what is it like?

More inspiration writing for the play that is a part of the San Francisco Olympians Festival on the god of nonviolent death, Thanatos.

Incidentally, I’ll be interviewed about the play along with Veronica Tjioe by fellow writer, Jovelyn Richards, who is the host of a radio program on KPFA, Jovelyn’s Boutique. This will be on Wednesday from 3:30-4:00 PM PST, so listen in or check out the archived interview later.

T: What is it like to die… what does it feel like for them? I don’t know… I try to make it painless, or at least, if there is pain, maybe I help them come to terms with it before finally releasing it. The process of death is both quicker and slower than you think. 

Slower because, as you know, every moment in linear time is one step closer to it. To me. Quicker because ultimately, it’s simple. You are here and then you are not here.

The actual moment? I don’t know if it’s painful. I would imagine it is because everything in life lives on a pain scale. But maybe I’m wrong about that, maybe the feeling of death is the opposite of the feeling of life. Maybe what I do is painless.

How would I know that I had died and that I wasn’t just dreaming? See, that is where Sleep and Death — the fact that we’re twins — comes into play. It fools people. It’s calling for one when you mean the other. When you need the other. 

Now that I have started to dream… Vivid dreams as true as day. I wonder what it would be like to live there instead of here. I wonder if my experience is tempered and adulterated by the feeling of waking. Disorienting light. Words that make no sense. Symbols. Birds flying backwards make no sense, but in the dream world it’s just another thing to notice or ignore.

It makes me appreciate the reality we call, “life” much more. Little things, like the way the sun creates a painting that no artistic genius would every be able to put together — every day. The way that water feels. The color of people’s eyes. The sound of footsteps. Wind. Did you know each moment contains so much to be in awe of?

I think some of them miss that.

If anything feels painful, it’s that realization. I could imagine that it’s heartbreaking, which is why all these souls have so much trouble remembering who they are. Only the truly strong would be able to hold even a little of that. It’s no judgement — the weight of experience is just too much after a while. 

And so…

how the dreams work

i believe this is another monologue… maybe it will find its way into a current project or at least be inspiration there of.
The dreams never happen when you want them to. And it’s too bad cuz they’re so good. Smooth dreams. Dreams with epic soundtracks and a sense of flow. A sense of trajectory. A sense of wonder. Dreams that make you think they are real. They can be. At least, they point to things. When you are in them, they unfold at this pace that’s just like… it’s stunning. But outside of them, they don’t make any sense. And people won’t believe. They will think you’re crazy. So, don’t be like me. Don’t tell anyone your dreams…

Sometimes I try to remember the common threads that got me to here. Old man. Red dress. Crow flying. A train.

A train edging into the night feels like heading into oblivion. Feels like heading into the heart of a black hole. Into the unknown with no way out. Into the deepness of something that will consume you. It will. 

Sometimes I want to be taken. The dream brings me in. I don’t want to be out. I see things clearer in there than any kind of picture. It’s only on the outside that it looks warped, convoluted, makes no sense. 

I’m getting better at learning its language. Sometimes I ask. Sometimes I ask for help and the dream answers. Finds a way to keep pointing to me where I need to go. 

People say, “okay, dream of this and it will happen.” But it doesn’t work that way. The dreams know where you need to go. The best you can do is ride them fully. Go with them until you’re at the place you need to be. You see what you need to see. Sometimes what you need to face. And it makes you stronger because you stand there watching. Always watching. Waiting to act. Aborbing. Taking it all in. Every detail. Every moment is stockpiled if it is felt. You gotta be patient. “Wait for it,” is an understatement. But it’s okay by me, because once I’m into something, I can stay on it a very long time. My endurance surpasses most and it keeps developing. Keeps getting stronger. 

And so when you wake up, you only have to move through the moments again. Replay it by walking through your steps.

Did you know the way we experience time is not real? Like it’s real, but it isn’t at the same time. We go from here to there. A to B. Progression. Succession. One thing after anothet, right? But we don’t really do that. Well, we do, but in our minds we remember the past, jump to the future, jump around and back to the present. All at the same time that we’re just here. Just here living life and experiencing its various complexities — such as time for one. We repeat again and again. Always new, never new. Never old because each moment it new. It’s circuitous. Spiraling. It’s not the shape you think it is. 

That’s my secret by the way. That’s why I’m never bored – only tired. And there is a difference. Boredom is not being entertained by whatever you’re experiencing. Being tired or exhaustion is when you still try to be actively engaged but you physically, psychologically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually you are drained. You have less than you’re working with when you’re 100%. And that’s how I see the moment and why I can wait if I need to, because what I see when I am quiet with myself is a whole variety of things others don’t.

I see the future. And I see beauty. 

we watched the sun over the water 

I guess I’m on a kick where I’m writing stories that take place in previous stories I wrote… Or at least in the worlds they were from… How meta. 🙂 

This is one from a tv pilot I’d started writing a while back that I haven’t gotten very far into, but who knows maybe this would inspire what goes into it. I guess I could see it as an ingredient in that larger piece. Enjoy!

In this strip of shops, we could all see the ocean. And every night we watched the sun set together. 

There were the kids in the record shop. The soul surfer waxing his board who stopped to look up. That yoga lady doing something complicated with this class that was like whaaaa? There from the window of the kitchen, chopping onions and I accidentally slice the tip of my finger. It hurts pretty much the same as a paper cut, but a good deeper into the skin. I look up as the light shines on my eyelids and I feel it as I’m looking down at my cutting board and the thousands of little pieces of onion, cilantro, tomatoes…

Setting sun on the water and the waves are a lullaby. My brother is playing guitar and singing outside while my father complains to my mother that he should be doing stuff in the restaurant. Meanwhile I’m inside and I’m working in the kitchen. Only place they’ll let me be. Though I could do more. I want to do more. But see he’s the boy. He’s the only son. Still, I think. I’m the only daughter…

It’s not just the onions that make my eyes water or the way that I’ve been built this way all my life. I cry easily sure, but I’m not like those girls that cry at everything. I’m not sure what the others think, but I don’t really care. I know now I only cry when I’m at the edge. As soon as I realize it’s happening again, I set down the knife. Onion juice slicked onto the blade. Set it down onto the block of wood. I set my hands on the counter and exhale. I look out the open door to sand and tiny long blades of grass sticking up every so often. Rich deep ble as far as you can see and the kind of sky that makes your heart hurt.

Setting sun and a beautiful song. I drift outside by my brother as he sings. He’s sitting under this tree on a little mound. And the breeze blows our hair back. I stand and listen. And he looks at me and smiles like he knows a little song might cheer up his little sister. He’s always been a free spirit so he’s gonna do what he wants anyway. And it’s like his song is telling me not to worry what our parents want us o do. He’s just gonna sit here and play this song because there’s time for a lot of things in this world. And this moment is for now and for singing and sunsets and being in wonder with the world around us. I get all this without him having to say it to me. Just in the way he looks at me. Like, “hey it’s alright”. He sings to me this familiar song that I’ve heard before and know the words by heart. And he coaxes me into singing it with him. We sing together with the ocean waves the breeze. 

Out in the distance on the water I see two surfers — one of the them’s the kid of the soul surfer who owns the shop down the road. The other is his friend. The yoga class is done and the people leave the class looking at the sun over the water. And over in the record shop, the kids are laughing together over inside jokes about obscure music. Light reflecting off their faces.

So today is just another day where the smallest largest things happen yet again. Ongoing in this cycle where the cataclysmic is contained in the communal watching or a natural phenomenon. And I’m like, yeah, this is okay too.