Connections

We were asked to write in journals during our week. Here's mine. The dates are all chronological, I just don't know quite which day is which. (I apologize for the spelling. Typing fast..)

1.
"Return to the sun..." (Part of a very wonderful song sung by a couple of the older camp guys)

Avocado fridges delighted to be the center of attention. (There were many many leftovers from the potluck dinner we had on the first night.)

The world seeps in under doorframes while we try to shut it out so that, for one moment, we can just be, unruled by outside forces, undefined by our misunderstandings.
I remember every emotion of this camp from a previous summer. (A YouthWrite Camp I went to last summer) Every taste, every lingering moment, every flaw that came out through the week. Beautiful flaws with definition and poignancy, with hope discovered from the wreckage of lost companions. That came from humming cities or yawning towns. A river knows when to flow fast or slow. A snowflake crystallizes what we see and breaks it into a thousand pieces for us to rearrange and view in a different light. We are the co-creators of our existence. We are the children of our revolution. And how we view the world can determine how the world is reflected in other people's eyes. A mystery to be lived or a problem to be solved. Hold fast to dreams shattered by wake. Find yourself emersed in a dewdrop or a day. Plunge, while the water is tempid. Breathe, while the air is fresh. Live to change the circumstance.

The Talking Circle - Tuesday Night (The talking circle was where we passed a rock around the group after the campfire and everyone talked about how they were feeling about the camp)

I felt there was a great sense of urgency to not rush words, to make everything as beautiful as the moments were. To describe it without flow, to be the moments that lingered in everyone's minds. And for that talking circle I felt that words could not describe what I was feeling. That just being there, with everyone, was enough. Perhaps if the moments and the feelings had been fireflies, I could catch them in jars to examine and release at a later time. But they were clouds, time pushing them through the sky, out of our lives, maybe a storm cloud waiting or a perfect blue sky. It doesn't matter how the clouds stayed suspended in detail at that moment, just how they were last remembered, as wisps of fluff dotting the sky, each one holding something special, like rain. A whisper, a secret.

2.
I wish I could stop time. The falling snow, the movements, the words. I wish I could stop it all. Silence to breathe in between suspended air particles. Away from voices, away from the people that define the world. I want to understand myself. I want to take a walk around the world and live in between the spaces of people's lives. I want to be a statue, a breath, a thought. I don't want to be the center until I understand why I want so many things. To be accepted, to be needed, to be loved by people who's impact on my life is miniscule, who are a glimpse, a day, a look and then gone. I want poetry in a pencil behind my left ear. I want the stars in silver jars, with labels like 'loved once', 'fell too fast' and 'the wishes never came true.' I want love without boundaries, to step across centuries. I want to observe the imperfections and bright eyes when people speak. A shadow, a glimmer, a dream. I want to stop time, move between the spaces and find out all the reasons why.

"...Till human voices wakes us, and we drown." - T.S. Eliot "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock."

My first thought coming back from the campfire was I need to cut my hair. I need something fresh, something ugly to keep me real. Except I didn't cut my hair. And I didn't talk with the rock. And I didn't feel connected with anyone because I thought and I think that they're all faking it.
But it was so cold, I could almost stop my heart. So cold my eyes were frosted over with snowflakes. So cold I forgot what was real, and I wanted to forget. I wanted not to talk, I wanted not to sing. I just wanted to curl up and be far far away.

3.
The day has changed me, yet again. I realize now that I am allowed to not like certain people and that there is more to a person than what is reflected by a day, by a week. I've learned that I change constantly in the course of a day, that my opinions and viewpoints of others constantly change. And what I would do on a hike at night with the stars and rings around Saturn watching like ancient gods? Who would I be at that time What image of power would I evoke? I think time heals, time changes. With indecisions come decision. I think if it happened again, I could confront them (Them being a couple annoying boys making racist comments on our night hike...), having the previous knowledge and example of what they had done and how it had affected me. I think I would tell them to stop, I mean, they're at a camp trying to stop racism. Maybe I would say "Alright, that's your opinion, just please keep it to yourself." And if it didn't help, maybe I would let it go, try to find some peace with myself instead. I've definitely been changed by these experiences and observing people. However, I think I nee more time to take risks, to learn to be myself and acknowledge who I am, why I am. The whole cosmic universe thing. Maybe one day I'll cross a line, cut my hair, smile sideways, speak without hesitation. But for now I'm okay hesitating because that's how I find the difference when I don't hesitate. Something real, something true.
I have to find the truth behind the lies, the lies behind the truth. Learn the world in tongues and toes. Stick to a belief because I really, honestly believe in it. But I can't do that until I live in the spaces between people's eyelashes, until I find out if blinking is an instinct and how far they fall when they trip. I need to find out just how much they're like me and why I'm different.

www.coryjohnson.ca

I can't even describe this last night. There are no words. I had an amazing discussion with Amanda, the dance that Emmy and Krystal put on was so fun and spirited. And finally the speech Hawk gave. It changed my life. I feel it so much. Everything. Wow. I can't even begin.

(Alright...the end. Hawk was actually Cory Johnson...Hawk was his camp name. He was born with Cerebral Palsy then had a stroke, and so he's physical 'disabled' and he spoke to us about his life and how he became an inspiration to so many people. And wow, I met him thinking of him as his disability but then he spoke to us and he told us how he thought of himself as being just Cory stuck inside the body, and it really made me look at everything so differently. Like how I took things for granted and always just saw the disability and not the person. And he is such an amazing person. I think he really did change my view of people. The whole camp changed my view of the world. )

Oh, and a few random poem things...

'Atomic particles drifting in lines across the sky.'

'Her bedside lamptable.
His time ticking by'

'The light drives away her darkness,
a freckle,
dotted with snow.
A smile tangled in her cheeks.
Her eyes speaking of regrets'

'Her madness
drives him,
when she finds
comfort
in the snow,
buried and
clutching to
her ankles,
like a
forgotten prayer.
Her cheeks
reddened by
the cold.
Her eyes
don't even
notice,
his subtlety.
She walks
without
making a sound.
Her heartbeat
even stills.
He wonders
if she were
to breathe,
would he get
tangled
in the air?'