Well, we survived!
The conclusion of our stream of photographs will be posted soon but for now I am reflecting on the space where words have failed me.
I reached a point on this trip where the break between the inscription and the experience would not be breached by any amount of floral scripture.
The more I wrote the less I looked around, and the less I looked around the more I missed.
The missing could only be avoided by leaving the pen, the keyboard, on the table--on the chain of tables in the string of hostels as I let myself See without Saying, let myself Think without Breathing.
And through the Silence I learned how to better Sigh.
And to sigh into Speech.
----
I stepped off the plane from Ireland into the arms of my father, my mother, my sisters, and the surprise Life-Love Zak lurking in the shadows
(for he had mischievously plotted with my fam to greet/surprise me at the airport)
Which he did--successfully--surprise me: the overjoyed mess that squealed
and forgot for a moment that I was disheveled and mop-faced and travel-stained
and bumbled the shrieked light into his arms.
----
The weekend of homecoming was grand: family-filled in every dimension.
Father's Day: the beach left me slightly burned (a mere crisp) from the Santa Barbara sun and sandy from the beach and full from a Father's Day breakfast and happy from a day of strolling with Zak and laughing with my sisters.
----
When in love it is hard to write of anything else.
When loving--be it family or friends or him (both blended)--it is hard to write of
mundane daily events like
the pending job search
traffic school
cleaning the bomb wreck that is my room.
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