Ohayo gozaimasu.
I started this blog to give myself space. A little personal freedom. Liberation to write to you, my audience as if you are all one, participating in my life as a dear companion, an intimate partner, a lover of sorts. A friend.
The title of this blog originated in teeo's mind. He was looking for a blog name a few years ago. Curiously Lost was one of the titles he liked, but didn`t choose.
When I first heard the phrase, teeo and I were driving from Iowa to Chicago, teeo in the drivers seat. He kept encouraging me to share with you, to make an art practice of my writing. To open myself to the world even during this very transitory time. We were brainstorming on blog titles.
Curiously lost. The combination had tension. I liked the tension. But from the words arose an intense feeling of vulnerability. I felt uncomfortable. We kept brainstorming. I did`t come back to curiously lost until this warm morning, thousands of miles from Iowa and Chicago, home.
Under the influence of our dear friend popo I started using the word curious nearly as often as I say: I, you, or we. I like it. It`s inquisitive, questioning, engaged. Perfect for a traveler or an artist, always exploring. But lost, lost I save for very intimate moments. Vulnerable times when I wonder what the hell I am doing with my life. When I feel directionless, uncertain. In the past year, as grounded as I have felt about my decisions, as sure as I am that my path is holistically where I am, the word lost has unexpectedly emerged from my lips many times. May more times than I would like to admit.
Lost: its poignancy runs very very deep.
Today I am in Japan. Sitting in a serene little park, manicured to build layers of sounds, overgrown with long grasses and trimmed Japanese Maples. I am in the mountains just outside a little town called Nikko. Nikko is Nippon. J sits by my side.
It rained last night. A complete and total torrential down pour, for hours. We laid in our beds early; by 1730 we were curled up watching the mist accumulate in the mountains, building a textured view from our windows. We were perched just above the city, so was the mist. Our futons rested on grass tatami mats. The windows were opened a crack so when the thunder came it shrieked into our cozy little quarters. I hid, under my covers. Processing the absence of clear purpose.
This morning, I feel giddy. I skipped down the street, alone in the sun; my chest felt open. Rain water hung from the tall roadside grasses. I ran my hand along them creating a chilly rainstorm for my fingertips. The skies were clear. Wild daisies drooped up toward the morning light. I felt a hop in my step and a growing grin on my face.
At crossroads we celebrate both the death of one future that we did not choose and the joy of the path we are beginning.
Curiously lost is my starting point and my end goal.
From here I begin.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
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