... or something like that

Well, beloveds, not every week can be a good one. It certainly was not a bad week, per se, but it was one of those weeks that I was more in tune to my complicated inner world/the stormy part of my insides. It’s like a little part of myself is always in Seattle mode (in terms of grey, cloudy, rainy, foggy), and I notice it more, or it overwhelms me more sometimes than others. There is no external cause or force which generates this feeling in its greater intensity; I think it’s just called being a human, or something like that. So, no need to fuss or worry. I am genuinely doing OK. I am mainly trying to do my best to share the not-so-glamourous sides of studying abroad, attempting to de-romanticize (at least somewhat) living and studying in Europe for 4 months. And anyway--storms always pass.

Mid-term season is upon us, and so I’ve been caught up in stressing about that, along with summer internship applications, scholarship applications, and of course the constant and tedious changes I have to make to my resume and cover and letter with each thing I apply for. I’ve still been reading and have finished 2 books since we last spoke. I completed Edith Wharton’s The Age of Innocence (WOW) and Irmgard Keun’s The Artificial Silk Girl (also WOW). I’ve been on an early-mid 20th century lit kick as of late. But I have now interrupted that kick as I am currently flying through Sally Rooney’s Normal People, a contemporary romance-y fiction novel and loving it. Yay reading!

Last weekend I traveled to London with a group of friends which was AMAZING. It was my first time traveling outside of Spain since arriving, and it was a success. I did attempt to order food or inquire to store clerks in Spanish and was met with some confused looks, but I think it made for a more memorable experience and a good thing to laugh about in the moment and upon reflection. We arrived in London last Thursday night and had two full days in the city before departing on Sunday afternoon. While there, we did a 6 hour walking tour, sipped afternoon tea, indulged on fish & chips, got fantastic nighttime views of the city via the Sky Garden, shared dim sum in Chinatown, walked the London and Tower Bridges and along the River Thames, did a craft brewery tour in Brixton, smashed a traditional English breakfast on our last morning in town, meandered in and out of the various neighborhoods as we made it from point A to point B (l loved SoHo!), and of course, got to know public transportation pretty well as we sashayed across the city. One of my dance friends from growing up, whom I have not seen in quite a few years, Alexis, is currently getting her Master of Dance Science in London, and she joined us on the beer tour. It was one of those moments where it felt like we just picked up right where we left off, and it was the sweetest reunion. London, I miss you already. Can’t wait to return!

I’ve been running regularly again and have been pleasantly reminded of why I love it so much. The hardest part is lacing up my shoes because as soon as my feet hit the pavement, I’m ready to bust a move—that is if I’ve got some good tunes queued up. I have a love/hate relationship with running, but at the end of the day, I really do love it. It is my favorite form of exercise, and, oddly enough, the space in which I have the most writing ideas and one of my most consistent spaces of prayer—prayer as the idea of moments of awe given to me in the form of the details of the beautiful world around me, waiting for my attention… or something like that.

On a run a couple days ago—it was Friday, I believe—I had a ridiculous moment of prayer. After what felt like a hard, heavy week for seemingly no reason, I was overcome with an illuminating lightness and joyful gratitude and received these words, while looking up at the pillows of fluffy light grey clouds smoothly gliding across the sky:

There is love in me. There is love around me. There is love for me. I am both loved and becoming more like It. I don’t have to be good. I am held, and I am free.

These words were and are and will be a prayer for me—a gift from something outside myself, noticed and received when I needed them most. I guess I should go on runs more often?

And because everything reminds me of a book I’ve read, here are some words from Toni Morrison’s Beloved:

She did not tell them to clean up their lives or go and sin no more. She did not tell them they were the blessed of the earth, its inheriting meek or its glorybound pure.

She told them that the only grace they could have was the grace they could imagine. That if they could not see it, they would not have it.

“Here,” she said, “in this here place, we flesh; flesh that weeps, laughs; flesh that dances on bare feet in grass. Love it. Love it hard. Yonder they do not love your flesh. They despise it. They don’t love your eyes; they’d just a soon pick em out. No more do they love the skin on your back. Yonder they flay it. And O my people they do not love your hands. Those they only use, tie, bind, chop off and leave empty. Love your hands! Love them. Raise them up and kiss them. Touch others with them, pat them together, stroke them on your face ’cause they don’t love that either. You got to love it, you! And no, they ain’t in love with your mouth. Yonder, out there, they will see it broken and break it again. What you say out of it they will not heed. What you scream from it they will snatch away and give you leavins instead. No, they don’t love your mouth. You got to love it. This is flesh I’m talking about here. Flesh that needs to be loved. Feet that need to rest and to dance; backs that need support; shoulders that need arms, strong arms I’m telling you. And O my people, out yonder, hear me, they do not love your neck unnoosed and straight. So love your neck; put a hand on it, grace it, stroke it and hold it up. And all your inside parts that they’d just as soon slop for hogs, you got to love them. The dark, dark liver––love it, love it, and the beat and beating heart, love that too. More than eyes or feet. More than lungs that have yet to draw free air. More than your life-holding womb and your life-giving private parts, hear me now, love your heart. For this is the prize.”

I first read Toni Morrison in high school and have believed her to be one of the greatest writers and thinkers of all time since, which has only been confirmed as I read more of her. I personally think her writing is worthy of being added to the Holy Scriptures.

There is a ton of rich, specific, important historical context surrounding this excerpt, and I highly recommend you read the book for yourself, but to spare us both the time, I want to point out an important concept I see here.

There are wicked powers and forces at bay both within and without us. We are in bondage to ourselves and to evils out in the world. This past week, I was in bondage to my stress and anxiety and overwhelm and feeling heavy and helpless about the devasting Ukraine crisis. Until, on my run, I took some deep breaths and opened myself up to the possibility of goodness, of love and light, even within this thick fog of bleh and ugh. And there it was, right there waiting for me. It was not a dismissal or denial of all the hard and heavy things, but a release from their dominating power. Morrison asserts to us that evil and hatred will always be knocking on our doors, but just down the hallway, there is a door with love written on it, and we’ve got the keys.

And because everything also reminds me of a Mary Oliver poem, here are the first 5 lines of “Wild Geese” which also came to mind while reviewing the Beloved excerpt: “You do not have to be good. / You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles / through the desert repenting. / You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what / it loves.” A reminder that being “good” is not what sets us free ( She did not tell them to clean up their lives or go and sin no more. She did not tell them they were the blessed of the earth, its inheriting meek or its glorybound pure.) . Love is ( The dark, dark liver––love it, love it, and the beat and beating heart, love that too. More than eyes or feet. More than lungs that have yet to draw free air. More than your life-holding womb and your life-giving private parts, hear me now, love your heart. For this is the prize.).

Love is in me. Love is around me. Love is for me. I am loved. I am becoming Love.

And the same goes for you.

Con todo mi amor,

Cate