Category: Words

Floating, as free as a bird

See the lights of a neighbor’s house
Now she’s starting to rise
Take a minute to concentrate
And she opens up her eyes

The world was moving she was right there with it and she was
–Talking Heads/And She Was

When I was a very young teenager, I was convinced that we were all held to the Earth by invisible silver threads, and that if we tried both hard enough and not at all (simultaneously), we could break loose from the invisible threads and our souls would be free to leave our bodies and go wherever we wanted.

Sort of a self hypnosis trip into space.

Yes, I was a weird kid. I don’t remember where I got the idea. I’m sure I read it somewhere, or it’s possible that I extrapolated it from something I read. Or I suppose I could even have made it up. There’s no telling.

The end result is that for several months I spent a lot of time trying to leave my body. In the Summer I would spend hours laying in the grass in our front yard trying to leave my body by not trying to leave my body. It involved a lot of breathing deeply and not thinking. Concentrating but not. In retrospect, I was probably meditating.

RAJ would ride up the hill on his bike sometimes, sprawl out next to me and ask me what I was doing.

“Trying to leave my body.”

“Is it working?”
A hand would slide up my shirt and try to unhook my bra.

“I can feel that. I must still be here.” And I’d laugh and do something vaguely indecent. I was just as easily distracted then as I am now.

He never questioned the rationality of me trying to leave my body, but sometimes he’s ask why I wanted to. He is still like that. Curious and un- judgemental. Or maybe he was just more interested on getting in my blouse or pants than he was in my psychic experiments. He seemed genuinely interested in both. Granted, not equally interested.

I’ll have to ask him if he remembers.

These days I still occasionally wish I could leave my body, but I don’t spend any time working on it. Pity how a little thing like disbelief can ruin a fun activity. I wonder if it would still work even if I don’t actually believe it?

What’s the worst that could happen? I’d get to be still and relax.
If I’m lucky, some invisible silver threads that I don’t even believe in would snap and my soul (which I also don’t believe in) would get to go walkabout.

Win win.
I think I’ll give it another try.

One discusses the oddest things at work

Somehow the subject of funereal celebrations came up at work, and we determined the following:

It is a pity that I will not be having a coffin when I die, because how awesome would it be to serve Jell-O shots off it at my service? Or, optionally, beer pong.

Now I kind of want a casket.

Is that wrong?

Sunday girl

And the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.
–Traditional verse

I saw a girl from a lonely street
Cold as ice cream but still as sweet
Dry your eyes, Sunday Girl
–Blondie/Sunday Girl

I was born on a Sunday a long time ago. According to the old poem, that makes me bonny and blithe. When I was a little girl, I think that was very true. I was a cute little girl with a cheerful disposition. Cheerfully prone to stubbornness, if I’m completely honest. I may have been cheerful, but I was born with a firm conviction of my own intelligence. I was pretty sure I was always right about everything.

When I was 4 or 5, I remember the extended family going on a trip to Diamond Lake. We were staying in a cabin, and I would skip around all day, usually singing. My grandmother pointed out two things to my mother:
1. I had a very true singing voice for such a little girl.
2. It was very inappropriate for me to be singing songs from the musical “Hair” at my age. (I really liked the song “Ain’t Got No” at the time. Especially the part that went “ain’t got no underwear.”)

It is unfortunate that I don’t remember how my mother replied to the implied criticism about her letting me listen to “Hair.” We also had the soundtrack to “Mary Poppins” which I liked nearly as well, and “Hard Days Night” by the Beatles. Sonny and Cher. I sang along to all of it. I’m sure my mother bit her tongue and refrained from telling my grandmother her thoughts on the subject. Ma has always been diplomatic when required.

I remember being a very happy child. Smiling. Laughing. Singing. Reading. My one big disappointment was when they wouldn’t let me start first grade when I was 5. The cutoff to start first grade was to turn 6 by November 15, and my birthday is on the 17th. I cried all the way home, and could not understand why they didn’t want me. I don’t think I really understood the idea of a deadline, all I knew is that I already knew how to read, and I belonged in school. I had been looking forward to going to school for as long as I could remember. School was where I was going to really start learning things. I just knew it.

As it happens, I was pretty wrong about that.

Still, I was probably skipping and singing again before long. I still had books to read, and pictures to draw. Horses to pet. Chickens to feed. A little brother to tease. Things to be right about.

Finally, when I got to go to school, it was a little disappointing. The teachers quickly figured out that I didn’t need them, and focused their attention on the kids that didn’t already know how to read.

I was still fairly bonny, but got less and less blithe as time went on.

Eventually the smile did come back again.
Now I’m a little less bonny.

I guess you don’t get to be both as an adult over 50.

Ach, well. I’ll take blithe over bonny any time. Especially since it’s not like I’m nae bonny at all. I’m still moderately bonny.

Is that a thing?

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Still bonny and blithe at age 5-ish