Hello near winter babies…
Hello near winter babies, hello from Fla. Crimson and Prussian blue scarves stretch across the pearly dome of atmosphere, sky, un endless sky, how lucky we are to catch the light of that long ago sun.
We played last night for the pussycats. Isn’t that an androgynous word? For the Pussies and the Cats. More Pussies than Cats, to be sure, and it was a good show for all of us creative folk. And the Gulf Shore Animal League got good love.
Dashiell has been here, what a trooper he is. From school to airport, and Newark is a trudge, and United, a dirge, bogged down with insufficient everything. But his only complaint was, “And no one even got me a donut!” From his mouth to God’s ears because this lovely beach house apartment, “home”, he calls it until tomorrow, is above a donut shop.
What I’m finding is that everything works out. Without hope, with worry or no worry, it all works out. Even with a stalking heartache, even when one is a ‘glutton for punishment’, each one of us is on an invisible river, walking on our own water, proving our own miracles, in our own uniquely fallible way.
That I hear crickets and my son is on ‘vacation’ because I got to play last night for orphan cats, and am appreciated for it, and nurtured, as evidenced by these luxurious accommodations and the bouquets of freshly made donuts, not to mention Poco’s taqueria, is special.
Not that the Gulf doesn’t reveal the gulfs in my life, my son’s heart, and expose seemingly unbridgeable separations, uncross able passages. It does. I have been working in this exact area at the point of other life and career changes, like 1998 at the Tampa Film Festival (where the Cream Will Rise was screening) when Janice Hageman (still my website and internet lady) sent the message out on the web, “if you’ve heard Sophie B. Hawkins’ song Lose Your Way and like it, and like it on the banjo, please tell Sony to release the album” That was the beginning of me being an “indie” artist by choice. I reached out and got the support and friendship in those times, from you, to fight the giant Sony who didn’t care about the artists’ development, longevity, and most of all, the artist’s purpose as keeper of the flame of the heart and soul of humanity through the ages.
Now I’m reaching out for support in fighting a different giant. Loss. Not just mine, of course, my son’s. And there are no words. No words. But I have to and I do create sentences that lead to openings and sharing’s and new dreams and healing. He has to process. I have to process. We all have to constantly process loss, letting go, embracing peace and happiness without feeling guilty, opening. Opening takes more effort than shutting down. How do we get across this Gulf together?
I have found talking to be the best material for building safe passage. My therapist says to start a sentence with a child thus, “I wonder if you might be feeling” I love the word ‘wonder’ in opening up a child’s heart, mine and his and yours’. And the question. The question requires listening to the answers. And believing the answers, because what do we know? What do I know? I know I need help. I know I know I am not alone. I know I am help. I know I am here for the one who needs me. For the ones who need me.
Everything works out, we play out the frustration and the pain and the confusion, as children, we play and play and play it out until exhaustion. I have found a way to talk with you through art, and I’m finding that there is an art to talking with my son. For all of the arts one must be completely emotionally and spiritually and physically available. Present. One has to SHOW UP. In the flesh. Take the opportunity, create the opportunity, be the opportunity.
I love the Gulf for seducing me with its warmth and debonair charm, and also for making me learn to cross it. As an independent, more independent than ever I thought possible, artist and mother, and lover and friend.
See you soon, Sophie B.