living in on the unlined page

there is a glistening of sweat on the little hairs on my arms, my arm that is turning brown in the sun beside the pool, beside the ocean.  and i smell of sweat and tropical fruits like coconut and pineapple and it's reminding me of being in addis ababa. i always burn the pointy parts- elbows and knees- because they stick up or out- and have creases that wash away the sunblock.  i'm in florida at a resort, celebrating my dad who has been president of a prestigious surgical society.

i'm reading another really good book.  Little Bee by Chris Cleave.  it's about two very far away lives becoming linked.  two people suffering different sorrows, from different worlds but united by an event that changed them forever.  i won't say anymore- you'll have to read it.

but as i've said before, there is so much beauty in far away connections like this.  maybe because it's unexpected.  you think it would be harder to connect with someone not from your place- but i think it might be easier.

when you are with your own people- your own community- there are expectations of being- there are rules unspoken- ways of talking and patterns we fall into- like writing on lined paper.  then when you're at a bus stop talking to a homeless guy, so blatantly aware of the differences, those lines dissolve and you have a blank piece of paper in front of you and if you're one of those people whose not afraid to engage in conversation with someone different- you are now free. so sometimes it's easier and faster to connect, with out the lines.

the other night zoe came into our room and wanted me to take off the little bird necklace. (see post called 'little bird')
"it's kind of scratchy" she said.
"i know" i said as i removed it.
its little sparkly eye catching a street light and winking at me.
"you can have it back for now" she said and she went back to bed.

maybe my connection with zoe feels so intense sometimes because we're living on paper with no lines.  no scripts.  no definitions of what is the right thing to say or to do.  we are drawing it as we go.  so it becomes less of an orchestrated piece and more of art- because when you have no lines - you are free to go where you want to on the page- and as fast or as slowly as you feel.  your story can move at a different pace.

and we are all story.  made up of stories.  some we have control over and some we don't- but none the less- stories.

zoe has her own story- it has started and will continue with me and probably eventually with out me.  when she returned the little bird in the middle of the night- i was not surprised.  the giving of the necklace was probabaly a more important part in my story, than the recieving of it was in hers. i want to not need good luck charms.  i want her to fly on- to feel that branch trembling. but on her unlined paper- she might not even need that- she might not ever feel the shaky branch because i guess if the branch has always been shaking- that is your normal- there is no awareness of an unshaky branch.  part of zoe's beauty is her songbirdness- she already does sing.  part of zoe's beauty is her living out her life on the lineless freedom of plain paper.  her ease of connectedness with the other- infact her joy in connection with those who are most different.  and in that way she is perhaps freer than the rest of us. 

tonight i will go to a fancy dinner dance in my fabulous chocolate dress- and i will try to remember her freedom, i will try to not be fooled by the outsides of everyone. i will try to hear their stories and i will try to live on the unlined page.