Friday, February 10, 2012

Piles, clean desk & a restless sleep.

Piles of papers, receipts, store clothing tags, earrings, a dollar bill, old bills, new bills, rubber bands, small books, a compact camera in a baggie, a hairbrush, dust—all of these things were becoming too much. I have gotten behind in sorting through the desk where the computer stands that I used to sit at and type into. Lately, I’ve been using my laptop, away from the desk. I didn’t plan on writing anything this morning. I put most of the odds and ends into a large bag to sort through later. I’m able to sit here now and I must say it’s a nice change to be able to sit with my legs crossed under each other in the chair. My joints feel as though they’ve been oiled. For a long time I couldn’t bend one of my knees under, but for several weeks, it’s been easier, less of a crunching sound. I love the light in here, in the bedroom, where the miniature desk sits as I type and hear the man blowing leaves outside and the NovaLatino CD streaming “Latino moods and Brazilian beats” out from the living room, reaching back to me. I can see the brightness of the sun on my screen from the window and my cup of tea sits there at my left waiting to be finished.

Yesterday I felt a little more tired than usual. This often happens by Thursday. I think it’s more mental tiredness than anything. I went and laid down early—about 8:30 p.m. and slept until about midnight. Since I slept for a good chunk of the early part of the night, I had trouble sleeping during the later part of the night. I looked at the clock: 1:36 a.m. I just sat there, enjoying the silence. I could hear the non-sound of outside because no cars were passing, no man blowing his leaf blower, no birds—and where do the birds go at night to sleep? But then I heard off in the distance a flock or maybe it was a pair—Canadian Geese. Ah, how lovely, I thought. Black webbed feet holding up a rotund bunch of light mocha and cream feathers, attached by the most slender and graceful black neck. Oh how I would enjoy watching them and feeding them at the park as a child and also as an early adult. I was surprised to hear them at these wee hours, but then again, perhaps they like to travel at early morning hours too.

Sheep. 1…2….3.  A yawn. 4…I reached 10 and counted beyond that, but I don’t know that it put me to sleep. I did feel more soothed. Next time I woke up and looked at the clock it was about 3:30 a.m. or thereabouts. The moon had come around again, bright and large. I perched up and looked outside. The clouds! Amazing puzzle pieces—illuminated puzzle pieces against a midnight blue aglow that made me think of the classical piece by Erik Satie, Gymnopopedie No. I. I cannot tell you why—only that it is a feeling. Even though this piece has a melancholy feel to it, at the same time, it is both peaceful and feels filled with imagination. This image—of those clouds—illuminated puzzle pieces, dancing with the moon—it was the highlight of my restless evening and when I did look out in amazement, the first words from my mouth were an ever so quiet, w-o-w. I felt like a child looking at the night sky for the first time. Careful not to make too much noise, I tucked myself back into bed and slept soundly through the morning.

Gymnopedie No. I


keiko amano said...


My vision deteriorates especially at night and I've seen pies instead of piles on the title of this blog, so I started to read.

I like "the non-sound of outside" and Canadian geese. I envy that you can recognize the bird by sounds. I wish I can do that. I love birds.

By the way, because of your last comment on my blog "A Zoo in San Dimas" and we were discussing about howl and the moon, I decided to write a poem this afternoon and brought it to a poetry meeting, but only one person out of seven understood. So, I came home and worked on it and created a new blog, "An O Story." Please let me know, if I can simplify further and make it clear.

Rebb said...

Keiko, what a disappointment to expect pies and receive piles. Hehe.

I'm glad you like "the non-sound of outside." It seems a rare treat and especially nice to be visited by the birds. I wish I knew more bird sounds. There is one that I used to hear when I lived at the other place nestled right in nature. Till this day, I think of his or her beautiful song, but I do not know the bird by sight, only sound. I do not hear it any more--only in my imagination.

I took a look at your poem and will send you some thoughts that come to mind to your email.

keiko amano said...

Thank you, Rebb, for your comments. I'm working on it, but more I do, more hilarious it becomes. Maybe I will never be a poet, but a comedian which is okay by me. I have huge respect to comedians.

Rebb said...

Keiko, You are welcome, Keiko. I sent you an email with more thoughts. You are already a poet, Keiko :) my sense is that you may need to take a step away from this poem for a week or so and come back with fresh eyes. You are definitely a comedian too! I saw your comments here before I responded in email, so you'll see my comedian comment. Hehe. Since you can draw those great, manga, another project could be expressing in that way. Hmm...

Vincent said...

Hi Rebb, I just read your post "Writing into Wholeness" and realised that I had seen various other posts before that and skipped them, always saying to myself I'll come back when I can give them the deep attention they deserve. And now it's the middle of the night, and I woke up undistracted by daytime to plunge into some of those posts that i now blame myself for missing. And I see how good your writing is, how clear, direct and expressive of the moment.

It puts me in mind of Fernando Pessoa's The Book of Disquiet (in the Richard Zenith translation). Have we spoken about him? "Disquiet" is a misleading word. His little pieces, so much like blog posts in their compactness, induce an ecstasy of contemplation like no other. But let George Steiner present you with a glimpse, within this review.

Vincent said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Rebb said...

Hi Vincent,

It sounds peaceful over there on the day you wrote this. Thank you very much for your kind words.

Ah yes, I do remember when you wrote about Fernando Pessoa, and thanks to you I now own a copy. I have only read the introductory parts and a few snippets. I sense in Pessoa a kindred spirit and I also feel that his pieces are to be read slowly and gently. I had the book up in the closet but took it out and have placed it near me to dip into. I haven’t yet, but have a feeling when I do, I will want to write a response to him. Thank you for the link to George Steiner’s review.