(A Utopian Tale from Belltown)

I. Light

His name is Rain in the Desert. I am Underneath All. He lived on top of one of the many hills in the city. I lived on the outskirts, trying to make a home. At first all I had was a picture or two; that’s how I first memorized his face. But within a week I no longer had to rely upon photographs.

We saw each other for the first time at the 1^st Thursday Art Walk. My entourage consisted of Ronna, my eccentric friend from work, who like myself pretended to be less so in the office, my fifteen-year-old daughter, Mona, already fully displaying the sweet madness, and two of her friends from school.

Poor kind soul – he had to deal with all this the first time he met me!

This was in the days when I was undoubtedly badly scarred, but still lived inside the poet’s eye. It was this that connected us immediately. And the bodily attraction, like an undeniable force, pulling us together. That attraction held so many secrets that yearned to be discovered. Freud would say this is simply a delusion caused by our desire to experience that oceanic feeling. 

Well, it’s been nine years and ten months now – time to build the ark.

No, I am not talking about running away, disappearing into a dark hole and hiding from everyone. I simply want to be alive again. No, I want Rain in the Desert and Underneath All to be alive again.

I knew this was possible on that very first 1^st Thursday.

Oh yes, that evening. Mona and I had entered a “contest” to display a piece of art in the “Around the Square” exhibit at TK Gallery. The only rule was that the piece be 12×12, otherwise anything goes – and I’m sure it did, hence the acceptance of my painting of child-like alien creatures.

It was a strange introduction indeed. I am a woman of the written word, spoken words are difficult. I thrive on beautiful images but when I learned to paint it was the oddest of beings that emerged. I began to paint as yet another form of communication with someone who was lost very far within themselves.

So, to see this man at that exact point in time spoke volumes, large, gilded volumes, with ragged edges.

That evening we wandered about, moving from gallery to gallery, having a bit of wine and cheese, maybe strawberries. Eventually we ended up at TK and made our way through the crowd until I found our pieces, amongst the other 12×12’s. Mona and her friends had been huddled together, the three adults keeping pace with each other. When we stopped in front of our pieces Mona broke away from the girls and stood beside me.

“There we are,” I said, smiling at Mona, then turning to Ronna and then him. He smiled sweetly back.

Mona’s friends pulled up closer and the six of us formed a tight circle amidst the swirling influx of people. It was a very good turnout. Perhaps it was because it was a glorious June evening – the yoke of winter and the winter-like spring had been thrown off and the summer was glimpsed in all its warmth and sumptuous beauty.

“That’s amazing, I can’t believe they’re here,” Mona replied.

I reached out and squeezed her arm.

“Yeah, pretty cool.”

The evening had indeed been cool, beyond seeing me and Mona’s paintings hanging on the gallery wall.

Even though we had limited time to talk with one another I knew that I wanted to talk more to this man. That was for sure.

“I found you attractive, endearing and intriguing…I really enjoyed being in your presence.

Am I someone you would like to see again?” he asked the next day in a lovely little message.

Yes, come on rain – we are in the desert now – and I am thirsty, you are thirsty too.

II. Atmosphere

But you may ask – how are you going to build an ark in the desert?

I will tell you how.

It was very soon after that 1^st Thursday that we saw each other again. The Young Hegelians would have told us to go to hell, except there wasn’t one, and that building the ark was terribly misguided. However, we persisted.

We sat across from one another at a small round café table. It was once again “a weeknight” so the restaurant, catty-corner from his apartment building, in one of those spots of constantly rotating businesses, was not too crowded. Though we both were basically vegetarian we ordered calamari for an appetizer. Most likely I was drinking a glass of cabernet or zinfandel – likely not a good pairing. But that didn’t really matter since we both picked at the food, eating very little. I told him that his music (he had directed me to his website) was thoughtful and reminded me a bit of Lou Reed, with an alt country flair. I didn’t yet have a website where he could read my writing, but he was fascinated by my long nails, which I always shaped and polished myself. Even If I had thought of it, a manicure was not a luxury I could afford as a single mom living, even on the outskirts of the city. It was invigorating to be sitting next to him, it was fun to be in Belltown.

(Musical interlude)

I want to live.

Not just survive, but to thrive. 

I want to drive my organic spontaneously combustible Igo-nomic, biodegradable, 100% natural

human machine.

Lean, keen, emotional emotion human machine.

That’s 100% biodegradable

no jive

Done

though maybe…

surely…

something will happen

III. Dry Ground and Plants

However, I did get my hair cut and styled, and coincidentally had just discovered the student Aveda salon on 1^st Avenue. He met me outside the salon at 7:30 and we strolled around for a bit before deciding upon Mexican for dinner, not just good Mexican, but Mexican with a statue of a Mexican Elvis out front. We were clearly on the right path.

We talked of our day, mine sitting in an office space inside the Health Sciences Building on the UW campus, his in the somewhat open air of the car shop in Ravenna. That seemed very far away as we drank our margaritas and ate chips and salsa. We were like two blue eyed cats lounging in our chairs, yet nervously perched, ready for what was going to happen next.

“I love fudgesicles. On a hot day. From an ice cream truck.”

But it was evening now, a Friday evening at that, and Mona was at her dad’s house for the weekend.  We wandered about the neighborhood to digest our meal, to catch each other’s eyes, piercing the night. The moon was waning, but the sky was clear. We turned the corner and I realized we had looped back around and now stood on the end of the block where he lived. It was phrased as an offer of a glass of wine at his place, but we both knew that once we entered his doorway that the wine would be forgotten until much later.

(Musical Interlude)

How few moments have passed

in your presence

yet still they linger

like the first or last

blue light of day

enraptured

by eyes that seem to turn the night

to fire, challenge all stars

to burn brighter, longer

an angel’s iniquitous smile

reveals the poignant longing

to touch

the core

peel the wrapper from

every single

solitary being

Into this trance

I emerge

energy swirling

a thought caress of passion

like a vine’s slender

fingers wrapping, climbing

mixing with life’s blood

surging through mind’s eye

all seeing eyes, not deceiving

but meeting, ethereal lines

pass between those fingertips

knowing the sensual eloquence

of the subterranean soul song

IV. Sun, Moon and Stars

Naked bicyclists paraded before the crowd lining the streets – the Solstice – it was now officially summer!

So of course, I was not even thinking of building the ark then.

We shimmied our way through the crowd so we could see the cyclist flashing by, some painted head to toe in brilliant hues that disguised the naughty bits. This expression of wonder, lightness and excitement made me smile. This city was usually so reserved with emotion, all things simmering below the surface, faces turned away to avoid looking at the passersby. It was such a treat to see that vanish for the day and watch the serious faces turn jubilant.

Rain in the Desert was amongst the joyous ones and the smile poured into his eyes and made the day seem almost perfect for this member of the “weedy species”.  For on that day, we were like blossoming buds.

After the parade had ended, we strolled around the market, our eyes roaming over various tables to peer at the wares of the artisans. We stopped at one displaying silver necklaces, bracelets and rings.  I loved jewelry and felt naked if I ever left the house without wearing at least one piece. I let my eyes roam around the table and was drawn to the Celtic designs. He saw me admiring the designs and picked up a ring composed of Celtic knots. We both smiled and rolled the ring around in our hands.

“Would you like a ring?” he asked.

“Why, yes, I would,” I replied.

He purchased the ring and guided it onto my finger. It has been there ever since.

We continued our wanderings, ducking into a bar to have a cocktail before setting off again. We must have eaten dinner at some point in the evening. We returned to his sweet vintage apartment, charming and without amenities.

How many times would I leave and how many times would I return?

(Musical Interlude)

So still in the night I await your presence, curtains drawn, I peek between the cracks. Asleep or awake, I do not know which one. I hear your breathing; it nestles up to me on my pillow, this breath, allowing entrance into some private spot. Wanting you. 

 “For what reason?” the knowing-self questions the woman on the bed.

“To know you,” she replies, lips parted in a whisper, eyelids half-mast, pouring over your beauty with finger light touch.

The body does not forget.

V. Birds and Sea Creatures

Then it was Monday again – “goodbye Ruby Tuesday” – oh wait, that is the wrong song for the wrong day.

“I don’t like Mondays…”

We went back to the office and the shop. Yet our minds were elsewhere and focusing was difficult. Mona was rebelling and refused to go to her papa’s house anymore.  Mona and I had moved into the city proper, in fact we were hip as could be in Capitol Hill.

This was a dreadful mistake and in fact almost halted the building of the ark.

Rain in the Desert was now just down the hill, but trying to manage what felt so fleeting, yet fully formed, drove me to distraction.

I have already mentioned being badly scarred. This came from the relationship with the one who made me start painting. I had discovered another aspect of myself and had subsequently almost died. He did.

No, not Rain in the Desert. He was falling all over himself, uncertain how to hold my hand and look in my eyes yet simultaneously go out and prove to the world, prove to himself that he was a musician. 

I knew that I was a writer – because I wrote all of the time.

It was Sunday morning, and we descended the stairs of his apartment building and went around the corner to Cherry Street Coffee (though we were not on Cherry Street). We ordered coffees and bagel sandwiches and sat down at one of the tables outside. I could sense the anxiety hovering over us – no it was actually descending upon us.

I caught his eyes and he stopped, the paper cup in his hand.

“Do you really want a serious relationship?”

There was a pause. Many moments of silence filled the space between us before the answer to the question came.

“Yes, I really don’t know how to be any other way.”

I could have said exactly the same thing if asked.

“Much of how you described yourself might also apply to myself. And that seemed reason enough to say hello, so…hi!”

We got up from the table and headed out into the remainder of the day, the remainder of the year, the remainder of the decade…

(Musical Interlude)

No, I do not send you a love poem

for you do not believe in love

in human form

and at the moment

neither do I

just the sound of your voice

vibrating

as it slips inside

my ears pick up

your thoughts like glass

reflecting in my eyes

the similarity startling

the difference all the more

pronounced

I seek your company

as it reminds me of

all that is beauty &

all that is pain

feel them combine to form

a substance

known only to those

who are not afraid to say

this is what I want

this is who I am

Give me that moment

of your memory

the first one who told you

it was so

VI. Land Animals and Humans

I fled Belltown. That was inevitable. Mona had grown into, if not self-sufficient, a somewhat independent creature.

This is what I wanted too. I could not bear to see myself grow angry and sad. So, Underneath All flung herself outward and over the hills, landing splat – right in the middle of the swamp. But there were people there, many people in stunning and dilapidated houses, filling up the city blocks. And I was reborn – a small frightened uncertain glorious being living close to it all, with strangers who said hello.

There was a desert between us now, Rain in the Desert and me. It was vast, larger than some countries. And there was no rain, just torrential downpours that came out of nowhere and caused me to duck under the awnings of random buildings.

And I stole from myself because that was all that I could do.

But one morning I heard his voice coming across the phone line, a solid undeniable force like no other. I heard him say that it was ok to start again, to believe in IT again.

We boxed up Belltown and shoved the best parts into a moving truck and hit the highway.  It was a long trip but eventually we found the street with the itty bitty Victorian. Though the smallest house on the block it could easily fit all the boxes from Belltown, plus more. And if we so desired we could have set up bowling pins at one end of the hall and knocked them down with wine bottles.

(Musical Interlude)

I stole his flip flops

and the last bit of wine

in the bottom of the bottle

so I could tiptoe

to the patio

sit and watch

the schools

of fluffy white clouds

swim slowly by

occasionally providing

a picture window

for the soon to be

full moon

to peer from

It is for this companionship

as well as the human kind

that I have come here

left the cold damp north wind

behind

though home for many years

this wind was not in my blood

nor his

his blood still flows

from the desert

austerity and silence

define him

yet this moist

penetrating warmth

causing everything to grow

at amazing speed

enters his heart

allowing it to find

a new rhythm

mine beating

once again

with less constraint

Here

the green shoots emerge

beside

the demolished broken husks

casualties

of a few

too cold winter nights

yet it all returns to life

strong and certain of its trajectory

even when

our doubting human minds

believe it to be

impossible

VII. The Day of Rest

But all the tom foolery, all the frivolity eventually weighs heavy on the soul. I’m not certain at what point it was that I understood it was time. I just knew. People hate when you say things like that – one must be scientific at all times. Except when you’re not and magic happens – like eyes watching god (you see god has a small g – because god is not a he or a she or an it or a puddle – well, perhaps a puddle).

There is so much to cry about, yet so many possibilities for ecstasy and absolute peace. Ah, the desert.

Rain in the Desert!

Yes, I know, we are not supposed to be working today. But we are so close, the last few nails ready to be driven into the wood. Despite all the encroaching forces – termites, tropical storm force winds, high rising water – the wood of the ark is uncompromised, solid, without rot.

We see the vines intertwining the trees, a cacophony of singing creatures.

We see the land stretching out to the edge of the foothills, silence, mountains always beckoning.

I love those black skinny jeans and t-shirts that will always look good on you.

“And I love how you wear that dress.”

It is time to gather our dearest ones, board the ark and be on our way.