The Furious Spinner

Last night I dreamed I gently pulled a yellow iris from itself and a white iris from itself, and I entwined them. I also dreamed I lost my red car, and a girl I named Lilac didn't like her name.

I went to the doctor this morning, and he told me my sinuses were the worst he'd ever seen. He sent me off to another doctor who is more suited for the complicated surgery. Another CAT scan next week. I almost threw-up as he told me how bad it was.

Afterward, we drove to the Tao of Tea on Belmont. We ate dal and rice while I decompressed. (Is that the correct word?) The dal was a bit hot for my taste, but I always like being at any of the teahouses—even though I rarely order any teas. They're quiet. The Tao of Tea. Semi-dark. Healing.

We went downtown Portland to see the movie The Squid and the Whale. The wind began blowing, the rain came down in a grand gully washer. As we ran inside the movie theater, people were talking about it looking like a hurricane. The movie: all the critics gave it an A or thereabouts. Fine acting. But I don't understand boys, I guess. These boys were doing a lot of creepy things, ostensibly because their intellectual parents were divorcing. And why is it now in so many movies that the directors feel the need to show people masturbating? And most of the time the people are children. Which means some child actor is pretending to masturbate. That’s gotta mess you up. Doing that in front of a crowd of strangers. A crowd period.

It was still pouring down pissing down really pouring down pissing down rain when the movie was over. We ran about six blocks to the car. As we passed the library, I looked down and noticed the sidewalk had so much water on it that it was reflecting the ginkgo trees very clearly, as though it were a pond—as if another world were reachable below our feet. We sat in the car shivering for a while, and then we drove to the Tao of Tea on Hoyt. I ordered dal and rice again. I also ordered Goddess of Mercy tea, because I liked the name. Our waitress brought my tea on a small tray which was a a couple of inches deep and about six inches wide by about ten inches long. On this small tray was a tiny black teapot, a teapot-shaped glass decanter, a tiny tiny little cup with a tiny taller cup next to it, along with a porcelain tea holder filled with tightly rolled tea leaves. Our tea server poured hot water over the tiny black teapot.

"This is to wake up the pot," she said. She stopped pouring and took off the lid. "It is awake." She dumped out water that had seeped into it in the wooden grates on my tray. Then she poured the tea leaves into the pot. She poured hot water over the leaves. "This is to wake up the leaves." She filled the pot and put the lid back on. "We let it steep for about forty-five seconds."

Which we did. Then she poured the tea from the pot into the decanter. Steam rose from the tea, steaming up the clear glass container. She poured the tea into the tiny taller aroma cup. Then she put the tiny tea cup on top of that. She turned them over and lifted the taller one off. The tea filled the cup perfectly. She asked me to rub the aroma cup between my hands and then smell the cup. I pretended I could smell. It was very nice. Sweet. Healing. Restful. I drank tea from the tiny cup. Felt civilized in a good way. Serene. Away from doctors and surgeons and fear.

It was yellow dal over the rice this time, and it was very good. We talked to someone there about the tea ceremony. Gung-fu. Chinese. Less formalized than the Japanese tea ceremony. They serve oolong teas this way.

Then we drove to another movie theater to see Jarhead. More masturbating scenes. *sigh* I have always said that war movies—even those that are supposed to be anti-war—are just two hours of recruiting material. When Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks kept doing those war movies (Saving Private Ryan and Band of Brothers) saying they wanted to remind the world of how terrible war was, I said, this is just getting the boys revved up to join up. War porn, I've heard it called. I've seen two movies which I think might actually deter boys from going to war: Johnny Got His Gun and The Day After. Jarhead was interesting—not exactly war porn but not a true antiwar movie either. It does show an uncomfortable relationship between sexual urges and war. What is it? Some men really want to have sex with each other but they can't admit it, so they go to war to be together? It's very odd. I came away from this movie very perplexed about the behavior of men. Some men. Unsatisfying.

Checked the phone messages at home. Doc wants me to get an MRI. Mario reassured me this was a good thing. The more views the better before surgery.

Went to Powell's afterward. Stalling. Once I'm home, the process of wondering how much I fucked up my health and my life continues. One step in front of the other. I love being surrounded by all the books. It’s like being surrounded by hope. There’s got to be an answer in some corner of this place on some page in some book.

Now it's way past my bedtime. I'm longing for tea. Or the tea shop. To be treated with dignity. To allow for a moment that all is well.

Time for bed. 3 comments

3 Comments:

I love your description of the tea-house. So restful and good, a place aside from all the lunacy.When I was in Prague this summer I was delighted to find tea-houses rather like that one.Very calm, and simple-they even had a little shrine room ! This concept only sprung up in the Czech Republic after the fall of commun ism. It's a reaction to two things :one, the heavy smoke-and-beer macho atmosphere of the Czech pubs and, two, the fastfood McDonalds "culture" that took root in the early 90s.
I love those tea-houses.No-one rushes you on.If you want to pull up a cushion and meditate, that's fine.If you want to sit there scribbling in your notebook-I'm a poet-that is also fine. Long live teahouses.

My best wishes, also, Kim, for your improved health.

By  panther, at 12:37 AM  

My dearest sister, we are both embarking on a journey, yours filled with dread and mine filled with anticipation. But in the end, I trust they will both prove to be transformative.

I post here the wonderful quotations you so thoughtfully posted on my blog. May they help reframe the unchosen pilgrimmage you are undertaking...and may this pilgrimmage bring healing and peace at its conclusion. Don't forget to breathe!

"We thirst at first." --Emily Dickinson

"The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.” --Lao Tzu

"The object of pilgrimage is not rest and recreation--to get away from it all. To set out on a pilgrimage is to throw down a challenge to everyday life."

"Pilgrims are poets who create by taking journeys." --Richard R. Niebuhr

Jules Supervielle: "And it was then that in the depths of sleep
Someone breathed to me: 'You alone can do it. Come immediately.'"

Christina Rossetti, in 1867, wrote, "Does the road wind uphill all the way? Yes, to the very end. Will the journey take the whole long day? From morn to night, my friend."

"To know something, then, we must be scrubbed raw, the fasting heart exposed." --Gretel Ehrlich

"Things are always different from what they might be." --Henry James

“Practice the arts of attention and listening.
Practice renewing yourself every day.
Practice meandering toward the center of every place.
Practice the ritual of reading sacred texts
Practice gratitude and praise-singing.” --Cousineau's advice for travellers, inspired by a 5th century conversation between Zi Zhang and Confucius.

And finally...a traditional Irish farewell: "May the stars light your way and may you find the interior road. Forward!"

with much love & healing energy from
Patricia

By  Anonymous, at 8:11 AM  

Thank you both. It is a pilgrimage--I hadn't thought of that. Wow. Kind of turns it all around. Hope you enjoyed the photos I put up of the teahouse, Panther.

By  Kim Antieau, at 10:17 PM  

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