[continued from previous entry]
It's hard work writing about all this. It's hard work thinking about all this. I'm not especially anxious to dig into it, but it's what is happening in my little life, and with each passing day it feels more apparent that a moment is taking form that has to be engaged with now. If not for any concrete steps just yet, then for sifting through it all in advance of taking steps. I find myself waking up in the early hours, my teeny brain in motion, thoughts swirling slowly around all of what I've been describing. Then the daily -- and lately, with the weather easing gradually toward genuine springtime, it has become a daily affair -- early morning cavalcade of shouting, whistling clubbers materialize, some slowly passing through the streets in transit to other hangouts or home, others hanging about, their mission apparently to make existence less restful for neighborhood residents. (I will not bitch and moan. I will not bitch and moan. Happy happy, joy joy.)
So. Despite what I said in the last entry about generally not seeing my life as turning corners or taking big, clearly-marked turns, it may be that my life is approaching one of those big turns it's not supposed to make, similar to the way it did eight long, yet lightning-fast years ago. Sure looks and feels that way lately, in part because what has been does not seem to workable as something that continues off into a rose-colored future. And where that leaves me right now? I'm working on that.
I found myself submerged in all this during Easter week, in a way that had me keeping to myself, not feeling much interest in anything more than gliding quietly through the days in a brooding state of meditation. (For the first time in several years, I didn't bother to go check out the Easter processions that pass slowly through the streets of the city center. The local version doesn't compare to what I saw in Andalucía a few years back, the thought of wading through the crowds to witness Madrid's far less intense, far less compelling processions just did not move me.) But now and then I'd step outside for a walk, some errands, a breath of the local version of fresh air, and suddenly existence returned to something brighter, more three-dimensional. People, activity. Moments everywhere to watch and listen to. (A window washer at work, cellphone pressed to left ear with left hand, right hand on auto-pilot, squeegee passing methodically across wide expanse of glass. Couples in town from Germany, England, other places off beyond the horizon, conferring together over guidebooks, streetmaps.)
And one afternoon in the gym, a place that generally pumps out a continuous soundtrack of techno through the in-house sound system -- me still half-submerged in the kind of thoughts I've been describing as I did my sweaty thing -- the music suddenly changed to something entirely different, the long, gradual opening of a very different kind of song replacing the customary fast, hyper-repetitive tunes. And suddenly there was U2, Bono going on about a place where the streets have no name (yes, I mentioned Bono -- please, no scathingly Pitchforkian comments), and I could feel the energy in the gym shift and lift, everyone visibly responding to the music. And inside me, the sun burst through, and suddenly I was with the lighter, more content me I'm more accustomed to. What a relief.
It all passes, all of this. And light returns, maybe in sympathy with the season.
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Graffiti wall, Madrid:
España, te quiero
rws 8:25 AM [+]
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