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new mexico
Sep. 10th, 2008 12:13 amOver Labor Day weekend, I ventured out to Taos, New Mexico for the annual President’s Scholar retreat. ( Read more... )
I stand on a steel bridge over this gorge carved by the Rio Grande, which here, is nothing more than a trickle, mustard yellow, and stagnant. As I look out over its vast length and depth, I feel the Earth. I feel this same deep gash across my breast, and the tearing, ripping forces of the Earth pulling itself apart, pulling me apart.The light breeze blows through me. I taste iron on the air; I smell metal.
I remember the last time I was here, a year ago. I remember another outing we had. I remember Native American children dancing for tourists - anything sacred or real is lost on their voyeuristic, their ignorant stares. I feel that I am on the brink of madness for a surplus of feeling. I feel New Mexico: it’s warring cultures, it’s poverty, it’s antiquity. All of these cut me like the Rio Grande, carve out something essential, and leave a giant hole for teenagers and tourists to gawk at. They throw pennies in me to see how deep the hole goes, how deep I go. They stand over me, looking into my hole until something more exciting comes along.
I hold on to the gaurdrail. I take pictures, trying to capture the Earth so that I can take her home with me. But it’s inadequate, sand through my fingers. I can’t capture her. I can’t capture what I see, so I must content myself with looking and drinking it all in as long as I can.
The sway of the bridge paralyzes me. I am dizzy; I see myself falling into the abyss or tumbling on the thin sidewalk into the guardrail. I hit my head. I fall into incoming traffic. I keep walking.
We eat, but I have already eaten. I involve myself in conversation. I doesn’t spark any feeling. Not like the Earth. I talk, I laugh, I taste the metal in air. It infiltrates my cinnamon gum. I chew the Earth. They can’t feel it, can’t smell it, can’t taste it.
---
I look overhead at the stars. They twinkle above me in a seemingly endless dance. I feel the sting of the cold on my cheeks; I shiver. I never want to leave, hypnotized by the sky the color of ballpoint pen ink. There’s prickle behind my nose and the tears come falling out of me. It’s the sky and the Earth and me which pours out in the form of tears. I look for constellations, but I can’t recognize anything; the sky is too full. She is alien in depth, a depth which I cannot see elsewhere. I wonder if the people before me hold the same reverence for the sky: the Pueblos, the settlers. I am surrounded by a handful of people partaking in my loving gaze into the heavens, but like the gorge, the true majesty seems lost on them. All I can say is, “I love it. I love it. I love it.”
When I got back, I received a post card letting me know that all parts of my study abroad application were together and they would let me know when interviews start. I was a little worried because when I turned in my application on the 25th, the office didn’t get my advisor evaluation. Now, everything is good in the universe.
Also, I've been writing more and more since the beginning of the summer. I have appx 12K words written for an as of yet unnamed massive project which I have been pondering on for about four years. I feel a little self conscious because I have rarely written creatively; all my writing to this point has been for school. I'm damned good (if I do say so myself) at analytical papers, but this creative this is new and a little terrifying.
I stand on a steel bridge over this gorge carved by the Rio Grande, which here, is nothing more than a trickle, mustard yellow, and stagnant. As I look out over its vast length and depth, I feel the Earth. I feel this same deep gash across my breast, and the tearing, ripping forces of the Earth pulling itself apart, pulling me apart.The light breeze blows through me. I taste iron on the air; I smell metal.
I remember the last time I was here, a year ago. I remember another outing we had. I remember Native American children dancing for tourists - anything sacred or real is lost on their voyeuristic, their ignorant stares. I feel that I am on the brink of madness for a surplus of feeling. I feel New Mexico: it’s warring cultures, it’s poverty, it’s antiquity. All of these cut me like the Rio Grande, carve out something essential, and leave a giant hole for teenagers and tourists to gawk at. They throw pennies in me to see how deep the hole goes, how deep I go. They stand over me, looking into my hole until something more exciting comes along.
I hold on to the gaurdrail. I take pictures, trying to capture the Earth so that I can take her home with me. But it’s inadequate, sand through my fingers. I can’t capture her. I can’t capture what I see, so I must content myself with looking and drinking it all in as long as I can.
The sway of the bridge paralyzes me. I am dizzy; I see myself falling into the abyss or tumbling on the thin sidewalk into the guardrail. I hit my head. I fall into incoming traffic. I keep walking.
We eat, but I have already eaten. I involve myself in conversation. I doesn’t spark any feeling. Not like the Earth. I talk, I laugh, I taste the metal in air. It infiltrates my cinnamon gum. I chew the Earth. They can’t feel it, can’t smell it, can’t taste it.
---
I look overhead at the stars. They twinkle above me in a seemingly endless dance. I feel the sting of the cold on my cheeks; I shiver. I never want to leave, hypnotized by the sky the color of ballpoint pen ink. There’s prickle behind my nose and the tears come falling out of me. It’s the sky and the Earth and me which pours out in the form of tears. I look for constellations, but I can’t recognize anything; the sky is too full. She is alien in depth, a depth which I cannot see elsewhere. I wonder if the people before me hold the same reverence for the sky: the Pueblos, the settlers. I am surrounded by a handful of people partaking in my loving gaze into the heavens, but like the gorge, the true majesty seems lost on them. All I can say is, “I love it. I love it. I love it.”
When I got back, I received a post card letting me know that all parts of my study abroad application were together and they would let me know when interviews start. I was a little worried because when I turned in my application on the 25th, the office didn’t get my advisor evaluation. Now, everything is good in the universe.
Also, I've been writing more and more since the beginning of the summer. I have appx 12K words written for an as of yet unnamed massive project which I have been pondering on for about four years. I feel a little self conscious because I have rarely written creatively; all my writing to this point has been for school. I'm damned good (if I do say so myself) at analytical papers, but this creative this is new and a little terrifying.
