Time here in my no-so-secret oasis is like watercolour; it goes down as one thing, and assumes context. There can be sharp delineations between moments, or time can blend or be blended to a soft haze. Many things are blooming.
The air is crackling with information, connection, I am moving as far out as I can.
I am completely alone, but surrounded on all sides by friends and acquaintances; I could get into my little Hot Wheel and drive anywhere, be with people. I could forget myself at Electric Larryland; I dream of this yet I do not go. Each day I say to myself, “Tomorrow.”
I could go to Carlisle for a different sort of erasure of self, I could remain still and silent or stir my world into a froth. I think about the smallest action that could upend a system of preconceptions, about what tiny word or concept can enrage or excite me or others from a cold start.
I wonder what my assumptions might be, I search for them in different planes of my mind, using different strategies.
Still it is possible that others know more about them than I do. I view my interactions with different people, I examine them in overlay as I might if I were searching astronomical plates for comets or planets; I try to spot the anomalies, the movement, the creep, the drift. I fail, but enjoy the interactions.
I fear that I must nap, as it’s been a warm and busy day; I rose when the Moon set at 4:30 a.m. – what else was there to sleep for? I am sun-drunk now, sleepy from a cold swim, and tonight at the Planetary Science Institute annual fundraising gala I am being deployed on two ninja missions: I must be fresh, effective.
The B40 is an explosion of gold, just beginning.
I don’t know why this shocks me, based on my relationship with Orangelina, but a whiptail in the yard that I became friendly with last Spring has come out of his hibernation and this afternoon he ran over to me in the yard like a puppy, running around my feet, looking up at me with what could only be excitement, hungry Spring thoughts of tasty worms.
I took out the little sack and then I was sure, because he practically stood up on his little hind legs in joy. I tossed one to him, he caught it, he ran over to me, wagging his whippy tail, and I fed him a few more from my hand. I was touched that he remembered that I was part of the worm-happiness, that he was as glad to see me as I was him. He twirled around my ankle, I about died of love.
I worry that I will step on him, that he will start following me around the yard.
I should stay out of the lizards’ business but I am helpless in the face of their quiet vigor, their quick minds and twitch muscles.
The outdoor shower and bath is better every day; the iceplant and honeysuckle and catclaw vines have tendrilled it into a leafy bower; the greywater sustains the greenery, the mesquite tree, the jasmine, the bath sustains me.