When I run, I like having a rhythm, a story. I love running to each one of these songs because of their beats. They encourage me to push myself past limitations. I love them because of their lyrics. Finding freedom, owning pain, embracing love. Run Boy Run was added at the suggestion of Laura, and it is such a perfect fit. I cannot wait to start running again so I can run to this song through tree-lined streets, humidity clinging to me like a fine silk dress. Snow Patrol is a perfect cool down. Emotional, triumphant. Gulp air, let the cool water rush down your throat, feel the delicious soreness. You are a warrior.
I hope that next time you find yourself pounding the pavement, you listen to these songs and feel free.
“Our dreams have magic because we’ll always stay in love this way….”
Fellow Kindred Laura sent a wedding gift to Lover Man and me, which consisted of two things I love without restraint: tea and a journal. (Fitting, since Lover Man and I love each other freely, without boundaries or conditions.) The journal, she explained, is the Book of Love. I received the package on one of the most difficult days I have had at work; it served as a potent reminder that, when we truly honor what we love, even the worst days can be salvaged. This morning, while drinking some of the amazing tea (David’s Salted Caramel!) with almond milk and a sprinkling of raw sugar and listening to some good music (see above), I began to write in the book. First came the longing, the wish to be a better wife, one who is not so stressed and overwhelmed, one who can fully enjoy the beautiful gift of love. Then, the observation. The time to actually sit and take in his slumbering form, to feel the love that radiates from my husband even in sleep. Finally, the feeling. The deep, wild love that makes even the simplest moments divine.
while you were sleeping.
i laid my hand on your bare chest
you were breathing
and my own inhalations and exhalations
the little mark under your lower lip
at your gentle puff of breath.
you turn and settle in
the spider etched on your back
does its slow dance along your spine
i take your peace into my fingers
let it spread under my sun-poisoned skin
your love, a balm
a salve to soothe the places hands cannot touch.
Running is something that has been on my mind for a long time now. I love to run, revel in the feeling of sweat and utter exhaustion. Thanks to a heel injury, I’m out of the running game for a little while, and it sucks. I crave it. I just started running again after being sick for a while, and boom! another roadblock. I have to take the time to get better so I can run the right way, but I’m so frustrated!
There’s more to running than just the physical act itself. There’s an emotional cleansing that happens every time I get my body moving, and I miss it so much. The will to move, to challenge my lungs, muscles, joints, brain. In the midst of so much transition, what I want to do most is just get the fuck out and run for a while, and I can’t. When I run, the ideas flow, words and stories crowd my mind. I am totally at home. I need movement.
There’s also the urge to run away from the responsibilities of adult life, just get on a train/bus/ferry/plane with Lover Man and be free, just the two of us for a little while. He could paint, I could write. My feet will stop aching, his hands will be unburdened by the weight of heavy labor and work instead at creating something wonderful.
So, where do you want to go, Kindred spirits? Are you running from something, or are you running towards something better? Let’s run together, clear our heads, and find something beautiful.
I knew a man who could touch fruit with his bare hands.
I knew a man who could hold the sea on his tongue.
His shadow stretched like the fig tree’s in afternoon sunlight,
the bristles on his jaw stung like pina. His voice curled,
curled up, shrill with the rooster, though it was past daybreak and morning
had already faded onto the knees of his blue jeans. His hunger was my own.
It is late at night on the day I am supposed to post the new theme. I had played with a few themes over the last week, and decided on this one this morning. The word reminder is not good enough at describing exactly what made me think of this theme, but it will do. And I suppose it will keep options open, which is always a good thing.
I feel like there must be a German word for what I am thinking of. Something specific, with at least twenty letters in it.
The reminders I was thinking of were of the more fleeting kind. The kinds that cause a spark or twinge. Here are some examples…
- When, as you are dreaming, you realize that you have the most brilliant idea possible and concentrate on soaking up every last detail, but then when you wake up you can almost hear it spilling out of your ears as you scramble to find the pen that rolled under the bed after you knocked it off the nightstand in your sleep. You are devastated. And then, either three hours or three weeks later, someone says a word on the radio and you at least have pieces of the dream back. And okay, maybe now that you’re thinking about it while awake, it’s not as brilliant an idea.
- When the opening note of a song can make you travel through time to one very specific and probably uneventful day that you wouldn’t have had cause to remember otherwise.
- When maybe you’ve had too much to drink, or were too tired to go out but you went out anyway, and weeks later you find pictures on your phone of events you thought you had dreamt. And suddenly you remember the next thing that happened, and the next, and you either grimace or sigh.
- When you write a note to yourself and lose it, then find it later and realize that even that is not enough to make you remember why you did that. Why did I write “Smart Alec” in the middle of a page in my notebook?
- When a scent brings you back to a specific time in your life, or when it reiterates that the life you are living is reality, and not just a plan you have thought of for months.
- When you see someone write something down on a piece of paper and realize they have the same handwriting as your first boyfriend, and anyway where did that mix tape run off to?
- When I was little I was a very eager student, who always wanted to get a word in with the teacher, whether it was a question, a related story, or an answer to a question. Naturally my teachers wanted to give everyone a chance, so I would wait to be called, sometimes feigning patience. How humiliating it was to finally be called upon and completely forget what I was going to say. My mind’s eye would strain, and I could picture a window that was open, like in the school attic in The Neverending Story, with curtains blowing in the wind, suddenly shut. Suddenly quiet. Suddenly the thought was locked outside and I was fogging up the glass as I breathed. In retrospect I would pray for one of these reminders that I’m talking about.
I cannot wait to see what this theme produces. I could probably write a series of books on this. Also, if anyone either knows the right word for this (in English or otherwise), or would like to make one up, please share!