I step off the elevator and turn the corner to the security door between me and my cube, sweet cube. A young dude (can't tell if he's a summer intern - oy - or one of the new imported IT dude-lets from the outsourcing company) comes around the corner and gives me a "Good Morning" that sounds like before-coffee gravel and is accompanied by an expression I usually only see when it's received upon waking up and rolling over.

I giggled under my breath all the way to my cube.

I cannot go to you without losing who I am.

Like a sunflower in thick, spiced, black earth,
my face can only turn to you from afar,
tracking your path across the heavens
but never drawing nearer to your warmth
than my rooted leaves will stretch.

I see you, molten golden bright center of joy,
trailing light behind you, ahead of you,
radiant warmth on my darkening face
as I try to bask without burning,
mostly consumed by desire unfulfilled.

I watch, yearning to uproot myself,
to flap green wings, to feel wind against broad petals,
to touch the star that fills the only sky I wish to see,
to taste the honey heat that must spill
from your bronze skin.

But should I climb up from this earth
Should I rise on summer's warm currents,
Should I trade deep roots for the groundless lofty heights,
It wouldn't be long - green wings wither and brown,
Neck too weak to lift my face to your glory.

So, here will I stay, consumed but whole,
Tormented with longing but able yet to long
Eyes drinking deep draughts of liquid sunshine
Unable to turn my face away,
unable to turn my face any way but yours.

I cannot go to you without losing who I am.

This morning, I was ironing a shirt in front of the TV, waiting for the weather report to tell me if I needed an umbrella or a sweat mop (more likely in the heat wave we've had the past few days), when I saw the first commercial I've seen for that Ollie Stone 9-11 flick I've been dreading since I first heard whispers of it on the heels of the acclaimed "Flight 93" movie's debut. I dread this new film for a number of reasons: first, I'm not really much of a Nicolas Cage fan; second, I'm not really much of an Oliver Stone fan; and third - and most important - I am thoroughly tired of reliving horrible experiences, and I am especially sick of having my own memories of 9-11 poked, prodded, and generally exploited by the media, politicians, and anyone else who thinks they might get a buck out of it.

Don't get me wrong, 9-11 was a horrible and tragic day, and the needless death and suffering was horrible. The heroism and the spirit of the American people coming together in a time of crisis was amazing. It was also a shocking wake-up call, reminding a people too comfortable in our "safe" stronghold that we are part of the world, and that we are not invulnerable, as we may sometimes feel. Right or wrong, American prosperity is often built on the poverty and exploitation of peoples around the globe, and to think that we are somehow exempt from the bloody struggles for survival that dominate most of the rest of the world is near-sighted and foolish - and 9-11 demonstrated that pretty clearly. I am *NOT* saying that 9-11 was justified or that we had it coming, or that we somehow deserved it....but I think it's only logical that this sort of thing happen anywhere at some point. Considering that people in many parts of the world live in daily fear for their lives (whether from violence or poverty or natural disasters is immaterial to me), I don't know why America should be exempt.

Having said all of that, I am not the kind of girl who enjoys reminding myself of the tragedy and pain and suffering I have endured in my life. I spend as little time as I possibly can dwelling on the trauma of my past - I give it enough attention so I'm not repressing my emotions around it, but I try to just get on with creating the life I want, with dealing with the ramifications of surviving what I have survived. There are rare occasions where I want to talk or write or sing about the difficult parts of my life....but they're pretty rare. This is why I avoid dramas when I'm watching movies. I don't find it entertaining to watch people overcome mental illness or violence or hatred or sort through family dysfunction or discover who they are blah blah blah. I see all that in my life, and I have enough trouble handling my own drama - I don't need to add anyone else's, or even watch anyone else's.

And when it comes to 9-11, I don't want to watch a movie that reminds me of that day and everything I felt that day. I don't need to relive my helplessness and fear and worry about my friends and colleagues in New York. I don't want to relive every business meeting for the two years after, where the first conversation revolved around sharing 9-11 stories. I don't want to relive the shift in security process at my office or the way I was always pulled out for extra security at the airport. I don't want to dive back into the mental clusterfuck of premonitions and fear and senselessness. I don't want to be reminded how that one pivotal issue has been bastardized by a corrupt government and used to shift the way this country uses its power on a global scale, not to mention the way it has become a rallying cry for a set of values that are the antithesis of my personal beliefs, not to mention pretty out of sync with the spirit of the founders of this nation.

I just want to find some balance between remembrance and obsession. Is that even possible with something like this?

Recent entries...
27 December 2007: 2007: Finis.
17 December 2007: A ruse, a rant, and a poem. It's short.
11 December 2007: Music & falling....story of my life.
08 December 2007: Briefly...ish.
29 November 2007: A poem, a rant, a lesson.