Randy Roark » A Year In Remove: May 15-2007-May 15, 2008

San Anselmo, California, December 20, 2007

randyr — Fri, 21 Dec 2007 02:44:13 +0000

As I was leaning over to whisper my answer into her ear, I knew I was about to pick up an ember in my fingertips. Her eyes were flat-blue, nothing sparking in them but something humming as if the stove had been left on. The streetlights were reflecting on everything in the bookstore that was largely metal. Her hat came off, she tossed her hair, pressed her fingers into it, spreading them out and then and pulling her hair into a bun, stretching backward to expose her neck, her lips parting. She took off her gloves and opened the top button of her sweater, her naked shoulder almost improper and obscene in this weather. She paused, leaning slightly backward, like a woman asking for her throat to be bitten, a suggestion of what she’d look like later perhaps, glimpsing something in her that’s usually invisible, what a woman promises. Then like green neon her eyes flash back to catch me staring and she’s surprised that I’m not looking at her body but into her eyes, smiling, which seems to make her self-conscious. So she closes her eyes and stretches to her left, away from me, her hemline sliding over her muscled calf as it flexes, giving me a chance to look at all of her as long as I want. It’s as if we are on my bed, relaxing between sex. Then she slowly uncoils and turns to face me, hands on her hips, swaying in circles from her waist, her hip grazing me occasionally, back and forth, back and forth. We don’t talk about anything much, just stringing sentences together, laughing at each other’s jokes, luxuriating in each other’s attention, enjoying the sense of diminishing the distance between us. As she talks, her gaze drifts to different parts of my body—beginning with my hands—before returning to my eyes, making sure I know she’s checking me out, smiling, letting me read her face as she looks away. I pick up a book and she presses against my arm and shoulder so that we can look at it together as if we’re at home alone sitting on my couch. When I’m about to turn the page, she gasps and reaches to grab my wrist, at the same time spinning to look up at me and making a face, as if she doesn’t need to speak. Her thumb and index finger press into either side of my wrist to emphasize her point, to drive it home, to say, “I shouldn’t have to be doing so much work.” Later, I try to explain all of this to my girlfriend who is watching the whole thing from the other side of the bookstore, moving quickly into my line of sight as if to remind me I’m not alone. “It’s like you were undressing her in public,” she scolds me. “But I was just watching what was happening, we didn’t actually do anything.” But she’s having none of it, because this is how we first met.

Boulder, Colorado July 2, 2007

randyr — Tue, 03 Jul 2007 02:40:44 +0000

Descending into the Crater

Looking back, I realize I prepared myself, consciously and unconsciously, for everything that was about to happen. What launched it all was an impulse to act, as if someone or something was pushing me, waking me, urging me to hurry.

But whatever pushed me soon stalled. I wasn’t ready and the effort became an obstacle. In retrospect, I can see that this setback was what allowed me to build the strength and resources I needed to eventually succeed. There is an alpine lily that gathers energy for nineteen summers and on the twentieth blooms and dies. Just so I gathered whatever strength I could and entered the forest, not in ignorance but in confidence.

My initial success was just beginner’s luck—random events accomplished with the assistance of unseen powers and guides. I owe my lucky escapes to those who made them possible, to those who lifted me out of my own way and dragged me against my will whenever I decided to abandon the adventure.

Once inside the forest I met a woman who led me into the lower world, where I lost everything. I lost my loved ones, I lost my money, I lost my health, I lost my grasp of the adventure. Yet I still maintained faith in the future even though everything was going wrong. I waited for the storm to pass because I knew that was what I needed to do. By doing nothing, by not struggling against what was happening even when it threatened to destroy me, I learned to listen and wait for what would happen next.

And then all luck turned away. The magic that had brought me this far was broken or lost. Nothing was as it seemed when I first started out. Certain I was in danger, in an effort to save myself I betrayed another version of my self, my best self. I broke promises, I abandoned my principles. I behaved shamefully, I got my hands dirty. I believed it was something that was happening to me, not something I created. I believed I was being hunted and had only one desire—to escape.

Then darkness set in. In this darkness I found what I was looking for. I found my ideals, my goals, my life’s purpose. But, immersed in darkness, someone had to pull the curtains open to fill my eyes with light. When I woke up, I moved forward on my own.

On the journey back, I was guided by what I remembered of what the elders had told me back when I had no way of understanding what they were talking about. I understood what had come before and what was about to happen.

I returned to ordinary life, but with a piece of magic in my pocket: every moment is a new beginning, and there is a brilliance by which darkness can be overcome.

Now I know what to do. I travel through my days and hand a piece of magic to those who will need it later on.