We are infinite

Calligraphy by me, paintings by Jason

The Many Lives of Amanda

The gatherer

I wake up. The sun is filtering through the leaves, overlaying on my cheeks. The birds have been singing for hours. I breathe in and smell the pine freshness of the air. I roll over gently, savoring the moment and the slow, morning warmth.

The builder

My mind races ahead to the many worlds unfurling in front of me. It places pieces, moves them around, tries out patterns and watches the cascading effects. Faster, we are always moving faster. Tumbling, controlled, catching each other, our legs running over rocks in rhythm. Everything blurs in the background of the one pathway we are running over at breakneck speed.

The writer

The ocean crashes gently as I cradle my coffee. Thoughts swirl in my mind, forming and unforming, machines constructed and run in subconscious seconds. Chewing, my mind pours over the granules of an idea, looking for footholds. Worlds pour out of my fingers for others to inhabit, filled with wonder.

The wanderer

The grass is damp under my bare feet. I scan for trees to tie my hammock between. The sun is beginning to set, and their laughter is loud as they set up a campfire. Someone begins strumming a guitar. A quiet, low voice weaves amongst the trees. Tomorrow, I will see new faces around new fires. Today, the light dances over their eyes, uncovering, fleetingly, all the worlds they have seen.

The movement builder

People brush past me, purposeful, voices calling out across streets. I clap my hands in delight. “Where should this one go?” someone pants at me, the corner of a heavy table supported by their stooping shoulder. “Over there!” I cry. “What should I do with the pamphlets that just arrived?” someone runs to ask. “Ah, perfect, leave them here,” I say gratefully. Colorful flags raise up on every corner. Something is beginning. 

The healer

I hold her eyes, softly, gently, a pillow of love for her to unwind into. The lines around her eyes and mouth begin to fade, her breath deepens. Remember how deeply you are loved, my gaze tells her.

The traveler

I sip coffee, staring out at the river and the streams of people passing by. My backpack sits at my feet, journal open in front of me. Soles weary from many footsteps, I listen to the chatter and wonder at the lives of each passing person – the woman with designer sunglasses and a purposeful stride; the man in jeans with a waddling dog. The keys for my hostel room press against my leg.

The second diffuses

There is, there, a deep sadness at the fragility of the sense of being.

At each second slipping away.

At generations rising and falling and fading away into sepia-toned memories, known only by stories and thumb-worn phrases repeated with laughter over the dinner table.

There was a life I was meant to live. In the forest, hearing the rain patter through the leaves. Feeling the sun begin to bathe the damp moss in its touch. Barefoot. The village has yet to wake. There are mushrooms to gather in the quiet morning light. The air is heavy with rain and the first birdsong and the slow, ever so slow, passing of time (not a ticking, but an overflowing, falling gently over the edge). Time holds my breath and exhales it through the pores in the saplings and crumbling soil.

There was a life I was meant to live, standing poised beneath the gnarled trees, alert to every sensation. Thunder sneaks back from the days to come and runs along the hairs on my arm.

There, every second swells, entire worlds crystallizing inside. Order, and chaos, and love, and grief, and birth, and acceptance, arrange and rearrange themselves in the shifting structure; then disintegrate as the membrane becomes too thin to distinguish from the air around it. An exhale; the second diffuses, taking with it lifetimes of ache and memories, and then a new second begins.

The moments are pulled from my throat, voice empty, crying out soundlessly for what has already dissipated.

freckles

she asked to be reminded she is

alive and I asked

if she had tried curling up

in the curve of someone’s arm

recently and getting to know

for the first time their freckles


did you know people have freckles

inside their eyes?

I found that out on the fifth night


have your feet felt the hot tar

of the summer road recently

and when was the last time you remembered

to breath as if the cells in your lungs

just emerged from the vortex of a wave 

gasping for air?