I leave for Italy in 12 hours and I'm convinced my stomach is beginning to eat itself. The past week in Delaware I've felt like a ghost-- my thoughts and eyes seem not to focus, my body feels numbly. Not a mode I want to last, but good enough to have lived in it.
Donald once asked me what it feels like when something makes sense; that is to say, what is the sensation when a square peg suddenly fits a round hole (by one accomodating the other or some mutual movement)? I think that it must feel something like familiarity, if that is not a tautology. It is a relaxation of the tension created by the self's recognition of the other, relaxing in the assimilation of the other. What this means to me right now is that the tensions, the anxieties, concerning leaving the familiar/the self have twisted me into this ghostly thing that owns little sense of its lived life. The good news? At some point, the closer one comes to the unfamiliar, the closer it comes to being familiar--as my plane flies to Italy, I take the train to the coast, the ferry to Elba, the bus to Lacona, and walk to the farm, I should gradually regain my sense of connectedness to the world.
Although I do find that I enjoy myself most when performing for myself, this blog is not intended as drama, but as the expression, organization, and attempted understanding of my consciousness. I am most truthful when I have many or no eyes watching, when there is no external expectation or there is enough imagined and various that it overwhelms any sense of being able to meet all interested parties (actual or not).
I'm off
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