Feelings .. woah woah woah

Last night I was at a fundraiser for CFWEP at the Quarry Brewery – what fun! I chatted with friends, insulted one truly obnoxious man I’d met the night before at the MAR fundraiser, and listened to the music – when I could catch it. The sound system wasn’t really so good – so I could barely hear the music, and surely couldn’t hear the musicians’ patter between songs.

As I chatted with this group and that, I found myself watching me as much as I was watching the people around me. I was surprised and delighted at observing the animation that seems to come so naturally now. For those of you who’ve known me forever – that might seem odd. My past has included years of extreme shyness and a public persona of extreme stillness. One woman who later became a friend of sorts commented upon meeting me: Woah! Densely packed molecules – nothing escapes that one. Another dear friend commented, “ice wouldn’t melt in your mouth – you keep it all so cool”.

Last night I giggled to myself as I felt the variety of expressions fly across my face, as I watched my hands dance around as I explained something to Dan about my new understanding of wave/particle theory, as I shared a Mary Oliver poem with Shawn, as I congratulated Justin on the crowd of people, as I met someone who had mistakenly assumed that I was dating Bryan. And so many smiles – from me! I was simply happy.

I was happy … to be hanging out in this wonderful new business which I see as part of the potential revival of Butte … to be surrounded by so many people I knew and cared about … to be having silly conversations that make us all giggle … to be able to glance out the open doors to the amazing beauty of the hills and mountains surrounding the city … to be in the midst of yet another misunderstanding with someone I care for deeply – and still happy to see them … to be able to stand outside listening lightly to friends chat, swaying from side to side to some internal music, watching the light shifting on the East ridge, the pigeons flying above, and the sun warming the scene almost as much as my heart.

I love being happy. It’s become a more frequent visitor in my life – and I’m grateful for each moment. But today, I was realizing that I love all those intense feelings that flow through me. I love being furiously pissed off in the moment – like a fire razing old growth and making way for something new. I love the feeling of sorrow that washes through me when listening to Billie Holiday sing the blues and I appreciate the tears that flow. I love feeling awe-struck, feeling grateful, feeling deep and dear love for the variety of people in my life.

Even more – I love that I love to have these feelings. I am so grateful that I no longer feel the need to hide away from feeling passionate. I am so grateful that I no longer want to hide that part of my nature. I spent so many years feeling like I was padded with sticky, sweet, unpleasant cotton candy – I couldn’t reach through to others – I couldn’t reach through to me. Now – its a whole ‘nother story – and one that I’m liking quite a lot.

Words

This evening I walked in the falling twilight.  Moving towards me, on roller skates, was a girl hovering on the edge of adolescence.  She was roller skating with her little dog running at her side. She stopped, sat on the amazingly uncomfortable bench, and the dog leaped onto her lap. We chatted a moment as she held the dog’s muzzle closed, growls and snarls emerging from behind her hand, and she was unselfconscious about explaining that the dog thought it was bigger and tougher than it really was.

I walked further down the hill, the sun had already set, the long bars of clouds were lit from below with deep rose and purple. The Pintlers, still snow-covered, had frothy clouds behind them. And all the while, I wondered, ‘how do I talk about what I’m seeing here?’, ‘why do I want to talk about what I’m seeing here’.

I tell stories here, for you – for me …. some of them well written, others – not so much. I look for the words to allow you glimpses of my experiences. But, how do I explain the new, slightly chemical smell that emerges from the areas that are watered in the evening? How do I explain the bare patches of ground that somehow move me with the small plants that push up through to the light? I don’t know enough yet, to know how … or why.  Is there a difference, I wondered, between telling it and writing it?

This morning I took Mary Oliver with me to the Hummingbird. I read her poems, and I stole lines that sang out to me for writing prompts. I found one poem I wanted to send off to a friend after a conversation we’d had yesterday. I found another poem that was perfect (to me anyway) as an enhancement to a conversation I’d had with another friend at the Brewery. As I walked this evening, I realized that Mary Oliver writes, over and over again, about the small portion of the world she’s lived in – mostly Cape Cod, sometimes Austerlitz, New York. Both places that I’m also familiar with. And I’m never bored – I never think “oh, she’s written about this pond, that heron, that black bear before”. No – each time I’m eager to see how she makes it new.

She allows the words to do more than simply describe and create a setting. She also finds the jewel for that setting. She polishes it, shines it up, and places it oh so carefully. I remember sitting in a pizza place in Lee, Mass. and reading Mary Oliver’s introduction to Ralph Waldo Emerson’s Essays. I felt a deep and loving longing to write with the author-ity that they write with. My own – not theirs. But what a joy to have theirs as a guiding light along the way.