Epic

I'm stealing the one word episode title idea from Denis Leary's TV series, "Rescue Me". I devoured the whole thing via rentals and iTunes downloads with my boyfriend in late night stupors and guilty afternoon viewings. I liked the idea of condensing the entire raison d'etre of each episode into one word. Very neat. Clean.

So my title for today's blog captures the essence of my Friday experience. Let's just say I spent a delightful morning with my boyfriend, and the following encounters/events also carried a weight far beyond their superficial appearances.

I left my apartment purring and proceeded to the last practice session before my "buen viaje" house concert with a local upright bass player extraordinaire. This is a woman I have known and admired almost my entire 18 year Chico experience and only in the last few years have had the pleasure of making more of her acquaintance. We've had a grand old time meeting once a week for the past month and a half working on a small set of my songs that we'll be performing tomorrow at my soiree. I've been playing mostly solo for the past five years and recently came the to conclusion that I need the energy and expertise of other musicians to create something a little more living with the songs that I've grown to know so well I forget what inspired me to write them in the first place. Our experience so far has only proven that it's exactly the medicine I've needed. We spent an hour running through the set in unexpected blissful enjoyment of the nuances we had discovered over the weeks. Acoustic guitar, vocals, and upright bass is a cocktail I want to get drunk on as often as possible.

From there it was lunch with my now officially ex-husband at one of my favorite hole in the wall Mexican restaurants that make me feel like I'm in Tijuana, a dining genre you could call 'good nasty'. We wanted to spend at least a little time together when we weren't signing documents or discussing official divorce business before I leave for Spain.

Everyone has an experience at some point or another -if they're lucky, of passing through their worst fear and discovering that, shockingly, they are still alive! I've had the growing impression that I died when I decided to walk out the door, and this past year has been spent as a ghost floating around my old haunts. At first it was an uncomfortable and even tragic sensation, but now I'm starting to feel like less of an apparition and more of a resurrection. The difference is the union of body, mind, and spirit. I spent the last five years with my mind staggering about like a grieving mother trying to make sense of senseless loss, my spirit burning off layers and layers of legalism and fear, and my poor body desperately seeking comfort it had blindly begged for for years.

As I sat with my ex over some chips and salsa, I felt strangely solid. There I was with the man I was 100% certain that I would spend the rest of my life with and we were talking about our new relationships, plans for the year, and friendly gossip. It was a scene I only imagined with foundless faith during the moments I cried so hard it seemed like anesthesia-free heart surgery complete with band saw sternum cracking would be a welcome alternative. Fast forward a year and a couple of tacos al pastor later, and it seemed like he was going to be alright, and I knew I was committed to that and more. I was starting to get the hang of making choices that respected reality and dreams, uniting the needs, wants, and greater good of my true self, and so was he.

The crowning event of the day was the LONG awaited bridal shower of my best friend. When you move in Christian circles, 35 is a ripe old age for marriage, and she received more than her share of shit and unsolicited advice on relationships than you can shake a stick at over the years. Here was her victory, her "I told you so!", her holy grail. This is a woman who's been in more countries than items you can bring to the quick check aisle who came to peace with the fact that, yes, she did want to get married, but not at any cost. There had been a lot of potential suitors, each equipped with their own cheering section, but no one who seemed to cherish the independent, adventurous, and idealistic spirit that makes her who she is. No one who didn't have that "Taming of the Shrew" look in their eyes. She had finally found a man 'man' enough to get that she's a free-range chicken. More power to her.



Every day can't be the top of the mountain from whence you look down the sheer cliffs at the curving path through the valley and say to yourself, "The way here is so obvious! How could I not have seen it?" Most days are spent pacing the endless miles on the plain, wandering through the forest's thick underbrush, or scaling rocks you blindly grope in search of a hand grip before your legs give out. But on the days you take the last steps, turn around and face the great wide open through which you passed to this peak, survey it all slowly. Breath deeply, take a drink, and feel the words that swirl and whisper all around and through you-

All things,
all things,
all things, dear one, are possible.