There is a church in Zürich called the Fraumünster. Its small, and beautiful. It sits quietly next to the river louring people inside. Once inside you look at the old walls, but its a little room off to the side that you came here for. You walk in and it’s there, three panels to the front and one on each side. Stained glass. Marc Chagall. I looked at each one intently. Finding the people, watching them float, looking at their eyes, their faces. I looked for the goats.. there is always a goat. There were many goats, but none of them were playing violins. I would enjoy the world better if we had more floating violin playing goats.
Archive for June, 2005|Monthly archive page
You enter the park full of trees and laughing children. You fight your way through the gnat clouds with arms flailing, and finally you find a nice spot on the sand… hopefully far away from the duck fleas. You put down your blanket/towel/sheet and briefly look over at the mountains. You breathe in the hot air. This is enjoyment. The sun bright, the sand reflective. You can watch the shadows of the gnats above darting back and forth at your feet. The water is calling you. You walk over slowly, and bravely step in. The water is cold, but the suns burn is deeper so you brave on. Through the school of tiny fishes, and just past the underwater beached wood cemetery lies the ditch you fear. The water is deeper, almost to your mouth, but you can still stand. But you wont. You wont stand, and you don’t dare walk. If you try it will grab you.. it will tangle itself around your ankles.. it will wrap itself around your toes. It’s sliminess will unnerve you. You might scream. But then you see the mountains. And you see the trees. And you feel the calm. And you begin to love the sea grass at your ankles… and you explore its greenness and its texture. And you are happy. And this is calm.
I went swimming today in Lac Léman (Lake Geneva). It was quite strange for me.. swimming in water that was neither scented with fish and salt, nor chlorine. I put my feet into the cold water and slowly walked out until my waist was level with the surface. I was using my hands to push away any plant matter that was on the surface, and in some cases the little fish that decided to swim my way. The water reached just past my wait and i suddenly could no longer convince my body that the cold water was not going to kill me. So i started walking further on my tippy toes until finally i just dunked myself fully. It was cold, and then chilly, and then in some places slightly warm. There were ducks, and boats. I opened my eyes under the water and i saw sand, a smirnof vodka bottle (and no i did not put it there)..the label was several yards away but this i also saw. I stood up to look around… at the mountains.. at the sky, at the people. It was beautiful. It was calm. I looked down to look at my hands for some reason, and then i realized that they were under water yet perfectly clear. Then i realized i could also see my feet. I don’t really know why i found this so amazing, but somehow i did. It was almost dizzying. The lake, the clearness, the calm, the cold, the air, the warmth.
So i mailed one of my two boxes yesterday to my friends place in the US. I was good. I wrote the address on all the sides of the box and even put tape over some of them on the off chance that the permanent marker somehow washed away. I bravely took my box to the post office and in reasonable french informed the nice lady that i had a rather heavy package going to the US. She asked me if i had filled out the customs forms and i told her no. She gave me a form and i set to filling it out. She reminded me to press very hard as there were many copies to be made. I pressed very hard and went over lots of times to insure that the information was readable on all copies. This took me some time especially since i coulnt not remember how to say “art supplies” in french. So i settled for “choose pour faire l’art” It is probably wrong but it should be understood. I went back over to the lovely nice lady and lifted my package onto the counter ( a whole 24kg ). She asked if it was a gift and of course i said it was… dont want to get charged tax now do i. Money was exchanged ( 161 swiss francs= $160 canadian = 77 pounds = $129 usd). She handed me my copy of the form with all the appropriate stamps and stickers, i said thank you and left. Job well done for me… or so i thought. Today i decided to make sure i have all address i might need during my travels, for post card or what have you. I went to the email that the friend mentioned above address was in and started to write it down. I had remembered it mostly because i had written it so many times just yesterday but some things were a little blurry so i double checked it all. Upon rereading the address i and written in my book ( and on the customs form of my package) and comparing it to the address in the email i discovered that they were in fact, not the same. FUCK! I somehow managed to somehow change 15th ave to 1st ave. This is not good. This is not good at all. I ran to the post office with the hope that the package was still there, since i sent it economy i was hoping that they didnt rush to send it out. I was wrong. It was sent out yesterday. Yay for speedy postal service. The nice lady made some phone calls to try and track down the box, but it isnt looking so good at the moment. I have to go back in 70 mins when they phone her back with either good news or news that my wonderful box of stuff is gone for good. *sigh*
EDIT: They managed to find my box before it had left the country and the proper address was faxed to them and hopefully they will put it on the box and everything will be fine… hopefully
I have been brainwashed by hollywood. I want to wake up with the sun shinning just right into my bedroom at the foot of my bed highlighting my blanket that is somehow still lying neatly in place. I want to look over and see the book that i know i was reading before i fell asleep lying on the bedside table with a book mark in place. And have a vague memory of it being lifted from my chest the night before by the scruffy man now waking me up by gently nudging me and whispering into my ear about me getting up now or face a glass of cold water. I’d laugh and pull him back into bed. I’d be late for work, but id get in smiling. I want someone to look me in the eyes and realize that they can’t possibly not be kissing me any longer. I want to be breathless, my heart should stop at least for a moment, and the ground should continue to move under my feet. This is what i want.
My room is covered with boxes and clothes. It’s that time again. I’m running. Packing has become a comfort snack for me. It means i’m starting over. It means i can forget i messed up where i am. Repeating, repeating, repeating.
So 3 rolls of toilet paper later, my nose is still full of nasty slimey stuff, and i still feel like im going to pass out. I hate being sick. On a good note, its june. And June makes me happy. Maybe i will be not-sick next week.