Several beginnings:
I have many things that just hit this vein for me, that stimulate this part of my brain that is a vortex of gimme gimme gimme MORE. And blank pages are one. I have like six million empty notebooks. I love beginnings. Buying new school supplies is a nearly erotic pleasure for me. I fall in love with possibilities, with the fractals of options that keep swirling in front of me before I take the first step and set a certain path. That first step still leads to gazillions of futures exponentially branching out ahead, but with that first step and every step after, possibilities close off like constricting tiny bronchial that only lived for seconds, for less than seconds. Logically and metaphysically I believe that old Julie Andrews’ line that whenever He closes a door God opens a window. And so I believe that the possibilities never really die, they just morph into different possibilities, but still. In the landscape of my mind, the closed off options leave withered ends like tracers that you can see so clearly long after the light source has gone.
300 words used to intimidate me. I see it as so free and pretty now. You begin at 1 and end somewhere after 300 and while I have never been a “math person” numbers and calculations and all of that feel so solid and comforting to me. I have a thing that I consider a kind of positive synesthia where the numerosity* of something, the imaginary numerical logic that I pretend exists in things that have nothing to so with the reason there are a certain number of something is important and communicates certain secret meanings to me. When I was in HS/College I started making necklaces and the number of beads colors and patterns of colors were really important and something I obsessed over. I had not been raised in Santeria and was exposed to it very lightly and second hand so when I was buying seed beads and arranging the different colors in different patterns I didn’t realize this was something that is done en la religion. For me, the whole numerosity of the necklaces followed a totally compelling internal logic that I couldn’t explain and had no way of tracing where it came from. Certain colors corresponded with certain numbers and had certain associations or powers or elements. Candies, witches, songs, protection, sweet juice that comes out of God’s pussy, hair that you weave with, monks, dirty words, birds, plastic dolls. They were my spells. Recently I taught a Catechism class to 3 16 year old girls. I believe two of them are going to be Confirmed tomorrow. (They had to take a separate Confirmation Prep class which I thought was unreasonable and confusing.) I am sitting here wishing that I had made them necklaces. They asked me to teach again next year and I think I have to say no. I hate saying no. I want to weave a cocoon for each of them to take into life with them, something that will let them know how precious they are and make them feel safe and sure of themselves and connected to the Divinity that exists inside of them. And will also make them laugh. Their laughter is always so tentative and rueful. I wish I could give them a deep boisterous devil may care free and true laugh. I love them.
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