by Caridad Svich
4 AM. I am getting up earlier and earlier. Even on weekends. I am resisting the temptation to sleep. I have this theory that if I stay awake long enough I’ll be able to witness everything
I don’t want to see any of it, any of that ‘thing”
But if we don’t watch, if we just ignore whatever is happening, how will we know what to say?
The last time we just turned things off, we allowed them to happen, we gave it permission, we said those guys were idiots, and even though they were cynical, hypocritical idiots, we paid them no real mind, and look what happened
Our neighbors came back from the desert with fire in their eyes
And some of them, some of them never came back
I don’t want what happened then (to happen now), because I’m still angry, at all of them, all of the cynical idiots, I’m still angry at the known unknowns, even though, yes, yes, that was a long time ago (they say), and we have to move on because what else can we do? We can’t STAY angry at them
Some of them are old, some of them have faded into the recesses of their ranch houses with their families, we can’t drag ALL THAT out again, because the world has changed, and well, yes, what happened then was instrumental to what’s happening now, but…
We can’t do anything about it. Not about then. Because ALL THAT is over
But this, this… we can speak to this, if we stay awake
…
I don’t want to say anything. The acorn trembles in my hand
I’m carrying it with me now. I took it out of the drawer
I couldn’t bear the thought of it being next to the knives
There’s been enough violence
I am thinking about moving away. Just for a while
Pack up all of the crappy sentiment and head to the woods
Live with nothing. Just air, trees and a small fire
…
What you have to remember, do you remember (?), is that we protested then, back when ALL THAT happened, ten-odd years ago, we stood around the world
We stood around the world once
In the rainy city
It was called the Battle of the City of Rain
Do you remember?
You said they were the most important days of our lives
…
Our memories fail us
Our rage subsides
We stand and stand
And then store our photographs in a file
Sometimes we remember the file is there
And we wonder who we were then
…
6 AM. Tea and honey. Tea and bread. Letting go of old habits. The coffee grounds are in the wastebasket. We’ve had enough acidity in our stomachs to last us a few centuries. We are trying to slow down
I hope that our anger does not become a commodity
A kind of unease sets in. Different from the usual…
My friend says everything is a sales pitch, and maybe, maybe what we need to do now is actually not join the raging chorus of rage on all sides, but rather think about how things take time, how ALL THIS took time to manifest, and that there may be something in actually living in the long now
The clock stopped some years ago. The regular clock
A new clock was placed inside a mountain
In 10, 000 years maybe we will know how to really live, if there’s anyone left
…
I didn’t know anything about the woods
I just started walking
I wore the acorn around my neck
It was a Sunday
I swore to myself, in what seemed like an unending silence, that I would make something of this time that had made an abrupt nothing of our lives
Someone called. They knew I wasn’t speaking
They said: contact a doctor, ask for a remedy
But I already had
The doctor said there was nothing wrong with me
Your throat is fine. Your vocal chords are fine
The silence had something to do with my psyche
I made a raw sound
The doctor ignored me
The line of patients waiting was a mile long
Good day, they said
As they walked me out of the glass door
Into the cold sunshine
…
When I was twelve I told my people that I wanted to live on a glass beach
They laughed at me
They found me amusing
They said adolescence is such an interesting time
…
8 AM. I decide to write a letter to the ocean
I find paper, actual paper, and a pen
And start writing
Dear Ocean,
You’ve been through it all, what lessons can you teach us now?
I tuck the paper into the envelope and take the letter to the nearest post office
The person looks at me
I am dead serious
The envelope goes into a bin with all of the letters that will be sent the next morning
Good day, they said
As I walk out of the glass door
And into the city of concrete
…
Long ago we asked ourselves questions about our duties as citizens, we knew this meant my duty to you there, and you too, on the other side of the ocean, the questions were innocent at times and at others best left unsaid, but at least we asked, at least we understood that my duty extended beyond the foot of this bed into which you sleep with me at night
And yes, to you, there, unknown, standing in the maze of your city, walking through the belly of your country, a crust of bread on your tongue
In the heat of this moment, we rise
The elderly person watches their car set on fire, the windows to their store smashed
Who will pay for all of this? Who will pay?
You reach into your pocket for your fifteenth credit card, the clerk says they will wait, the clock ticks, your eyes meet, this one has to go through, because the others have been declined
I’d like to tell you a story about your need for stories
I’d like to tell you a story about why you think all things like this have to have plots
But then I see you looking at me
Just as you are doing now
A little hesitant, worried, perhaps a bit vulnerable
And I say
Hey, hey, give me your hand
It’s okay
Give me your hand
We can do this. We have done this before. Remember?
Maybe in some church
Maybe in school
Maybe at that party
We offered our hands to strangers
And said peace
Something Other 