and-so-he-shall - Tumblr blog

and-so-he-shall · 1 year

Text

blueberries for the heart, hyacinths for the soul.

Did you know that Eating 150g of blueberries daily reduces the risk of cardiovascular disease by up to 15 percent? The delightful thought of having a strong heart. One that won’t buckle or bend or skip a beat.

“If thou of fortune be bereft and in thy store, there be but left two loaves, sell one, and with the dole buy hyacinths to feed thy soul.”

In Greek mythology, Apollo was playing discus with his lover Hyacinthus and Hyacinthus was hit in the head with the discus and died. Apollo wept so hard at his grave that flowers sprung from the ground where his tears fell. That’s akin to having the love of your life die from playing ultimate frisbee. Isn’t that hilariously horrible? Isn’t that devastatingly comedic?

I had actually missed that story during my Greek mythology obsession in sixth grade. Raynah told me about it in early September. During the intermission of Hadestown, we were talking about the art on the walls of the Walter Kerr Theatre, the beautiful murals of renaissance style figures, a centaur with a flute, and flowers surrounded by gilded ferns. The topic of favorite flowers was brought up, I told her mine was oleander because I was trying to be extra and quirky and name a cool poisonous flower. She said hers was Hyacinths and then told me about that myth. I haven’t stopped thinking about hyacinths since.

I think they may be my favorite flower now.

Or perhaps it’s Haberlea, tears shed over Eurydice.

The lament of Orpheus may be one I can better understand.

________

with summer eyes and autumn skin,

i ask you for my home again

with winter frame i see anew,

and finally i

_________

gnarled wood of earthly joys, leave me be

summer berries red and ripe, smile no more

emerald leaves leave my sight, i cannot see

flowers of satin begone, close the door

please do not plant your roots

please do not i swear

please do not give your fruits

i beg of thee beware

my skull is not comfortable soil,

my water full of salt and brine

i would not desire for you to toil

my foul malfeasant mind

When I was in elementary school, the teacher overseeing recess monitored me to ensure I was playing with other kids instead of reading.

“It’s not good for a kid your age to be lonely,” she would say, the rasp of her voice startling me from reading my book.

“But I’m not lonely! I have friends, just not ones like you. I’d just prefer to read. To play with the friends in my book.”

She would begrudgingly move on, trying again the next day. Yet, whenever I could sneak past her watchful gaze, I would make sure to use that time to its fullest. Reading was what fueled me through a time that didn’t make much sense to me. I remember going into my backyard after school, and mixing up plants and berries I found, smearing them on a leaf, and placing it next to me as a spell to ward off evil while I read. And it worked.

I felt less alone.

I was always too much, too loud, too quiet, too strange, too normal, too sad, too happy. But words on a page could not judge me. Words on a page understood me far more.

Before now, It’s like I’ve been asleep. I rarely recall specific moments of my childhood beyond 5th grade, I don’t remember the people I knew or the feelings I had. all I remember was the books. It’s like I’ve been asleep all my life.

But recently. I think I’ve finally woken up. I recall the moments of last year as if it’s an eternal recording playing in my mind. Hearing my fellow cast members whispering backstage, peering through the scaffolding to check to see if the audience was full. Then, suddenly-! Lights out. Silence. I start to count in my head:

“one… two… three-”

I clutch my camera to my chest, and walk out onto the stage, the darkness shrouding me like a blanket. I hear whispers from the audience, they’re wondering when thet show will start. Cue spotlight. Now, I speak with confidence, as I look out with an excitement I can’t describe.

“We begin, on Christmas eve with me, Mark and my roommate Rodger.”

Rent changed me.

I am someone who has faded into the background. I have been so used to rejection that I rarely let myself be seen. I remember the words spoken to me, by friends, by family by strangers.

“Your show was magic. It was love, life, beauty, and magic. I hope you keep making magic, no matter what you do next.” Being a character, being someone else, singing and yelling and dancing and smiling and laughing and being in the light on stage in the red and blue and green and yellow, was magic for someone. I had never been magic for someone before. All I ever did was steal magic for myself. Finally I could create it.

Sitting on a blanket surrounded by grass and trees and air that flows through my lungs with ease.

Seeing faces that I’ve seen so many times, and new ones that I feel I’ve known all my life. Pirates and papier-mâché, circe-perdue and toasting the axel, wine glasses with red velvet cake, fae and fire and fuel and feeling, all in one moment, in two, in three. Singing with Jonah and Rowan in Jonah’s kitchen, scribbling on paper making new faces new names new worlds, and doing it with them because if they aren’t shared, if they’re only in our minds, are they really real? I wanted them to be real with you all. Looking at them, looking and looking and looking, seeing beauty for the first time, people who you’ve always known would be there, and gazing upon just how beautiful they all are. It’s a humbling experience. To truly understand what beautiful means. To genuinely feel like you know why this world exists. What other purpose would it hold than to be the thing that these people walk upon?

what else could there be?

I love our world, our environment, our greens and browns and reds and blues, our wet and our cold, our hot and our dry. I love it with everything I am, and I love these people with everything I am. It only makes sense that they exist for each other. My friends exist for the nature around us, to bring life and joy. Our world exists for them, to cradle them when they inevitably kneel to the ground, in search of comfort or rest.

I don’t know what my future holds. I don’t know if the grasping, the wheezing, the laughing, the crying, the falling, or the heat that fills your body so harshly you want to crawl out of your skin will continue. But… but… there’s always a but. There’s always a smile, a kind word, seeing your face, that makes it worth it.

I want to make this worth it for other people. I want to make this world magic. So that I can finally breathe.

0 notes