Last weekend storms came, violent and mystical, like omens or oracle. Friday, a week ago, the sky turned eerie gray and weighted and the air blew crazy. And then rain pounded and lashed, and then hail clattered and pinged, and watching the trees whip and whirl was a terrifying beauty. The sky was the color of late night, dark and damp, and it was one in the afternoon. And it sent so many branches and even whole trees splintering and cracking and clashing to the ground. Light posts crashed over and sparks flew. Power went out. Car alarms wailed. It was spine-chilling and breathtaking.
The storm left pools of water everywhere, in the streets and basements, and our car which had the window left down. And now they fill the air with so much moisture you can feel its weight when walking, smelling of rot and dark magic and mosquitoes thrive and feed off us, skin covered in red welts. Two nights ago, I was kept awake by the wails and screeching scream of a cat in heat. It is a violent sound of desire, a splitting open sound, a bloody sound. Like a scream. Like ecstasy. Like need. Like terror. Like all of it coming together. And I imagined her coming into my home and walking over my bed, her paws covered in blood, leaving footprints of her knowing on my sheets.
It is this dark side of summer's sun that has always lured me to her. Yes, I love the ease of summer months, the lazy mood and carefree sounds of kids playing, and the splashing in the pool and the slurp of snow cones. But it its this dark fecundity that lures me every time. This sweltering and primal kind of humid heat. It is thick like jungle. And rotting wetness like swamp. And insects multiply and swoop inside the moment the window is lifted, the door cracked open. And fruit left sitting out on the kitchen counter turns into soft ripeness and smells sticky sweet. And I sit here, listening to this song. I sit here, feeling sweat pool on the inside of elbows and knees. I sit here, feel my primal side take over, my own instinct nature thrive.
Since submitting my last packet for school (woo-hoo) it feels like everything that was planted there, came to grow there, but was held inside in some way so as to keep up with deadlines and keeping my shit together, now it spills out. There have been a lot of tears. The best kind, with no words or meaning, no I'm crying because I'm angry or crying because I'm sad, but just crying because my body wants to cry, to release, and tears can do that for me. And then I fall asleep. I have slept so much this past week, hard deep sleep. Sleeping eight to ten hours a night and when I wake I cannot quickly remove the veil between sleeping and waking worlds. My dreams are violent and lush, scary and filled with so many colors and I cannot shake their vivid aliveness. My dreams come like cobwebs and when I wake they cling to the inside of my eyelids. When I wake my body feels so heavy, unable to disentangle from the mattress, my limbs buried inside its weight. When I wake my eyes are puffy, swollen, the remnants of hard sleep, deep sleep, entering into other worlds sleep.
I've been filled with this intense feeling of being present, here. Like I spend so much time knocking on the door to life, waiting for it to open. And then that moment comes and I see myself, standing there on the inside, and my hands have always been the one holding the keys. Summer does this to me, this coming back home to myself and just being here, in my life, living. The taste of bitter chocolate and the feel of sticky tree sap on the hands. The smell of cinnamon and the sounds of sex. The creativity pulsing in earth's veins and her night terrors of neglect, the community gardens and abandoned housing projects, the hard won celebrations and the sting of surprise, the web of all these people, each of us here, living, hoping to connect. The feeling of grief so strong I think I will die, I swear I will die, and somehow, feeling it all, it brings me again, always again, to the living. Writing words for me alone, the feel of silky lingerie against my skin, the juice from the pineapple that spills onto the counter, taking a walk with a friend, seeing George streak naked through the apartment after taking a bath and how he inhabits his body and being without inhibitions, the moments when I remember to forget who I think Elliott is and see him there again as complete wonder and mystery, the heart thud when expectations go unmet, the ecstasy of knowing what it is to love and be loved.
The papers done, the body rested, the tears cried, the storm sweeping through and now passed, my wildness emerges. She comes out with a sloppy smile and eyes swollen with sleep dreams. She screams out like the cat in heat, licking Elliott's shoulder and biting his arm. She slinks out with the dancing at home, alone in my apartment. She crawls out with fire in her eyes and mischief in her mouth. She spills out with pleasure and knowing: the sensitivity of skin being touched awake, the heart all pulpy and raw with being opened, the aggression of animal instinct, the fierce tenderness of being in the space where roots descend down deep and all these green things grow.
