Me, Undone

I’ve been here before. I know it. I’ve known it ever since I was a little girl. When I was around six or seven I would lie awake and watch my spirit leave my flesh. It would hover around, sometimes floating over my body, and then it would return just as quickly as it departed. It’s uncanny—but I was never scared. The visit, I welcomed. Some people have make-believe friends as children; I had a friend of another kind. Lately, I’ve felt the split again. Somewhere in the hours between sleep and wake I feel the energy—sense it, like one senses movement out of the corner of the eye. I write about it with such ferocity because it is persistent. I’ve always known too much, been too aware, and too connected as if I am finishing the life of someone else, perhaps a life cut short. It’s a calling, something motioning me forward—I cannot explain but some nights I find myself weeping for events occurring not in this life, but possibly the one before. Something inside of me has moved. There a

Here is a list of 75 things that I want to do before I die. I started this list over six years ago while I was in college. From time to time I return to it. It’s been a frame of reference in a life that has taken so many unexpected twists and turns. I truly believe that life is a collection of experiences. We weave tapestries and paint stories with the people we meet, the places we travel and the simple still moments of life. I eagerly anticipate devouring life in all of its fullness. I want the ins and the outs, the ups and the downs, the dark and the light. I want it all. I am fully fleshed and breathing. Open and clothed with possibility. 1. Publish a book of poems 2. Write an autobiography 3. Adopt a child with physical disabilities 4. Learn sign language 5. Study theology 6. Meet Oprah 7. Produce a documentary  8. Give a speech at my high school 9. Make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem 10. Learn how to play the piano 11. Travel to Egy

Most people find it hard to believe that I lost my virginity on my wedding night; I was twenty –three years old. I waited so long not for lack of opportunity—one only knows how many relationships these clinched thighs destroyed—but out of fear. Years later, I have come to believe that it was not fear of the other that preserved my virtue, but fear of my very self. This part of my life has been thrown back into the air quite recently. I am still trying to piece together a conversation that I had with a friend a few weeks ago. I met him my first day of school. Our connection was instant. He was attractive, witty and cynical—I certainly thought that he would be a good friend--that is until he saw my wedding ring. He backed off slowly, I understood—I was no longer my own but a possession. Over the years we spoke occasionally, our furtive exchanges tinged with chemistry and attraction. And when I finally left my husband he was there, ready to offer comfort and support. In the summer, we spe

There is a woman who cannot forget. All of the moments of her life are a constant amalgamation playing in her mind, every hour, every minute, and every second of her existence in this physical world. I watched her story a few nights ago, with mouth agape. How intense would it be to have all of my moments present always? To remember every sunrise, every autumn day, the feeling of cool on my skin, the warmth of sand, my first kiss, my lover’s touch--a heightened form of consciousness perhaps. What I wouldn’t give, I thought, to close the passing of time. But then, just as she began to explain her gift, darkness came into her face and my fascination ended. Her memories have been to her a haunting. Because she can never forget, she can never begin anew. Her life is a constant regurgitation. There are no cocoons or metamorphoses. She is as she always was, trapped in the moment before. Unabated memory has stripped her of the ability to transform. Meaning is only that which you mean i

It’s been over a month since I’ve journaled. I have half written statements and unfinished phrases on the edges of my case briefs. I am lost in moments and time and circumstance; I believe that I am possessed. Not a demon possession. I scared you. No, a possession of another kind. I spend most of my days much too aware of my thoughts. My thoughts have taken on a perverse life of their own. I am writhing with lusty pain. I need a drink to ease my state of mind. Vodka and cranberry will do just fine. I am so tired—tired of law school with its pretension and lies, tired of junky politics and the desecration of hope. Tired of WrightClintonMcCainGOPAmericansLawyersSpinFlagsWarProvencialthinkingBosniaWhitefearCasebooks…add your own. I’m going to build my own fucking world. U want in?