Wednesday, April 16, 2008

impatient

I'm revisiting Sex and Other Sacred Games by Kim Chernin & Renate Stendhal. Just devoured an amazing passage, so lovely I read the page three times, and it's my habit to always share such rare treasures. What fun are beautiful words if you only read them or say them to yourself? I think it's just gorgeous writing, i love the rhythm of the words, they way they fall away from your mouth if you read them out loud, they are so much like musical notes, or like movement, or dancing, or all of it together. Maybe I love it most because it just absolutely manages to capture exactly how I'm feeling at this very moment of my life.

"I've been healing quite a while, battling with my translation jobs, my poems, my solitude, the unknown nature of scorpions, mice, animal sounds by night. I watch the days shorten, the sun's arc over the rocks, the shadows filling my little court. The summer goes. My soul slows down, curves in, settles into its solitude, prepares for something I don't know and yet know, for some descending that even without understanding makes sense.

Maybe one day I'll also get that patient with the slowness of human change, this stagnation that alternately drives me mad or drowns me in resignation. What if equality between women and men takes as long as nature takes to level a mountain? I have to accept another paradox: to learn patience and still care.

Feminism is not one revolution, it's just rain. Provocative rains, thunderstorms beating down on that mountain. They wash away the wrong side, speed up, leap into vertiginous cascades, get lost in a crevasse, are gone, declared dead. All the while they rise from their way underground to wet the most unexpected terrains, grow, make themselves a bed, find their own voices, repeat and repeat their message to the rock, speak in the chorus of rivers, move on, open arms, hug islands, take in landscapes, forget the mountain, avoid the mountains with the certitude of their direction, enter every new landscape's dream, grow heavy with their own richness, settle into a stately stream, beat the low pulse of balance, reach fulfillment losing themselves in the ocean that won't turn sweet.

I listen to myself and doubt that my patience will ever be free from resignation."

2 comments:

MRMacrum said...

Yes indeed, some fine wordsmithing there.

M said...

this is lovely, as are you.

Talk soon,
M.