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August 9, 2009The aroma of burning sagebrushtold me I was about to be consumed BY A RAGING RANGE FIRE.I didn’t write that sentence. Blogger Robert Solis did, when I put out a Facebook request that people give me the first line of a short story and I would write the story. (He also wrote, in a post about SF Mayor Gavin Newsom’s gubernatorial campaign: “If [a certain thing] happens, everything will plop out in one large plop. And if my guess is right, it will be a very messy plop indeed and probably spell the end of Newsie’s political career.” ALL I CAN SAY IS,“Plop goes the weasel!”) Anyway, Robert was the only one to respond, with that and a couple of other suggestions: “My hangover burned rubber when I opened my eyes,” and: “The shower head whistled like a banshee when I turned on the water.” I wonder if those things happened one after the other—to Robert. And what happened next, I wonder? “Yesterday’s burnt coffee beckoned when I entered the kitchen.”? MY SUSPICIONwas that he hoisted those from a Cornell Woolrich novel, but I have to admit, though “My hangover burned rubber” is a pleasing turn-of-phrase, I don’t know what it means. My hangover drove quickly away and left skid marks? Or maybe it’s just poetry. Some stories write themselves. Others I have to coax along. The other day when I hit a snag and didn’t know what came next, I thought, “AH, JUST MAKE SOMETHING UP”I had just done that with some success. I keep a file of possible titles and random sentences for stories. I found among them, “My father was a man with a passion for women other than my mother.” I don’t remember writing that, but the story that followed virtually wrote itself. So I wondered what someone else’s suggestions might bring up in me. And I started writing the story, “The aroma of burning sagebrush told me I was about to be consumed by a raging range fire…” which eventually led me to the idea that I have to go on a vision quest in Arizona. Because the fire theme led me in one direction, and then I turned the corner and went somewhere else, which led my hero to plan to undergo a spiritual revolution in Sedona. And I thought, how can I possibly write about such a thing without having gone through it myself? “Making something up” wouldn’t cut it. SO IT OCCURRED TO MEthat this was perhaps the universe’s way of letting me know I need to do some soul-searching. I had “put it out” to Facebook and Twitter for assistance and received a message leading me to Sedona, which I passed through on a cross-country road trip. My sister experienced the “vortex” phenomenon while vacationing there. SO I GOT ON THE WEBand looked for vision quest retreats in Sedona (one of the power spots of the world) and found one that involves spending four days with oneself and the earth, fasting, in a red rock canyon. Maybe it’s just the idea that’s intriguing, and the reality would suck, kind of like the time I’d planned to walk to Sacramento for a Prop 8 protest, but went to the orientation meeting and, hearing the drill, thought, damn, I don’t want to do this. Next time I want to walk from one city to another I’ll cross from Berkeley to Oakland on College Avenue. GOING ON A VISION QUESTin order to write about it seems to me a disingenuous reason to do such a thing. Being able to write about it would be a bonus, but this is a serious confrontation with oneself, not a writing assignment. Except that writing is how I confront myself (usually). Plus I had a feeling they wouldn’t want me to/let me take writing materials with me on the fast. And at first I couldn’t stand the idea of that, I thought, that disqualifies me, so I sent an email asking, would I be expected not to write during this fast? It seemed to me there were equally good reasons for both writing and not writing during it. I WROTE THAT I AM A WRITER,“that is how I process things, that is how I sort things out, that is my path” and that it would be a shame to “lose” all that I would have written about the experience while having it, but there were “other things I need to know about myself.” And if that is the case, why go on a retreat to explore those things that have nothing to do with writing by writing about them? WRITING IS MY SINGINGOn the other hand, I supposed that a dancer would be able to dance during the fast, or a singer would sing, and “writing,” I wrote, “is my singing.” It’s also my oppressor. Something you’d think I’d want to throw off for a few days if I had the chance. Then I recall the first journal I kept for my first cross-country train ride back in the early 80’s, which was stolen out a friend’s trunk in New York, and how I still mourn the loss of that lost writing. Four days of not writing is a lot of lost writing. AS ADAM LAMBERT SAIDof cameras, “Why can’t you have just have the experience without taking a picture?” I asked myself, why can’t I just have this experience without writing about it? And then I thought, WHAT AM I WITHOUT WORDS?My life is built of them. Well, always and first, I’m myself. Writing is my “surface reality” (back to Tolle) but not my underlying self, universal energy manifesting as my bodily form. If I had a stroke and couldn’t write, I’d still be that self. But I so strongly identify with writing, the thought of four days going without, while undergoing something extraordinary, was not only unappealing but potentially unacceptable, even terrifying. But maybe that’s exactly what I need. What would make the experience so extraordinary is that I would not be writing about it. I’ve gone without writing for four days before, at Burning Man, for instance, but because I didn’t feel like it, not because I couldn’t. AS I WROTEin the Short Attention Span Poem for HelloILoveYou, there comes a time when you are just down to yourself, there’s nothing or no one else you can blame or look to for whatever needs fixing: “Then set yourself squarely / Between earth and sky / And see what it is / That you like and don’t like / When all that’s left is you. THAT’S HOW I IMAGINEa spiritual quest in a wilderness area might play out, and why I imagine just me in the canyon with the stars to be a purer experience than sitting among the red rocks with with my head down looking at paper. I’ve never been very good at the other things in my life–jobs, connecting with a community, long-term friendships, yes, but not lovers. There are issues that can’t be resolved in the “surface reality” without delving beneath it–like the teacup under the porch in “The Three Faces of Eve,” that I have to deal with as just a person, not a writer. I UNDERSTAND SOME WRITERSmake a draft outline of the book they’re about to write and summarize it chapter by chapter, then take off from there. If it’s nonfiction, you won’t be able to get in anybody’s door without such an outline. That is so not me. I may have an idea, but I never know what form it’s going to take until it comes out of my fingers. For instance, if someone asks me what my novel is about, I can say something like, “Well, it’s a vision quest,” but I can’t give you a rundown of the action start to finish and will not be able to do so until I have already written it. How long is it? 300 pages? 600 pages? No idea. I’ll have to wait and see. I SAID IN MY EMAILthat writing, creating art, that is, is also a vision quest, bringing something out in yourself that wasn’t there before, or something perhaps that needed to come out, “repurposing” your energy into an art work others can partake of. Sometimes when I’m at an event, a concert or suchlike, I start writing about it in my head (see “What Do You Write About?”) and it interferes with my being present where I am. I would think the quest would strengthen my connection to the world, and earth, outside my writing mind. Right now, I’m feeling a little suffocated by the damn thing. Yet I also fear feeling suffocated by writing “accumulating” in my head and not being able to write it out, or down, having to store it up for four days. Maybe it would free my mind and the rest would follow. IN ANY EVENT,the retreat answered my email with some kind of robo-response to write for more information if I wanted to, and didn’t address my question at all. For the time being, both the quest and the story are on hold. I don’t want to spend that kind of money right now. Seems like the wrong time for me, what with the writing track I’m on, and I should no doubt start with a shorter retreat closer to home. There’s a week-long writing workshop/silent meditation coming up at Spirit Rock. Sounds like my apartment with landscaping. There’s Burning Man–but once again, the money, and I’m just not quite feelin’ it. So why did the message of the burning brush come to me at this time? NO IDEA.I’ll have to wait and see.
The unsuspecting Artemisia tridentata that started it all. ------------------------------------------------------------ Burning sagebush
(I had no idea I was going to end the column that way until I did.) copyright Alexandra Jones 2009 |
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