Since familiarizing myself more with the universe and this existence (circa January 2012), I've come to understand more. Heretofore, I threw around words and concepts meant for deeper meaning without even stopping to realize what exactly was being thrown - the word 'love' for example, or the concept of 'oneness.' I knew of these terms just enough to have them in my shed to use in the first place, but I never actually knew about them.
Perhaps it is not that I've come to understand more, but that I've come to feel more. Perhaps I always knew what I was talking about somewhere deep down in my core - maybe to the right of my heart a bit and down some - but my outer side was so numbed by -pams and -contins and -mines that everything that inherently always mattered to me couldn't come to the surface and bloom. Today, I can say and write the words 'love' or 'oneness' and actually understand them in as full a capacity as is possible at this point in my ripening life.
A week ago, I went from pole to pole. Feeling as if I'd traded one country for another, I'd merely moved from the chaos of the inner city to its peripheral sister: peaceful suburbia. People often forget that the process of moving inevitably includes the surprise uncovering of memories long passed. Dusty, still-taped-up boxes I hadn't unpacked since my last move were finally given proper attention. Among the miscellanea were historical tokens, some sad, some comical, and others charming: a sash for CUTEST COUPLE from my junior prom; a newspaper clipping of me from when I used to wear cheesecutters and push-up bras with the caption 'DANGEROUS curves ahead'; a photograph of my childhood "twin" and I in the parking lot of some theme park or fair, both clad in red t-shirts, blue overalls, and black Nikes, beside us was my father, and beside him was one of my favorite uncles who passed away just a couple of years later.
Pressed like posies between this memory and that, I found many a personal writing: a note written in passing, a letter to myself, another diary entry scribbled haphazardly on another airplane vomit bag. These writings from my younger years are the puzzling (and puzzle) pieces that tell me I knew things before I even knew things; I knew of things well before I could muster up the courage and strength and determination to put these same things into real action. Discussing, somewhat unknowingly, the important topics of solitude, manifestation, celestial beings, compassion, love, clarity, cleansing, and decision is an artifact from that collection:
After finding this, I thought to myself how 2010 was the worst year ever for me. I lost myself completely, and it scared me, almost to death. This was written in April. In May of that year, I cut my wrist and took literal handfuls of Valium, flushing them down with whole bottles of red wine, confused when I woke the next morning with a red-soaked dish towel wrapped around my arm. In June of that year, I told my parents I needed to go home. In July of that year, I checked myself into a private rehab in Chiang Mai, Thailand. After thinking this all through, I realized how our "worst" times could instead be thought of as times when we learned the most. We would never know light if there were no dark. No matter how awful life was at times, I truly don't regret any of it anymore, in fact, I am thankful for all of it.
My new place is a Neutra place (est. 1958). For those not familiar with mid-century modern aesthetic, it may come across as just another old complex. But for those in tune with it, this is an absolute gem. To me it is an obvious masterpiece of its creator, featuring Neutra's signature streamline design, unique indoor-outdoor flow, and recessed or hidden lighting. Not to mention, the much appreciated thought he put into the overall layout and storage. But let's concentrate on the relevant aspects here, for analogy's sake: the lights are tucked within the body of the structure, they come from within and emanate without, illuminating all that surrounds them; the silver wooden panels that line the ceiling extend from inside to outside, seamlessly; the opposing windows create a constant, circular flow of air; the opposing floor-to-ceiling mirrors give the illusion of infinite space and reflect truthfully; the back wall consisting entirely of windows opening out onto a spacious balcony drenched in sunlight perpetuates a connection with nature.
Neutra coined the term 'biorealism,' which I became immediately fond of, just as when I discovered Fuller's term 'spaceship earth' and Björk's popularization of the term 'biophilia.' Biorealism is the "integration of human and nature design." Neutra "was a self-appointed missionary of sorts for an enlightened modernism fashioned to serve man's physical and psychological needs." This place is indeed an architectural and philosophical anomaly on a regular, working-class, suburban street. Here, I can feel all the essential elements working with me - light, silver lining, the flow, infinity, reflection, nature - and I've never been happier.
From fast pace to slow peace, irate emergency sirens to delightful Mexican horns, the throes of homelessness to the shuvits of skaters, from mid-city to mid-century - I now know what it feels like to be home, physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
From fast pace to slow peace, irate emergency sirens to delightful Mexican horns, the throes of homelessness to the shuvits of skaters, from mid-city to mid-century - I now know what it feels like to be home, physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
Neutra abodes from Google | b/w shots by Julius Schulman ~ Picasso light drawings by Gjon Mili ~ Compositions by me
