I woke this morning to thunder.  I rose and gazed into the mirror.  I was wearing the face of someone who had been crying many tears the night before.  Some strange invisible wall has been in the process of being torn down within the interiors of my being since my visit here in Washington.  I’ve been crying at the drop of a hat and it feels so freeing.  I waited for the bus today and as I leaned myself against the wooden bench my tears began to flow.  I didn’t exactly know why but didn’t deny myself of it.  It was a good thing.  I am just so thankful and am so … everything.  I’m also nothing.  I’m within my own category of feeling.  I am in life.


Everyday I start at “Empire” - the espresso bar down the street.  Quickly I have become a regular.  I get an iced Americano and take it outside for a smoke and write.  I’ve been journaling constantly and have been finding myself late to getting to my day’s plans because a lot of my attention is going to the blank pages.  I see so many words written on those pages before I even begin to write. 


I wrote this in my journal at Empire:


"I just can’t not write.  I hear words in my head constantly.  Sometimes more than other times.  These words are inspired words, inspired rhymes.  If I don’t write them down my head feels as though it will explode.  Most of the words don’t even make it to paper because I am not fast enough at getting to the pen.  I love it despite not knowing where they come from.  Some people hear melodies and have to compose.  I am so glad that they do.  Do they know that they influence me?  I connect to songs sometimes more than I connect to people themselves.  A simple line can spark an entire day for me.   And what I love so much about those lines or melodies is that the artist wrote it based on what inspired them.  It may mean something completely different from what it means to me but it still births the same kind of creation.  It’s so beautiful.


I walk throughout my entire day recalling lines that seem appropriate for what I am experiencing.  I recite them in my head as though it is my holy text.  And it gets me to thinking – we each have our own religion.  We may even each have our own personal “God”.  I don’t know what God is but I know I come alive through the work of other artists and in turn create my own “holy text”.  They are my prophets.  They are my gods.  They are my religion.

Everything inspires me, not just music.  I will wake to a cloudy day, as I did today, and based on the lighting that comes into my window, I will do my makeup influenced on how it hits me.  Maybe the sky will remind me of Tim Burton … I then continue forth emulating him or one of his characters.  It can be the smallest of things.  It can be the strangest of things.  But I’m constantly observing and imitating.  People tell me sometimes that I inspire them.  Maybe I do, I don’t know.  I do not necessarily feel I am inspiring I just am utterly inspired.  By everything."


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Today I called upon Stevie Nicks from Fleetwood Mac to be my guide.  She did a wonderful job helping to make me a “Gypsy” today.  A “Gold Dust Woman”.  As “Sara, the poet in her heart”. It was actually “Landslide” that echoed in my ear when the tears began at the bus stop.

I am lying in bed.  A small light glows.  My journal’s pages are fanned open beside me as though the book is my companion.  I make sure that before leaving the house each day I have with me my journal, a working pen, my Patti Smith book, camera, bus pass, a few dollars, and a couple other knick-knacks.  When I travel alone in this unknown city, I do not feel alone.  I feel I have the comfort of a few friends when I have these things with me. 

This is the first chance I have had to blog a bit.  I love taking pictures and I love to write but sometimes I am thrilled that I cannot accomplish doing either of those things because it means I’m too busy experiencing.  So I’m not upset this has been my first chance to check in. 

I explored a different part of the city after my Americano.  A groovy little place called Capitol Hill.  The vintage/thrift shopping was so overwhelming that, dare I say, I believe I had some kind of an “eyegasm” upon gazing.  I knew I didn’t have much time today to shop so I will return next week with the money I don’t have.  I did buy one top, however.  It was black with the chest and long sleeves being lace.  AND there are buttons.  Come on, how could I not?  So me. 

I also had a chance to tour the beach area with a great view of the city.  Each day I am finding more and more reasons to fall in love.  I don’t really understand the way life works or why it does … I can only answer the call.  I can only accept the invitation to live.  And while I am here I find myself in the power of the pull. 

Of course I am doing a lot of thinking while I am here because I spend a lot of time by myself.  I’d have it no other way … I actually find it quite enjoyable to have only me to rely on (you know, when my very helpful and supportive friend is off to work for the day).  It would be totally different to be here with someone else, which is what I originally thought I wanted.  That would be wonderful in its own way but instead of turning my attention to conversation, I am turning to books and sites and personal freedom.  I anticipate, as the next week goes on, that I will feel a great bit more comfortable.  I think it will be hard for me to then catch the plane back to Virginia.  I have faith that my return will only solidify my desires and answer all of the questions that have been brought up in my mind while I am here. 

Art is alive and well here in the city.  Art is alive and thriving in me. 
I feel at home, I feel at home.