The form and substance of what we believe makes us safe
From D.W.: I moved into my current house almost exactly one year ago, which was nearly one year after Rachel died. I didn’t particularly want to move into a new house, but one of the things that usually happens when you lose a spouse, a thing which is too crass to talk about in polite company, is that your financial situation changes pretty dramatically. So, here we are, in this house. And it’s fine. It’s functional. I don’t have any major complaints…
… except: there are no memories of Rachel in this house. All I have are talismans. Tangible memoirs in a desolate space. Fortunately for me, though, Rachel was teeming with these little trinkets. If you’ve ever been in a space where Rachel lived, you’ve seen them. The tchotchkes. The knickknacks. The gewgaw and brick-a-brac. Tangible remembrances that fix a memory in time. And trust me, you’ve only seen a fraction of the collection.
So, I knew from the moment I found this house that I wanted a space that contained these objects. Something that felt like Rachel. A room that she would have loved. I think I did a pretty good job of it. It’s technically the den, or music room, but I’ve always called it the “Rachel Room.” I’ve been spending time in the Rachel Room the last few weekends. Sitting. Thinking. Reading. Maybe a little nap. There’s comfort in all of this objet d’art that surrounds me when I’m there. It’s not her. She was so much more than these things. But it’s like her. And, while that is grossly unfair and unsatisfying, it’s what I have. And, for now, that’s enough. It has to be.
Long Valley Lane. May 2nd. 2012
this one is about talismans
talisman
n.pl. tal·is·mans
1. An object marked with magic signs and believed to confer on its bearer supernatural powers or protection.
2. Something that apparently has magic power.
american heritage dictionary
"At a certain point in your life, probably when too much of it has gone by... you will open your eyes and see yourself for who you are... especially for everything that made you so different from all the awful normals. And you will say to yourself... But I am this person. And in that statement, that correction, there will be a kind of love. " --Miss Dodger, Phoebe in Wonderland
the fact of the matter is that if we don't have one or two things to hold on to, a little square to plant our feet, something to look at on days when the sun refuses to shine, a song to sing in the dark, we're gonna die. and it won't be pretty. living in babylon, holding onto anything for very long in the midst of the crazy is hard. but it is absolutely necessary.
talismans require your participation, your belief, your complicity. you're the one who vests your special thing with power--who else would look at that blanket/necktie/album/song/painting/birthday card/picture/ring/what have you and believe it could actually make/keep/create anything. because that's what talismans do. they are the form and substance of what we believe makes us safe, gives us the stones to stare at what we are afraid of full in the face, without blinking. we snuggle up to those talismans, knowing that holding them or seeing them or using them are the only way we're going to get a single second of peace or quiet.
some of mine are these:
super-old down comforter
alice in wonderland, any and all iterations...books, movies, etc....
letters and postcards from people i love
nag champa
crushed ice
my hands on my steering wheel
micah 6:8
herzog's film cave of forgotten dreams
"the night they drove old dixie down"
the book of common prayer, an order for Compline
fine point black sharpie marker
at any point in any given day i will have one or more of these within eyeshot, most of the time not even realizing that they are there. but somehow, that part of my brain that cleans house while i sleep (or maybe it's the Holy Spirit...and maybe that's the same thing...i don't pretend to have the first idea, i just know how it feels...) also remembers to sort those talismans out for me, to arrange them for the next day, the next challenge, the next opportunity, the next rubicon, the next wall that rears up and begs to be torn down.
watching someone who's really accomplished at managing a life in babylon pull out their bag of talismans and macgyver their way out of a really tight spot is riveting. it's the magic that my friend Marc’s little boy insisted is just like magic but is really miracle. it's intangible and unintelligible to anyone other than the person for whom it works. you look at what's in their own little private medicine bundle, and wonder how in the world they made something amazing out of all the crap in that little bag...it's probably a miracle. or it's just really good luck. or it's both. or neither. and sometimes, we can use all your special tools, say all the right words, know all the right stuff, and things still go down the crapper. that doesn't mean the talismans aren’t worth anything, or that babylon is winning, or that we suck. it means we live in a broken and dying world, that people are messy, that shit happens.
and it's all going to be ok. it's all going to be ok. it's all going to be totally ok.
mil besos,
rmg
