Dearest Tereza,
Now
that has a nice ring. (Arrow points to
the heading) It’s 5 syllables- like “dearest Jessica.” (Dearest Anitra) You two are immensely dear to me. When I imagine
you, I feel whole – you (erased and
rewritten) bring life force and unity (erased
and rewritten) and harmony to my sometimes fragmented feeling mind + body.
I took
your advice, dearest. On a bench, in the park I write to you. It is clarifying
to write letters to ones you love (arrow
point to) + You have known this all along! With you I am most myself + can
say anything. (Are all the pluses a red
cross? A cry for help?) The flow is there. I thank you for this.
It is
grey. The rain is coming, “they” say. A few stragglers at the park. Those who
did not want to stay in b/c in was too dark inside w/o light streaming in
windows. (Back in Brooklyn we resided in
a basement apartment. Much of the time, the light barely made it through the
windows in the morning as a sign to get up. I had the feeling of a bear
sleeping in. Even the baby seemed to slumber more soundly. However, although
the space had ample light dimmers, the sun cannot be replaced. A bring
sun-filled sky today below zero.) To get air. I like to think that those
who venture out in grey days feel like I do, Moody and unable to do anything
but sit. (It is so important for me to
get out every day, regardless of weather. The baby needs it too. “There's no such thing as bad weather, only unsuitable clothing,” said Maria Montessori. What did you
wear to meet death? Was it your layers of thrift-shop clothes? Lace underwear and
leather coat? You must have been cold, sitting waiting for the train till two.
What do you wear to die, Maria?) Be. To look around + to feel
within.
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But I can
only do this because I am not a mother. Alan
was up early- he became a “soccer dad!” He was horrified that he’s now (written twice, layered) your run-of-the-mill American “soccer
dad.” Sophie joined a soccer team for 5-yr-old girls and Alan was helping to
coach. (Ali
is taking karate at a dojo I knew growing up. A great space of learning where
there is a three tier learning system- the sensei/gray-haired weathered black
belt, two high schooled black belts/teens who have practiced for over 7 years,
and young teens/preteens in training. Called, “Eye of the Tiger,” I have a
feeling Ali tried it as she connected the place with the seventies song. She
wants to try tap after our six month commitment is through.)
I thought I
would draw some pictures of what is around me – Recall when we did that in the Bosco?
It was one of my favorite activities and if I remember right, you liked to sit
in the forest and listen + take notes as well. (The last time, I laid
down feeling the earth under my skin, much like you at your mother’s grave. I
looked at the sky listening to the rhythm of cicadas. I found one’s shell. It
glistened like gold and drew me to it. We observed it in the group. One
consciousness hung onto the branch while the other broke through its back. I
can only imagine you flying leaving the rest behind.)
It is
raining now full effect. I am indoors. I like reading your annotations to
feminist texts- not just because I learn about the texts- but because a part of
you I didn’t know before is revealed to me. It is special to be able to see
your thoughts become articulate and to learn with you. With writing, comes the
understanding, no? (This
is my hope and aim. See and be with you again. See the flow of letters, the
twists and turns and be with you again this very moment. Re-live.)
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Writing to
you today Tereza has been grounding. (For me as well, in the rewrite.) I did not do anything else. No
ptg. No pressure to paint. (This is the art, nothing, just dialogue. I go to continue with the family now that Jonas's nap is over.) And not it is time to shower + get ready to have
dinner with Alan + Martha Rosler!
I found
head space, thanks to you and your brilliant idea of going to the park. Before
the rains come. I love you with all my heart.
Yours,
Anitra (the
dot on the i circled.)
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