Today is the past. This moment belongs to the ancestors.
Now is the sepia moment; and a thousand years from now many will look back and call this age vintage.
© zaji, 2016
As my plane flew over Cuba, bound for Jamaica, I began to feel the pull of a long ago home, one that remembered me more than I could remember it. I landed on over 4,000 square miles of fragile paradise, not knowing what to expect. But I was on the soil of my first home.
I am now sitting on the veranda of a quaint hotel overlooking the ocean. A child splashes about in the pool below. I wondered why he was not brought to the sand to feel the glorious ocean around his tiny body. We each make our choices and hope that we make them well. I chose to be here and will later create the sand memory for the child. I will let the sand move between my toes and the water envelope me as I remember what was gained and lost, remembered and almost forgotten. I will be the child.
I will let this expansive view humble me and remind me of my fragility. I can only smile and fall in love again. Jamaica is a wonder to behold–colonized and monetized, still, something of the old world remains.
words from a tiny phone
it was the summer of 2010.
i looked out at the Melbourne ocean.
i was remembering Jamaica
and small white stones
under bare feet.
i remember someone
fetching water down by the
road side water pump,
jackfruit and sugar cane
growing along the way.
was it my grandmother or uncle?
was it Papa, my grandfather,
who pumped water for eight children?
i was too young to remember
the details but the feelings remain.
memories of guineps and jackfruit and
honeycombs live inside that place in
me where significant memories
are carved in stone.
papa was a beekeeper.
i remember this.
i remember many things,
like the sweetness of fresh
warm honey on my tongue,
honey sucked clean from
a honeycomb on an
island that remembers
maroons and tainos
and genocide not so sweet.
not so sweet; not like honey.
It was cold in Vermont.
A week long stay felt like months of winter. Minus temperatures. Flash snow storms. Ice patches. Frozen ears and fingers in a matter of two minutes. It is a much more bearable state in the summer. At this time of the year Vermont should be avoided by those (this would be me) who have a serious aversion to cold weather.
My Goddard residency went well. I’ll soon be in warmer climates as I cross over the Mason-Dixon line and continue further South into the Sunshine State. I will miss the space to write and grow with writer-mates and learning face-to-face from advisors who are passionate about the written word. I won’t miss the bitter cold and blistering winds.
Today I cleaned windows and wondered about the rays of the sun that passed through them. I thought about sun rays slightly changing their form as they passed through glass, a thing virtually undetectable but almost felt. I thought about the warmth on my skin and what the sun means to our existence. We are here in part because of the sun. What an amazing creation.
Photo Challenge: Achievement – Have you just run 26.2 miles, finished a long-term project, or met a personal goal? This week, show us an achievement.
It may seem small to some, but reading four books in three weeks for class is no small feat. On top of that, completing a three to four page annotation for each. This is an achievement for me. This picture represents my achievement.
Everything contains water to some degree. In this image, water has wrapped itself around my ankles, as though attempting to contain me. In a strange way, I wanted to be contained. I consider water to be a living entity. In our first months of life we are enveloped in this entity, water, floating around inside our mother’s womb, waiting to surface from the liquid that sustained us for nine months.
Through light we see life
Through life we see illusions that dance inside our dreams
Through our dreams we live what was
Through our illusions we live what could be
Light envelopes reality
Light sees life and continues
Light sees life and unfolds