Notice to Visitors : Henry Miller (Big Sur)

The undersigned wishes to inform all and sundry that he has long since left the Abode of Peace, that he no longer has any comfort or inspiration to offer, and that even the migratory birds avoid this spot. Prayers are offered up daily - without charge. The garden has been transformed into an open air Vespasienne. Look toward Nepenthe when you water the flowers. If you are seeking Truth travel a little farther south : you will find it at Ojai Chez Krishnamurti. Be kind to the children - they abide. For a metaphysical treat stop at the Big Sur Inn which is also a haven for stray cats and dogs. Life along the South Coast is just a bed of roses, with a few thorns and nettles interspersed. The life class meets every Monday regardless. Refreshments are served when demanded. Those interested in celestial navigation are advised to first obtain a rudimentary knowledge of integral calculus, phlebotomy, astral physics and related subjects. The use of liquor is strictly forbidden on interplanetary flights. When you come please be so kind as to check your neuroses and psychoses at the gate. Gossip may be exchanged during the wee hours of the morning when the gremlins have left. Please bear in mind that this is a small community and news travels fast. (Carrier pigeons are provided when necessary.) Fans and other obnoxious pests would do well to maintain silence. Questions relating to work-in-progress will be answered in stereotype fashion in the columns of the Big Sur Guide at the usual space rates. God is Love - and in the ultimate Love will prevail. Remember, man is the ruler, not Saturn! Let us do our best, even it if gets us nowhere. In the midst of darkness there is light. “I am the light of the world,” said Jesus. He said a mouthful. Light, more light!

Respectfully,

Henry Miller

Gabriel

An hour and a half train ride brought me to the rickety streets of Astoria each Monday and Friday for the last 6 months. Astoria is a neighborhood in Queens so jam-packed with different ethnicities that you can walk 8 blocks and hear 8 languages and eat 8 meals that all include a flat piece of bread but each are from different corners of the earth.

Lauren introduced me to Joanna about a year ago at a birthday party. Joanna came here 6 years ago from Buenos Aires, Argentina, to start a life for herself and her family. She came first, and became a speech pathologist at a charter school not far from where she lived. (This is where she met Lauren). Her father came at the same time, and got a job as well. Joanna is gorgeous, hard working, and loves her family more than life itself. Her mother and 13-year-old brother, Gabriel, stayed in Buenos Aires until a year ago, when she and her father had finally made enough money (and the proper paperwork) to bring the remaining two members of their family to America.

My charge was to tutor Gabriel on his homework and most importantly in preparation for the State Tests, which would happen in June. Gabriel is extremely intelligent, and was always kind to me even though I could tell he never wanted to be studying. He would rather be playing basketball with his friends, texting with his many lady friends, or listening to Lady Gaga. He is extremely good at math, and we talked about how the reason why is because it's a universal language. I remember loving teaching math to my kids in Thailand - they understood every word I said during those hours.

His mother is a beautiful, friendly Argentinean woman who smiles as she gives me a kiss on the cheek as I enter their cozy apartment, saying "how are you?" with a thick accent. She speaks only Spanish other than that, brings me coffee and always asks if I want sugar even though I never do. Pound cakes follow, or apple bread or strawberry short cake or one time even an enormous plate of home made pasta. When they all found out that I speak Spanish they got really excited, talked about it to one another for a while as I listened, understanding what they said. I think their excitement possibly shielded an underlying difficulty with the fact that they could not speak to one another so bluntly in Spanish while I was around.

Each Monday and Friday afternoon, Gabriel and I would sit at their dining room table, overlooked by an enormous painting of Jesus, working through math problems or typing out a book report. The back door was always open, what ever weather the day brought would join us at the table - bright sunlight, misty rain. I love doing Social Studies homework with him. We did questions on a chapter about the "Roaring 20's," and it was so interesting to explain to him who Babe Ruth was, and Hemingway, and what a flapper is. I take for granted all of the things I learned growing up just because I was an American. He confessed once that he loved when I came because I motivated him to finish things, that he wouldn't get them done as quickly if I wasn't there.

I said goodbye to Gabriel last week. He's finished with this year and will spend the summer with his mom in Argentina. What a life he has already lived. A childhood in Argentina. And an adulthood in New York City.

That Will Be $29.50

When I was young one of my dream jobs was to be a grocery store cashier. I'd stand in line at the Piggly Wiggly and watch as the gum-snapping 17 year old would "beep" each of our carefully chosen items through the scanner. I loved when the produce came along, because she'd have to type a long number into her keyboard, her purple eye shadow glinting in the fluorescent lights.

Yogurt - beep. Milk - beep. Apples - type type type. Honey Nut Cheerios - beep. Oranges - type type type. Cheddar - beep. Beer - beep. Carrots - type type type. Lunch meat - beep.

"That will be $29.50." I loved this part. My mom would hand her the cash, and she'd slide open the magical money drawer, perfectly organized with piles of green bills and compartments of coins. She'd flip up the little arm that held the bills down, add my mom's cash, and then slide out the change without even blinking, or realizing how cool her job was. I had a little experience with this part because I had played Monopoly with my brother a few times, and he let me be the banker. But this was the real deal! She had her own drawer!

"Would you like paper or plastic?" she'd say. I'd look up at my mom, who would always say "paper, please" but I didn't understand why until years later.

Now I go to the grocery store and watch the sad, bored girls slide my purchases across the scanner without looking me in the eye, fighting with their boyfriends via text underneath the counter, typing the wrong produce code into their computers, putting everything into plastic bags without asking. I still have the dream to be one of them someday, but for different reasons. I want to know what people are buying, how they are feeding their families, how much money they are spending on cheese, what the percentage of people who are bringing canvas bags is. I guess in some ways dreams never die.

Today is Paradise - Constant and Conquerable

She wore lace on her dress and in her hair, his smile was wide and their vows were proud. To stand next to a friend as she marries the one she loves is the highest honor, and to speak to them on a breezy June afternoon in the presence of loved ones is even higher. With a friend like Carrie, there are secrets hidden deep within our red right ankles and down under the quiet pillows of our friendship, and there are elaborate stories that only our imaginations can understand, so all I could say was this:

One way of knowing love is to furtively act with courage. To swim in all of it whenever something somewhere whispers it. And in those moments, vivid, beautiful hallucinations of strength and hope live for a moment in you. Heart and hands, sweat and dust. The songs, the processions, the banners. We shall explode in enormous love. We think of happy yesterday, we survive on it. Party if joyless, make love in the dim lamplight. Kissing life - thinking bigger, healthier, stronger, happier. Today is unchangeable and your heart is working, so roar and bleed and hope and drink gin like in the old days. Oh zigzagging, oh revolution, oh tiny sea. It feels like a kind of dance, it is oranges and lemons and not fright or pain – but peace – freedom – strength. The heart bangs – I.LOVE.YOU. It remembers everything, it smiles. Love is love – powerful and troubling. Love is virtuosity and singing, breathing fast, kneeling face-to-face, pleasant helplessness and communication. Zealous love, kaleidoscope love. Love love love love love love love – magenta, sun blazed ripe heart – pleasant tomorrow tenderness. Love – sweet summer air, happy melancholy – lips, cheeks, nose, eyes, cavernous mouth, naked calves and ankles, hands – a man and a woman and a spontaneous tomorrow. Alive with love. The most necessary and overwhelming task is to settle into bliss, to understand bodies and to progress as a united being. The world is explosive and arbitrary. It’s marvelous. Today is paradise – constant and conquerable. Party party party party party party party party party party party party party party party party party party party. Relaxation and enthusiasm. Continuous possession of absolute truth. Concessions to and fro of fear and hatred. The love, the craving, the porcelain cheekbones, the poetry, the pain. The furious stream of blood and saliva, the humming and the laughing – elbows and eyelids – ears and weeping and confessions and sleep and silent breath. All of us sweat and pulse. Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes, we exist, we grasp happiness, we realize the universes inside of love. You are beginning, I can see, to realize what that world will be like. Life will zip forward and snap you suddenly into character and after that it is all improvisation. The one certain thing is that love is without thought – it is a deep ocean, violent and calm. An extraordinary medley of you and you, of life, death, and of triumphant victory.

Two Songs for a Friday

The Park // Feist

Because sometimes we all need a reminder to slow down, a space where we can be quiet, a park to step across with green grass beneath us. Because we all question our reality and we all know deep down that what ever it is, no matter how crazy and inconceivable, it's ours.

Once and For All // The Bellville Outfit

This one goes out to everyone who has someone not close enough that you can reach out and squeeze them, but close enough that you won't let go. Over telephone wires and internet connections and texts and thoughts and dreams, we nail our hearts to the wall and hope for the best. It reminds me of a Decemberists' song called Yankee Bayonett, in which the last verse says it all.