After Anais Nin

September 3, 2014

I am restless, things are calling me away.

My hair is being pulled by the stars again.

Anais Nin

The earth, the metals, the stones and the plastics are agglutinating around my core. My wings flattened. I consider my options, think too much, get hit by tsunami waves over my nervous system, all underlying structures wiped out.

I long for the wild spirits, the moon and the winds to come and get me now. This is too earthly. While Istanbul shouts its discontent in the background. It seems magic has left me. I cannot believe or make-believe. It is all too clear. Graphic. Unavoidable.

To walk.

Shed all pretense. The constructions. Stop this co-conspiracy with everyone acting s if there was redemption to be found, it is all here right now or it isn’t, there is no Grail. There is just now. Even the reflections in the mirror are delayed present, late, past. I should be in the sea now, envelopped by its un-capturable beingness. Let her lift off most of my weight, carry me, cool me.

This morning, Alan watts told me to stop thinking. That we are in a state of madness because of it, because all that thinking makes us believe in an illusion, a waterfall of words, disconnected. I listened to his voice. Meditate… he says. I have not meditated in a long time, I must confess that I have been wary to let go of all that I am hanging on to…. which I shouldn’t.

Oh… they said as they read the cryptic blog… Is she OK? Yeah, yeah, yeah… OK I am. I played last night, started to get inside my own game, still recovering from the shock that Dalyan was on my centeredness. Slowly tracing the thread back into the music. Then at some point in the night thinking to myself: “Don’t worry so much, it’s only songs” as the clatter of sharp cutting shards of drunken voices kept rising and rising. It’s only songs.

Chillout had a delegation and it was nice to see familiar faces.

After the show we headed back to Chillout together, chatted a bit outside the cafe, then I headed out on my own, towards Taksim Square, thinking I will stop on Ms Sokak. Maybe Arsene Lupen, maybe Leyla Teras, maybe Jurnal… as I turned down on the street, I looked up. Saw the blue glow of Leyla Teras, I was thinking about Eren.  I put out my radar in action.  Where is my Magic Drummer I haven’t seen in months?   I think he’s up there. Towards the blue light I go. Up and up. And up, 6, 7 stories high… I get to the top. Look around, and there he is. Joy. He’s brown from being in the sun all summer long, Hugging him I notice that his body is possibly twice as dense as it was  before he left in May, from working, swimming … his smile. So good to see a friend. Like me, he is house-less, penny-less and position-less. But it’s all good. It’s not really important. There is a genuine joy in seeing each other. 

In the club a jam session is in progress. I see the Pulitzer winning photographer I had met a year ago, I didn’t talk to him. Let things be. I saw Senol and a few others.

“Where have you been?” they ask. Yeah, since June I had been gone from this world, gone into a bubble of my own.

This will always be there it seems, the Istanbul nights with its musicians, and its over-keen tourist, Erasmus students and night revelers.  I always stand slightly on the outside.  Un-drunk, clear headed, I dip a toe here and there… then go back into orbit. Eren said he wanted us to play but the stoned-out, drunken flow of music and its musicians didn’t seem to have an opening for us… After a while I left. Walked all the way back to Besiktas, looking at photos of Ataturk on the walls of the military compound. The taxis keep honking as they go by, hoping for a fare. It must be 3, 4 AM, I climb up Barbaros Boulevard. Get to the house. The neurotic cats are in, I feed them. Against good sense I turn on the computer. I got an email back from a place I could volunteer in Bulgaria, it sounds really good. I got emails from hostels in Istanbul where I could work.. ah this dual thing again.  



2 Responses to “After Anais Nin”

  1. David Says:

    The Grail is ‘to serve’. :- )

    • I thought of this definition…

      (in medieval legend) the cup or platter used by Christ at the Last Supper, and in which Joseph of Arimathea received Christ’s blood at the Cross. Quests for it undertaken by medieval knights are described in versions of the Arthurian legends written from the early 13th century onward.
      a thing which is eagerly pursued or sought after.
      “the enterprise society where profit at any cost has become the holy grail”

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