwilling to allow anyone in? Or is there very little there to see?
My eyes have moods...not surprising I know. I can tell when they are happy and sad. I can tell when they are weary or glad. They only deceive (notice the change in spelling...yes I can learn and I did not know that spelling counted!) me when I do not take the time to look at them. To really look at them in the way that I can read them. In fact, I don't think I ever really look at them much lately. Not in that way...perhaps because I do not want to see what I know is there? Who knows.
You and the Nixon thing. You know, when I think about it you were like that but with different things. I remember begging you to play Barbara and Maryann only to have your nose buried deep into the Nancy Drew series. You were always so incredibly driven and yes, I do think it is remarkable that you were so obsessed with the Nixon thing. Falling down the stairs? What is that about?
How about the wooden box in the barn? Your need to cover it with elusive grafitti that nobody else understood. There was that same thread of trying to keep track of things and remember things and document them! That may translate into your daily mood and weather calendars!! I don't know.
Much of the time I think I wanted to be a part of your inner circle, because you always made it seem so exciting. Your fort way up in the woods in Weare was absolutely amazing!! Covered with magazine articles and pop stars. Is that memory even a real one? I remember you took me there only once. I felt as though I had joined the Dead Poet's Society and was being let in on some great secret. And perhaps that is who you are to me. The holder of many great secrets...although along the way I discover that I too am quite good at keeping secrets...maybe just not the right ones.
So...who are you? Why are you here? Who am I? Why am I here? I only know that my work is part of why I am here. The other part remains erroneous to me. I get caught up in the what I am supposed to do vs. the what I want to do...a dilemma that you never really seem to have...or do you?
Perhaps it is your fact gathering that lead you to question our existence, because this is one of the only areas where there are no facts...it seems there are only more questions!!
OMG -- I will respond to this more in-depth later, but I TOTALLY was not picking on your spelling. I actually used that little mnemonic when I went to spell deceive -- and said it out loud! I had NO IDEA you didn't spell it right!
See what that says about you! You think I am picking on you, when I was in fact, NOT! Not even close!
No, spelling doesn't count! (When you are a master speller though, this is easy to say HAHAHAHAAH)
OK, to address further points in your response:
Gerald Ford stepped out of the airplane onto the steps on the runway and fell. Maybe he was further down, I don't know. The man was a klutz. I know this because there were several pictures of this in my scrapbook. I wonder if I still have that.
What wooden box in the barn? I am not picturing that at all.
The fort in Weare -- gosh, I had sooooo many. I had the veterinarian fort in the field by the other road, there was one right behind our house that had all sorts of different rooms (perhaps that was the rock fort?) There was a cave-like one between rocks way in the back sort of by the beaver dams, is that the one you mean? That one wasn't my favorite, it was always cold and damp. Though that must be, that was the one that Margaret and I took old wood scraps from one of the houses they were building ... or maybe there was another one.
I loved to build forts! And that was all in the journey, for once the fort was built, then what? Sit in it?
Ahhh, good point on not being able to find the answer despite massive fact gathering attempts! Could be you are right.
I had to laugh, today I went to see the movie Atonement, and this girl commits a most heinous act, and when she is telling someone about that time, she says, "when I was 10 or 11."
HOW WEIRD IS THAT? I thought, "what is the Universe trying to tell me?"
Something about that age perhaps? Who knows, I'll have to gather some facts about that age! I'll report back later! :)
Gerald Ford...that inspires some faint memory...but weren't we talking about Nixon?
The big wooden box that was in our green and yellow room that we used as a coffee table that was then taken out to the barn. Remember?
The other forts I totally remember. In fact I have written about the one by 114 where there were awesome bottle dump finds and shelves upon shelves naturally carved into the big rocks. That was one we went to together at times. I also remember the one right behind Tuppy's rink. That one was cool too, but for different reasons. yes, I was talking about the damp one. And now that you mention it it did have that damp kind of creepy feeling!!
I think the universe is telling you something!! What do you have for memories before you were 10 or 11? That is something you have not said anything about...and if many of your memories come from this point, what happened before or after that made this such a vivid place in your memory? What happened or what do you remember when you were 8 or 9 per se?
I don't know. Just playing with you is all!! I say that because I remember NOTHING about when I was in third grade. Through all of my work in therapy I still cannot tell you ANYTHING about 2nd or 3rd grade. I always thought it was weird that I then went on to teach third grade. I can tell you I had Mrs. Dick in first and then everything becomes a blur really. I know that we moved to Weare when I was in second grade and I have tons of memories from both Bedford and Weare, but where did those two years go and why can I not remember anything??? Maybe if you go to that same time period then you will jog something in my memory from when I was 6 or 7? Those seem to be lost years for me!! Ahhh...how clever I am to bring it around to me!! Perhaps in your journey of self-discovery you can help my own!! HA h ahaha ha! That was not intentional...somehow I just ended up here.
See you soon my dear!
t
Dear Tomasen,
I can remember all grades. I wonder what the deal is with third grade. That was Miss Dagayla (I know that's not the spelling, but I was just a kid, give me a break!) She had the hair with a bun, thick glasses. Or was that second? And third was Mrs. Howe. Hmmm. Yes, Miss Dougala (I will try out all options) was second, and third for me was Mrs. Howe. I too had Mrs. Dick. Does the name SanSoucy ring a bell for you? For that just jumped into my head.
For fourth I had the guy ... oh what was his name. We sang "Read, Read a book," I can picture his face, his body, his name seems to have escaped me though. Fifth was Mrs. Stafford, Sixth was Mrs. Day, Seventh was junior high and all sorts of teachers. Oh, the poor man, what was his name??? Dare I say, Mr. Belvedere? Good heavens, I hope not. "Read, read a book." He loved me of course.
Do you remember Mrs. Ostergrin, the choral teacher? Belvedere? Hmmmmm.
I can see him too. I remember going to open house with Mom and entering the first "man" classroom! It was completely different. It looked different, smelled different and Mom was so thrilled with the fact that you had the first "man teacher". It is strange the things that come to mind. I do not remember his name though. I do remember you were in an upstairs classroom though. Isn't that right? In Bedford?
I also don't remember the choral teacher. Why do you bring that up? Tell me more.
I DO remember Ms. D'Gayla (sp?) with the bun and the piano though. I don't think I had her though. We just went into her classroom to sing. I had Mrs. Dick and then I am thinking that I had Ms. Sansoucy...in second. That was when we moved from Bedford to Weare. Still cannot tell you anything about third grade though. I had Mrs. Shepard in fourth whom I ADORED!!! Then in fifth we both had Mrs. Amsden. Why did you write Mrs. Stafford for 5th? Remember, that was the magical year we learned black magic with Mrs. Amsden. I had Mrs. Puritan for sixth and Mrs. Day as well...for reading in s 6th. From there there are many. I mostly remember Mr. Lockhead. I think he as my first adult crush. Do you remmber him? And next door was Mr. ARvanitis. He was freaky...although I know you loved him! Those thumbs! Then there was the SS teacher, Mr. Whittier who spent all of class playing pocket pool with himself. EEEEEWWWWWW!!!!
STill....never had a third grade year that I can remember though. Bizarre!!
Pocket pool ... EWWWWWWW. He was nasty. I did not like him.
I liked Arvanitis? He was freaky. But he had a lot of energy, I can remember sitting in his classroom. Like vividly.
Yes, the first man teacher was upstairs. I don't know why I mentioned the chorus teacher, she was older, kind of ugly, and had that awful name. I can remember standing in the chorus room (upstairs, at the end of the hall) and singing while she told you what key to sing in. I of course did not like that, because I could sing all keys if I chose. DO NOT PIGEON HOLE ME.
I do remember Lockhead ... he was a nice guy. I drove him insane, I can still picture him sitting at his desk, his leg crossed and shaking his head because I had slammed out of the room because I was mad about something. And that was how he was sitting when he was talking to me about it. You know, I probably had PMS! HAHAHAHAHA.
Gawd, to teach junior high --no thanks!
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