“A great artist is always before his time or behind it.”
- George Edward Moore
“A great artist is always before his time or behind it.”
A brief list of reflections I’ve had/am having throughout the course of the year so far.
“This is why I like the city better!” I yell in frustration. A mixture of confusion, miscommunication, and a bad case of PMS and the tension is over. Yet just by me blabbing that, everything makes sense; it all comes out. Upstate is pretty, beautiful even — but its just not for me. I don’t belong here; I’m meant for downtown.
What was I thinking? They were bad, but not that bad! They weren’t bad at all, but I made them a whole lot worse!
You reflect, thinking and feeling the emotions bottled up rise above the surface all at once. Should I reach out? Should I call? Perhaps I better ignore it; maybe they’re reach out to me. It’s good to have faith, great even, but God only helps those who help themselves. Don’t sit there on your ass doing nothing; do something. Unless divine action has yet to speak through, don’t waste time waiting; depending on our beliefs, we only have one life to live. Best to live it the way we want and stop settling for everything in life.
Am I doing something wrong? I’m visualizing, meditating, scripting, everything; everything but taking action.
Take action — something I expected to do on the receiving end, not giving. Take action — a message I’ve been receiving, but am struggling to accept; those who know me tell me to wait, while the worker in the store or the lady in the church say “no.” They don’t know who I am, my story, what I want/am in the process of, but they can see I need to act on it. I’m tired sitting around doing nothing — its time to take action.
If only divine action would fully call… every time I get close, I back out. Its a habit I need to break myself of; that habit starts right now.
To be continued…
*reverse Arminius is a term I derived as someone who fully engulfs themselves in and adopts the attitudes and behaviors of their new surroundings. An example is someone who’s originally from a rural area in the South moving to Manhattan and has lost their Southern accent and mannerisms completely.
Exactly 1 year, 3 months, and 3 days to the day from graduating, I finally got an offer for a full-time job. I’m still working at my alma mata, but in a different department and in the Financial District of New York City. It’s a lot of writing (including interviewing!), which is right up my alley, and also database and repository system maintenance, which is what I do in my current position and started in my previous ones from when I was a student worker. Words alone cannot describe how grateful and wonderful I feel inside. Like yes, finalmente, I did it!
I start the life of a city commuter, something some have warned me about but I always dreamed of, after Labor Day. I also gave my notice to my bosses after finding out; its a bittersweet feeling. While I’m happy to at last go full-time and begin my career writing and downtown, I’ll miss everyone in the Westchester office and working in HR. I literally grew up in this department, starting off as a doe-eyed student transforming into the successful woman I am today. Plus its been an amazing, positive, and inspiring environment, both in Briarcliff and Valhalla. Lucky for myself and my co-workers, we’ll still be in touch, both as I transition into this full-time role and become benefits eligible (you bet I’m going back to school to get my master’s as soon as I can!) and as we become/remain “cubicle mates,” since some of my co-workers also commute into the city on certain days (and some are there full-time), and the HR area is right next to all the Alumni Relations departments.
For the next two weeks, I’m continuing my normal work, and also getting together as much information as I can for my successor. I’ll also begin cleaning up, which is funny how I’m downsizing for my moving into a new home and now also moving into a new job, and enjoying the last few Mondays I have off.
Remember, it’s not the end — its only the beginning.
Rocks against cast irons, subway
stations filled with being from
top to floor, exiting on past the
platform, reaching for above, light,
air, the buildings touched by angels,
heaven galore. How could humans
makes things such as these?
*Image from Google Image search
shall be, no matter the length
of time passing between you and
me. Stop dragging your feet, do not
fear — touch, reach out– I promise —
I am here; I bear no ill will, am holding
no grudge. The past is dead, finished, gone —
done. Years down the drain, keep calm — its
time to move on, and cast all anxiety aside. Pick
up the phone and call, what must you lose! We
already lost so much time. But descandsar —
rest — I promise as we reunite, we’ll get by — for
what’s meant to be is..shall..will be…for what’s
meant to be is you — you and me.
O César o nada, its all or nothing. O César
o nada, I must tell you something — O César o
nada — nothing or all, o César o nada, I shall not
fall, o O César o nada, you and me — what will be is shall
and meant to be, o O César o nada, we shall again meet — as
Fernando and Isabel united Spain, and Isabel de Portugal served
regent for her emperador, I know again we’ll be against the rocky
shores, as like ours, both unions were abandoned for awhile, before
either relationship truly begun, we were already together once, twice, you
and I are already twelve steps ahead — just stop it now, don’t be afraid– O César
o nada, my love. Come back, for O César o nada, we are each other’s destiny, O
César o nada, its you and me, O César o nada, where fate soon leads. O César o
nada, I’ve done my best, O César o nada, ritorna, come back, show me something
built to last. O César o nada, I am yours, and you are mine, O César o nada, you’re a
lready here, showing yourself all in due time. O César o nada, I let you and trust in
God to lead, O César o nada, us back together, tanto monta, monta tanto, our destiny. O
César o nada, you can run, but you can’t escape the fates. O César o nada, don’t
forget, dear one, not all is left to God, but given to man for his role to play. O César o
nada, time your time, get ready. O César o nada, I know your heart is full and heavy, but
O César o nada — the most precious thing we’re losing is time. O César o nada — call or
text me now, O César o nada, no one games — again let I be yours, and you be mine.
O César o nada — we cannot turn back the hands of time. O César o nada — but
we can begin, O César o nada, be in the present, be not afraid, for I was and am
always yours, and you were and are always mine. O César o nada, O César o nada,
O César o nada, O César o nada — let us reunite, happy and mature, creating our
future tanto monta, monta tanto —
all in God’s time.
“The eyes those silent tongues of love.”
Mi carina Antonia,
How fortune honors me so that you, blood of my blood, continue to communicate with me. The hours drag on, making the days, weeks, months longer, thus further draining the life from me. But fret not, my little one — the work goes on, thanks to you and my beloved. Words alone cannot express the song which leapt within my heart upon hearing of your vows, and the name which you took. How my youngest honors her and me so, she who might’ve been your mother in another life. But alas, dear one, we are stuck in this one, clinging to ourselves hopelessly until we can make it closer to God. Thus, as I feel myself getting closer to the end of my work, I feel the wings of Paradise calling me closer, whispering. Dear son — its time to come home.
Do not cry nor fear nor fret over my memory when I’m gone. God shines upon our house in great ways. Sweet dreams, mi carina Antonio, sorella Beatrice. I shine upon you in life, and shall watch over you at the time which I ascend.
Your loving father,
“Signore Alighieri!,” the voice called out. “Mi signore! Sir!”
He put the quill down scrolling a signature, pausing to cough before pouring the wax over it. The man entered his room in a hurry.
“Here,” he demanded, holding the letter out to him. “Bring this letter into the city to the Convent of Santa Croce to Sister Beatrice.”
He held the letter out, the man hesitating to deliver it.
“Signore, I respect you dearly, though I’ve come to be your jailer, I now you are a prisoner through no fault of your own. But if His Holiness’s spies catch me anywhere near the city…”
“‘His Holiness’ will have far more to worry about in the coming months,” he sniped. “And I care not. It’s a letter to my daughter. My only daughter. She’s a nun, sworn to God. I don’t know if I can write much longer while on earth, I want her to know I approve of her choice in her life, God’s choice.”
The man lowered his face, being sympatric to his master’s cause. He takes the letter and prepares to go, and the other sits down rather weakly, taking his quill out.
“Mi signore?” he asks hesitantly. “Where will you go, when this is all over?”
He points his quill towards the sky with a smile. The man returns one from him as well.
“E il papa? Where will he?”
His smile transforming into a sly smirk, as the quill graces across the animal skin sheets. Just then, he turns the hundreds of pages over, signing straight at the top —
La Divina Comedia
Part I: L’Interno
When it comes to you, my love, my heart is like iron, my
mind that of a conquistador; Just as Columbus dashed
across the shores of a land strange and foreign to his
plans, like Cortes stampeded across the Yucatan, conquering
and slaughtering the first world at hand, as though I were
Pizarro, who marched further south, another empire
capturing on, so I long to sail away to new lost shores, see
your face, complete the Reconquista in my heart, and hold
you safely in my arms. The years no doubt changed me, altering
my face, my body, my hair, myself; perhaps you, my love, transformed
as well, yet the difference it makes is none, for I know in my heart, the
explorer’s curse, what is good and true — I’d sail through
the heavens, climb up mountains, swim the seas and ocean floor, dive
head first into the molten lava and bathe in lake of fires whether they
are on earth or through l’inferno e purgatorio, just to see your face
again, if only to hear your voice. You — the Paris to my Helen, the
Fernando to my Isabel. Tanto monta, monta tanto — together we are
the same, only separated by past pain. Through all trials and festivals,
I find you in a different place. And thus by welcoming you back, through
just one simple spark, the old world forms with new, we return to one
another a third time, this time built to last, for the first time in forever, I
finally am at peace, this ship will land — my
Odyssey of aggeta is ended.
Puncture the wound on the
breast of my heart, tales of
new glories and old woes which
tear us apart, lay down the
blade, grasp deeply my hand, breathe
upon my breath as if this moment is
your last. A hole in a hole — salt massaged
into my wounds. A new day arises, yet
what else is there to do?