Today it was raining and I was grateful because it felt like fall was coming, and I need a change.
The energy of summer has warmed me, but as of yesterday, I was starting to feel burned out. Like the hills of ubiquitous brown grass with only a few green weeds still sucking up the sun.
I need this change of season, as much as the earth and the brown grass and the trees dropping their leaves are looking forward to changing their colors.
I am ready to go inward and rest, come out in my new fall fashion and shake the leaves of summer off.
Got me to thinking of pine needles and pumpkin pie....
I drove across town to deposit my rent check and since I was on the other side of the city I thought to drive to my favorite park on top of Capitol Hill with a different view toward the east Cascade mountains instead of my typical westward stance.
I find myself turning into the cemetery on the top of the hill, slowly driving through the one lane driveway admiring the mature trees and large monuments.
"What am I doing here?"
"I'm looking for a sign."
"A sign of what?"
"I don't know. I need a sign."
"Well you have to ask for a specific sign in order to get one, that's how it works."
"That's how it works, huh?"
"Who made up those rules?"
"I need a sign. I don't know what kind of sign I need or I wouldn't be asking for a sign."
"I won't get one now because I don't know what I need?"
I pull to the side of the driveway and get out of my car. I'm walking around. Walking around.
Walking around, I say out loud, "I need a sign. "
I keep walking.
It's really quite beautiful in this cemetery. The sun comes out periodically.
"Is it strange to take pictures?", I question myself.
I snap a few anyway. No sign so far.
What am I looking for exactly?
A tombstone with my name on it?
Yes, maybe, I thought I'd find one next to a name of one of my ex-boyfriend's and I'd know for certain that's where I'd gone wrong.
It couldn't be any more clear than that.
There are some beautiful monuments and then some gaudy gigantic ones, even those are tolerable as the rain and moss has softened them to the landscape.
I think, "this is it?"
We erect these gigantic monuments over our decaying little bodies and that's a testament to how grand our life was lived? That doesn't seem to make any sense. And yet these monuments are real, fortified, carved in stone, erected, protected, visited.
Someone proved that a flapping of the butterfly's wings could cause a hurricane across the world.
But still, no one is going to erect a monument after me. What would they even say on it?
And how strange to think, I have an expiration date. It's written somewhere. It's already written, but no one will label me with it until I've expired. Then they'll carve it in stone, two dates one a beginning and one an end.
I find a peaceful bench at the top of the hill to sit in the cemetery and observe the beautiful landscape of ornamental graves.
I sit for hours.
I'm not the only one in the cemetery, car after car pulls around the corner from me, stops, parks, people get out, and take pictures.
It's Bruce Lee's grave. One girl in a trucker hat with flowers poses and smiles as her boyfriend snaps pictures.
I feel a little strange for the girl and for Bruce Lee.
Why do we want pictures taken with celebrity gravestones?
Because he was famous?
Or because of what he lived for?
Or because of what his life represented in the world?
Where I am sitting there is a grave that says "Historian and Poet".
I think I'd like my gravestone to read "Artist and Poet".
What a gift to be an artist. What a gift to be a creative and thrive fully expressed as a human being.
Loved for who you are, not what you do.
I hope someone who knows me will play "Let's Go Crazy" by Prince and set the funeral pyre on fire while dancing around like having a seizureer or an orgasm. I hope they'll say I could tell a good story and that the way I pictured the beauty in the world helped you to see the magic of living.
I'd like a old love to say I was a damn good kisser and and a friend to share that I baked a pretty decent pumpkin pie. Some one will add that I always had to have the biggest Christmas tree and loved eggnog lattes, made with raw egg.
I have been broken open, softened by my experiences, not hardened.
I feel more lovely, more human, more beautiful than ever before.