eileensmelancholy

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Swimming, One Day in August

by Mary Oliver

It is time now, I said, for the deepening and quieting of the spirit among the flux of happenings.

Something had pestered me so much I thought my heart would break. I mean, the mechanical part.

I went down in the afternoon to the sea which held me, until I grew easy.

About tomorrow, who knows anything. Except that it will be time, again, for the deepening and quieting of the spirit.

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a very short poem for august (s.r.m.)

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my favourite faye wei wei paintings

little blue bird from the pillow flew (2020) \\ first i must clean the keys of the piano with milk (2022) \\ the black bells of a distant new mexico (2023) \\ an echo trapped forever (2023) \\ sweet velvet flower there is no time/ I ask to go back I wish you were mine (2021) \\ two butterfly lovers (2021) \\ untitled (2022) \\ nectar for honey (2021) \\ red i (2022) \\ fountain lies the sun (2017)

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Lucy Maud Montgomery, Anne of Avonlea

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go with the flow (SOMETIMES)

insta | prints | tip jar

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“When you go out into the woods, and you look at trees, you see all these different trees. And some of them are bent, and some of them are straight, and some of them are evergreens, and some of them are whatever. And you look at the tree and you allow it. You see why it is the way it is. You sort of understand that it didn’t get enough light, and so it turned that way. And you don’t get all emotional about it. You just allow it. You appreciate the tree. The minute you get near humans, you lose all that. And you are constantly saying ‘You are too this, or I’m too this.’ That judgment mind comes in. And so I practice turning people into trees. Which means appreciating them just the way they are.”

— Ram Dass

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And What Has Nature Taught Me?, Hamo Sahyan (from “Anthology of Armenian poetry")

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Ana Mendieta, Imágen de Yágul, 1973.

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i want to believe in something.

i want to believe in something like the christians do. i want to be faithful to something, trust it won't disappoint or hurt me.

i want to trust and believe in something so greatly that just the sound of words move me. not acts or demonstrations, just words. i want the vibrations of reading scriptures and verses to sound ever so sweetly to my ears.

people who believe and worship a God seem to have this designated sense of purpose like they know exactly why they're here and what they need to do. everything is already preplanned for them. i want to feel this sense of security. i want to feel like i know everything is going to be okay, that this beautiful Spirit has everything taken care of. they will take care of you.

i want to be taken care of. i want to feel like i know everything will work itself out because i pray.

my grandmother used to read me bible stories as a child and even then, i never felt secure. i always sat and pondered, wondering who came up with this. who was the author of this book, of these rules? like c'mon! this dude is trying to tell me how to live my life and i can't even see him? please, even then as a child i knew these stories were bullshit. now don't get me wrong, i longed for the comfort of these stories, but it never found me. i saw how this book, this extremely important piece of everyone around me, affected my family and friends at church. i saw how touching and moving it was for them. i saw the influence this person, this God had on them. they were caught in a chokehold.

it was easter sunday and i was 9 years-old. everyone was getting ready, but i sat on the couch waiting for the "get in the car." there was a documentary on the cable, obviously neither my dad or stepmom knew it was on because there's no way in hell they would've let me continue to watch it. it was this man, talking, and the background was of a tomb and obvious signs of the dry desert. they were explaining how Jesus was dead, despite people arguing and shouting he's not dead! it even showed them carrying out "Jesus' body" from inside the tomb. i now know this documentary was most likely a hoax and is not true. or at least the body was fake. 9 year-old me, however, felt relieved. relieved that i was not the only one who didn't get it, didn't believe. i hate saying i don't believe, but i would be lying to myself and everyone else.

we went to church that day and i could not stop talking about it. i didn't realize it then, but i was challenging everyone on their faith. i was asking them the hardest questions about how it's not possible to die and come back to life, how i watched them pull his body out of the tomb this morning. i even had the guts and went as far as to write it on the chalkboard during sunday school. they kicked me out. the teacher told me i couldn't write that and i wouldn't be allowed back in class if i wrote another cruel or insensitive comment again. i vividly remember her saying to me "one day, you'll find God."

i was 9 years-old. i turned 21 on the 10th of september. it has been 12 years since my sunday school teacher said that to me and guess what, i still haven't found God!

i haven't found God in a man, certainly not in a woman either if i haven't found God in a man. i'm bound to greater chances in finding God in a woman. i haven't found God in the most beautiful places, where the trees dance elaborate dances with the wind singing and orchestrating them. not even as i watch the most ethereal waves hug the sand covered ground, their love so passionate they demand to be touched. i haven't found God in even the happiest, most stable moments of my life.

i can't see Him. i'm blind to his presence, but everyone else doesn't seem to be so what the fuck am i missing? what is everyone else seeing that i can't? my family, so awe-struck in love with God and his scriptures. my environment, filled with awe-stricken humans who are madly in love with God.

what does everyone know that i don't? what can everyone feel that i can't feel? why am i amongst the blind? i don't really care about the man, and i can't even bring myself to want to believe, so why do i long for this so badly? why do i long for comfort that is not promised, that is made up?

we stopped going to church shortly after that easter sunday. not because of my strong opinions, we just stopped. did my dad stop believing? did my family stop believing? this made my suspicions solidify. God wasn't there.

i am a Godless woman living amongst God drunken people.

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To be an artist is to be cannibalized, torn a part, devoured, consumed.