I wake just before
3am
from dreams of making soup
with earthen gemstones
the Bohemian and I
are measuring ingredients
in increments of 11
creating some
hearty brew
of twisting copper
turquoise
chrysocolla
garnet
and jade
from the sky
a manta-ray shaped
bird
flies by and swoops me
skimming my head
and imparting one word
as it makes a sharp
right hand turn
macko
in Hebrew
this means God is with us
or a Slavic form gift from God
in Japan
no ‘c’
and this means truth
my international translation:
truth
is the presence of Grace
gifted in this moment
How all communications, negotiations, explanations have to be in English. Throwing in curveball words like “knee” that don’t even pronounce the ‘k’.
And I never realized the possessiveness of this language. All the “my”‘s. The Bohemian may want to say that he is sleeping on his back. So he will tell me, “I’m sleeping on the back.”
I like the way this sounds, just slightly different. But he wants me to tell him when I hear these subtleties.
“Just so you know, it really would be more like, ‘I’m sleeping on my back.'”
“Oh, okay. Not the back. My back.”
We laugh and chime…”mine, mine, mine.”
Inspired to incorporate a more sharing spirit in our communications, I suggest that we have periods of time when the Bohemian just speaks Czech. Hold nothing back, no need to translate, just let it flow in his native tongue. I reason that should I be in the Czech Republic this would be my fate. Immersed in a culture of humans speaking a language I did not understand, searching faces and hand gestures for cues.
Maybe this exercise would help me feel what he is speaking, instead of understanding it.
Late one night we try it. He begins slowly, those first, foreign, beautiful words moving through air to my ears. From that initial syllable, I know not a word he is saying.
from ALPHABET by Karel Teige
I am like a person blindfolded in a room, new senses surfacing in an attempt to orient themselves to a world without sight.
My mind tries to order this barrage of sentences into familiar boxes – make sense of this transmission. But it is all so different, so unknown. My brain surrenders. Lets go. I stop thinking and I am left to soak in the essence of a lyrical delivery that reveals the natural, deeply rooted heritage of the speaker. This Bohemian man I love.
I watch intently as his face softens, his eyes dancing in sync with the words that roll from his mouth like a song. I swear he is sparkling in a way I have never seen before.
This is an effortless communication that flows from him with ease. A purely one-way street, he can say anything here and I will never really know. Just get it out and speak it, and I’ll just be there smiling, taking in exotic sounds.
As he continues, holding my hand, our faces close, I catch only a two words I recognize. A few times the word “krásný” – “beautiful” – flows out between unknowns. And then, as he concludes, the final note to his song is “žena.”
I’ve heard this one before. And right now, I don’t want to translate it. Don’t want to know the context.
I just want to enjoy the sound of old letters making new sounds. Hum with the vibrations that move through his throat, rolling over me in a wash of fresh eloquence.
Jeb, the Bohemian and I are throwing our hands in the circle. Fists, flattened hands and peace signs.
This is Roshambo. Also known as Rock, Paper, Scissors and apparently this ancient game is universal.
courtesy of wikipedia
Jeb’s absorbent eight-year old mind has grasped these foreign words with ease and he not only exclaims them with solid vigor, he remembers them all day long.
Me, on the other hand, I’m in alien territory and my thirty-eight year old brain is dull.
In the evening at the dinner table, roshambo comes up again in our conversation.
“Ok, so it’s kámen…something…and then papír, right?” I ask.
Jeb laughs. “Nůžky!”
The Bohemian smiles.
“Right. Kámen, nůžky, papír. Ok, I got it.”
But I don’t’ feel like I’ve got it. This foreign language thing is slow going.
I wish I spoke five languages. The Bohemian speaks English, Polish, some Russian and I think he’d do alright in Germany.
Me, I grew up in California, exposed my whole life to Spanish. I studied it for years in school and I fantasize that if I lived in a Spanish-speaking country, I’d become fluent enough to start dreaming in that language. Though for now, I stumble clumsily through the most simple of Spanish conversation.
And then there’s Czech. Now that is truly foreign. These beautiful sounds that emerge from the mouth of the Bohemian have letter combinations I’ve never heard before. I am in a strange and unknown linguistic land where the exotic sounds wash over me in rolling ‘r’s’ and lilting ‘ch’s’ (although I think ‘ch’ is actually a letter in the alphabet that sounds sort of English ‘h’-ish and the English ‘ch’ sound is actually denoted in Czech by a ‘c’ with some cool diacritical mark. Whew. Anyway…). Just listening, I’m swirled in a spin where I cannot grasp the letters and hold them.
Give me a Czech word and half the time I cannot repeat it back correctly. There are subtle sounds, new combinations. Altogether different letters in the alphabet. ‘R’s I can’t roll. ‘H’s made from deep in the throat.
I fumble like a typical American. The Bohemian is patient, like his typical self.
My head is thick. My mind conditioned. I’m not used to something so radically different. I am realizing that some things need to be very close and in my face to really grasp, especially the unfamiliar.
WHOOOOHOOOO!
Ok. Staying ever-present in the Now and ever-dedicated to offering you the real and true Daily Chronicles, I will report the moments as they occur.
No sooner did I punctuate that last sentence (“…especially the unfamiliar”), ready to describe to you the moments when I shine most truly in foreign terrain, than Jeb emerges from his bedroom – 5:20am – reporting that he is ill.
My Mother hat is donned instantly in a flurry of thermometers, juice, cold wash cloths and lavender oil. He does have a fever. Emails are sent to Dad and today’s work clients. No school. And Jeb’s birthday celebration scheduled for tomorrow is now in question.
It is currently 6:08am. Still dark. Jeb rests. I reach to complete a posting for the Archives while still staying attentive by his side.
Where was I going with all this?
courtesy of wikipedia
Rock, paper scissors.
The universal game of random chance that transcends all language.
My exploration into new territory.
Attempts to learn the subtleties.
Practicing grace among detours.
For the Archives 