Too much, and too often - August 12th, 2008

Forgive me beforehand, as I will begin, I think, too indulge perhaps too much in the following...

One week, more or less, in the arms of the West, and I am emptied.

Too tired to be a guest, dirty and worn for the show, I feel like I am nearing the end of my capacity for reunion. Every day forms the complicated and electrified bonding of wires between old friends and expectations, something universally difficult, understandable, and nevertheless painful.

I am seeing again all the walks of life from my past, especially as they have convalesced in this hub of humanity, Vancouver, feeling as if the curse of Christmas Specials have descended upon me, "No more Miracles!"

I guess I get it now. No one should have to, or opt, to walk their own past, to feel the streets not as living or faded, but vibrant and twisting, to see friends not in photos, frozen, nor alive and painted, but instead amongst the celluloid carousal of blurred emotion. I know I'm not being clear, I suppose that's the point of catharsis, but maybe it's clearer than I'm making it. It is the normal turning of the tide for us to see the past ebb away, made clearer and more potent as it pulls farther and farther to the horizon. Through this process we see our pain, and promise, draw crisp against the remaining sea, while our minds stay firm amongst the beating waves of today.

Here in this city I have reconnected with so many of my most intense friends, day after day, in a process I can only only recommend as grueling. So I have drawn up the distant waters and pulled them against the tide to this grainy beach, the fearsome fisher, petrified with what reflection I would find.

And I have seen my friendships lasting, and fierce, but in so doing, have walked the wearied paths of my past as they still live. Hence, the vibrant and furious presence of all that which is supposed to remain distant. It is the proximity which is the pain.

Yet, of course, the passion is the point, and in the rolling tide of this re-developed friendships are found the same pleasures, made anew, and with a new host of promise.

So tired...

I leave Vancouver tomorrow at 6pm, and I'll be home Thursday morning. To home.

-N