Wijaya kusuma, midnight diva.
One problem with re-interpreting traditional Sumba death rituals through digital multi-media is that the sacred beings involved might not like digital multi-media.
When an ant colony produces a flying swarm in your bedroom, (because they live in your cheap bamboo furniture), a good solution is to turn off all the indoor lights and turn on a bright outdoor light.
Then you sit in the dark and wait for them to leave.
Leonard Cohen’s middle to late catalogue continues to provide excellent commentary and companionship in these times.
Deep sleep last night with all that electricity in the sky. Thinking this morning about Shane MacGowan, some angel, as mosquitoes bite my hands, Jeki huddles in my lap, Lalah cries at snails. Nostalgia is a strange pleasure here, uneasy to hold, where even the seasons speak a different language.
Banana leaf after rain.
Must be a snake nest in the garden because the cats have caught three babies so far. Small, brown, narrow heads, E says not dangerous but how they rear their heads and face you off… Then I had a dream some deity, reflected shimmering gold and black, commanded I build it a temple. It was terrifying.
When it seems like a luxury but also like you need it, or you want it in a truly special way, then you make a religion out of it? A fabulous alibi for making beautiful things or a ruinous excuse or petty vanity. Or discovery of the sacred, or what is the difference between these things?
Yoga days 5 and 6 completed, I wanted to let you know, although family demands have temporarily disenabled writing. I was thinking how writing is a luxury, you can only do it if you have extra time. What that means is a mystery though. Extra means more than enough. Who has more than enough time?
Black ants on lemon leaves.
Was gently reminded by yoga day 4 that progress sometimes feels like confusion. Then Ish caught a baby monitor lizard right before headstand. Dangerous if they bite, I (sweaty) gingerly separated cats from lizard, wrangled lizard (alive) into a towel and deposited in the ravine. Savasana deserved.
A spell of rain before sunrise, just enough for the orchids. Last quiet day before E returns with Ibuk. Happy to see them but I savor today’s solitude, the no need to speak, how the words that come out are just for me. Or the cats. Or the fish in the pond, or Blih or Father, or Mbok A., or etc.
Rainy season means bugs, so many bugs. Colonies produce frenzied night swarms that last mere hours before dropping, energy spent, masses of bodies wriggling helpless until snatched by gecko jaws, frog tongues, translucent wings carried off by ants, countless born and died and disappeared by morning.
Jeki mood.
Woke at 2, big loud soaking rain, couldn’t sleep. Too many thoughts and edits of thoughts too fast. Ah, hormonal insomnia. Best to let it go and soothe the nerves. Did light reading, a little writing, sipping coffee in the dark. Ish came to cuddle. Summoning courage for day 3 yoga. Then a nap. Yes.
And who among us doesn’t have a secret name?
One reason we resonate is that we also are hybrid beings. Always one foot in and one foot out the door of each world we occupy, it makes us more versatile but also wildly uncomfortable in our daily lives. Ontological instability is human.
Reading Fugitive Telemetry by Martha Wells. 📚
Jepun bali (frangipani) leaves after rain.
The bathroom had cream colored wallpaper with gold birdcages on it, peeling at corners. Rose glycerin soap, threadbare bathmat, old calendar with photos of wild birds hung on the wall. Different days of the week taped over the old, numbers switched to turn past into present, strategies against time.
Felt a little progress in my yoga practice today, unusual for day 2.
Progress: finding a new way into an old problem.