I have finally recuperated from a week in Austin, my first time ever visiting Texas.
Every day involved some kind of water activity usually coupled with booze, which was THE best.
Although I was out most of the time, I still managed to find moments to just be. I wrote, connected with the natural world around me, and reflected on the desires and joys that make up my general self.
It was good.
So, instead of writing at length about all the wonderful things I encountered and experienced while in Austin, how about I just share the little notes I scribbled down throughout the trip?
She chews at her lower lip, noticing that he is biting his. Pearl Jam wails as the rain pelts against the windshield, fostering a mild chill in the August heat. Although quietly and intently driving, he is still connected somehow through consistent, constant, and comforting touch.
There is a level of spirituality here that feeds into a communal sense. It is calm, it is hopeful, and it is gently persistent to be absorbed over hours of soaking. The minerals sink into our skin, fed from this earthly well. It feels nourishing, it caresses me, and it begs to be touched, to have my fingers skim atop its crystal surface.
“Graze me,” it beckons on a sultry breeze.
Palms down, I tremble my fingers, watching it ripple about my shape. It is delicious, this healthy water melding into my form. This sensuality brightens my energy and charges my soul.
I am fully immersed.
*Rivers and Springs Bring Brilliant Things
My first night in Austin was as perfectly fitting for who I am now and this city’s theme as it could get. What a great match.
Madam Kells–jotting this down in super shitty handwriting in my journal–you are a generous, magnificent being, and I have yet to meet anyone more true to themselves than you. Thank you.
I have spent the day in a fresh spring, taking in all its endless life, deploying a burst of long-winded content within me.
Suddenly, on this porch, deep conversations are lit by casual stirrings. Mm, this amazing heat, this comforting burn in my skin.
I believe there is no other place better suited to bond so many into one vein than a true wood porch.
I get little flashes of words while I’m out here. Bohemian. Fresh. Spirit. Drink. Youth. Life.
I can’t help but to just live and live just. No constraints, simply classy restraint, and no control except of my own reaction. I want to live like I drink: unbottled.
*Jotted Journal BS/AKA Too Many Kinds of Drunk
I read Gaiman, relishing the touch of the pages as I trail my fingers across them. I hear my sir breathe and sigh, while he spends his time in his own way. With every click of the mouse and scritch from his beard, I am reminded I am not alone, though swimming deeply in another’s resonating words.
I could listen to music, which is conveniently stowed away on my phone, but if I did I would miss out on these new and tenderly pleasant sounds. I use music to either drown out the world or to enhance it, but a song has already begun.
My music man unknowingly, unintentionally creates these little songs that I enjoy most. They come from his core, from his bones, from his every breath. He has a soul that refuses to accept silence, or at least discourages any moment lacking melody.
I have no opposition to this.
Pages turn, “click,” breathe in, sigh,”scritch.”
He is unaware of my observation; he has no idea the context I’ve grasped from this.
This must be what it means to enjoy another’s company in peace. I have discovered an ability, right here, to be on our own together, to be independent in the same place. It is a healthy distance of the minds, but still just close enough.
I think of how a river splits to let a whole world of an island form within it, then it flows seamlessly back into itself on the other side. Like fingers intertwining to be hands held.
As I find pleasure in this afternoon, I realize that I am beginning to hope that our splits and forks will always flow seamlessly together again.
But if not, if a split becomes permanent, each river will be purposeful, outstanding, and will have together left behind a series of thriving islands.
And with that, this could never be considered a waste of time.
All is good.
*Words and Notes
Welp, look at all dat romantic babble.
Let me end this with just a bit more, but this isn’t my own. I’ll refer to two authors I read during the trip for quotes to finish off this blog.
“Ask me with a gun to my head if I believe in them, all the gods and myths that I write about, and I’d have to say no. Not literally. Not in the daylight, nor in well-lighted places, with people about. But I believe in the things they can tell us. I believe in the stories we can tell with them. I believe in the reflections that they show us, when they are told. And, forget it or ignore it at your peril, it remains true: these stories have power.”
-Neil Gaiman, The View from the Cheap Seats
“A fellow does get awfully sleepy driving, especially right after lunch on a hot day…. Once we stopped on the desert, for me to take a little nap. I have never heard such intense quiet as there was on the desert that day. That Girl who rides with me was reading a newspaper. This sounds incredible, but the desert stillness was so acute that the slight rustling of her paper made so much noise I couldn’t get to sleep…. I never said anything to her about it, and I hope she doesn’t read this.”
-Ernie Pyle, Ernie’s America: Driving