Jessica Grand
Our lives are lived with character, and in the end there is a new song sung.
While our ages may be milestones, in our heads we can stay young.
Existing as a trial, learning simply how to live
We find balances to steady our steps- how to take and give.
Life teaches us many lessons, and with them we grow tall.
But with wisdom comes selection for what we will recall
So we row our boats with caution, resembled in our wake
Though our eyes are wide-set, open. The imagery is all fake.
You see, our lives are what we make them.
An erratic rise or fall
And if things are not as you wish them, simply close your eyes. Erase it all
The air was different there. It was sweet and had a denser brush upon your skin. It hugged you tightly as if to remind you of its naturally giving ways and habitual presence. I wondered if that is what makes the land here so beautiful. The people feel and respect their surroundings and take its preservation into account with every decision made. I immediately thought of back home and how in Manhattan you almost feel guilty to breathe during the night when you look up at the orange sky and are reminded of the tainted air you breathe in daily. The people here ate foods in season, made bowls carved form their symbolic calabash fruit, and lived minimally but with great happiness. American ethics began to seem dubious and cruel; pushing citizens to their physical and mental limits in order to obtain a fictitious title of “success” constituted by their fortune rather then contentment.
My first night here consisted of a pile of speakers in the middle of the dirt road booming reggae music so loud that the reverb of the speaker head’s vibration outweighed the deep chiming beats, jovial natives following the burning of a joint with an ice cold mouthful of Pitan, and the fisherman’s wives preparing and selling fresh fish with their eyes and teeth still intact to visitors. It was around 2:00 AM and I was taking a boat taxi back to my hotel after attending a small neighborhood shindig about 3 miles down the island. It was too dark for me to see my hand in front of my face let alone where in this mysterious wonderland we were speeding into when the young and awfully shy captain instructed me to dip my fingertips into the passing ocean's water on the side of our boat. I was skeptical of his agenda at first but then sliced the black water to reveal a wave of illuminated plankton. This landscape resembled an ethereal dreamland and was now literally glowing before me. My mood, enhanced by an alcohol induced euphoria, left me pivoting on the edge of starting a new life- beginning with the hurling of my passport from the small boat. My purpose for existence was elaborately dancing before my virgin eyes and the Daniel Boone inside of me was awakened from its dormant state. My innocence was lost.
We bless complete strangers
And it’s not because we wish them well.
We do it in public or private, sometimes in large groups.
It is because of a nasal irritation sending a response through our throats.
The abrupt interruption of a sneeze.
Brought on by foreign debris.
The cause for such an improvised and intimate exchange of words?
I stubbed my toe on the curb today, no one stopped or stared.
My weak feet make me limper and no one’s ever cared.
I sneeze. I am the target of holy praise.
Heads are turning, eyes are meeting, blessings run wild and free.
All for my trachea and me.