life – Page 196 – For the Archives

Posted on November 25, 2010 by Jessica Dofflemyer

At the Altar

I wake at 5:17am sensing instantly that today I will lose my voice. My head cold makes its way into my throat and chest. It is here where the words live, the feelings reside. I can feel the undoing. I am being rendered silent.

There is both fear and relief in the dark morning. All is quiet but for the crickets. Jeb sleeps. I grab a lozenge and catch a glimpse of a huge planet in the sky. I’ve never seen one so close, so big. I do believe it’s Venus.

I linger in the solace of this silence. A soft cushion of spaciousness that sifts the air and opens my mind.

Should I stay silent about what tosses with me on this morning’s pillow. Will giving voice to it (or keyboard letters) somehow set the story free?

Or are some things better left unsaid?

If the Archives are about chronicling the story, then where else but here to express the quiet thread that sits below the surface of these last days? Last week in Lulu’s letter there was reference to a follow up to the love story with the rocket engineer (The Private Door Swings Open). For now I could skip Part 2, and even 3, because presently this script is in the Final Scene.

For those just catching up, the plot summary would go something like:

Woman sings eighties love song in steaming moonlight (reference Love and Woo Woo with INXS) and instantly meets dashing gentleman (the rocket scientist) who asks her to travel the world with him. Long-distance love affair ensues spanning California, India and Hawaii. Enter woman’s six year old son for intense dramatic tension. Exit dashing man who continues loving from a distance, climbing mountains round the world while woman stays at sea level. Google chat provides comfort and frustration. Woman ends remote relationship with love and good wishes, completing the decision with a ceremonial fire on Independence day. Read more

Posted on November 23, 2010November 23, 2010 by Jessica Dofflemyer

All Good Things…

I try to squeeze a moment of writing in this morning before the pancakes, vitamin C and bed making. Jeb’s home from school all this week.

We pulled the suitcases out of storage yesterday and cut the airline luggage tags off the bags from last year’s delayed flight.

Friends tease me that I pack two weeks ahead of time. I don’t want to forget anything. I hate to wait to the last minute.

I scan random lists I have scrawled, all the things that need to be done before we leave. Items to take, people to call, mail to hold, bills to pay.

I’m not complaining. This trip is the beacon of light at the end of my tunnel. Each year I get to exit my remote little paradise and change the scenery. Take a pause and turn Jeb over to a new tribe – my blood family. I sit back and breathe. Smile and watch him from a distance with new eyes. Fall in love with him all over again.

And quietly I’ll slip away, alone, to the coastal forest and sink into the wealth of my own deep well. I will languish in the space of simply being. Make no promises except to breathe. I’ll sit in steaming water and let hours pass. Move in slow motion. Feel my footsteps in new ways. Remember myself again.

With this light beaming in the near but distant future, I remind myself to stay present. Breathe deeply now. It’s morning and Jeb and I can start the day with a walk in the thick dew.

There is no rush.