Upside Down Kris

Me vs. the Sea It happened last week. It was powerful and frightening–the stuff that stories are made out of. I was rolling in the sea. No, more like I was being pummeled by the sea. Liters and liters of it poured over my head, pouncing on me and then drawing back. I knew not to panic: hadn't I learned anything from lifeguard training?  Shouldn't I just stand up and put my feet on the sand? Instead, I reached my hand over my hand, instinctively searching for a sense of up because down had fallen away from me. I suddenly knew why people drown: it's easy to be sucked in by the power of the sea's pushes and the loss of a sense of direction. I needed to breathe. All of a sudden, the surface surfaced as my hand stuck out. I pushed up and gulped air before the sea rolled in again.  I staggered to my feet but another wave crashed into me, pulling me under again. This time the water was shallow enough for me to find my ground. The sea was ferocious. I just wanted to get out uns...

The Flight of the Butterflies They were flitting over the sea, entering and exiting each other's orbits like two satellites searching for the same signal. They crossed invisible yet obvious paths in the sky over the sea. They were graceful and seemed in love, so much so that they spiraled toward each other endlessly. They were so lovely that it took me a minute to realize why the sight stood out, apart from their inherent beauty. Then, it hit me: two butterflies fluttering their ivory wings over a feild was a common sight. The same gossamer creatures circling over a sea where they couldn't land was quite another. Why were they doing their mating dance over the sea? How had they gotten there? I had seen similar specimen glibly gliding over the flowers planted in the nearest plaza, and was equally as entranced by them. But the plaza was pretty far away for a tiny butterfly. Had they flown all the way to the beach to catch a glimpse of the vastness of the sea, maybe to take a chan...

A Conversation with my Brain "Take it flip side 'round," says Brain quite clearly.  She has cut into my monologue, although  I haven't asked her opinion. Nonetheless, I have to admit she's right. There is a flip side, a back of the mirror to everything. You just have to turn it around to focus on something else. "So, if  I don't like something, should I look at it from upside down? Or rather, downside up?" I wonder. "That might help," Brain replied. "But I'd say it's more like facing your boat upright again. It's like you have taken a dip in the river of life and remained capsized. Your boat is covering your head so you are forced to look down into the murkiness of the river bottom and floating seems quite far away.  Do you know how many people face their lives from inside their boat of thoughts, unable to lift it off their head when all they would need is a slight push? The river flows around them and they are missing the ...

    The Me I'm Meant to Be "I'll never be that me again," claims the ground. It makes the statement in tones of white,  its intent clear:  the cigarette butt indicating it to the right.  This despite the stains on the statement and around it, and its dubious, dirty appearance. Who knows how many people have walked over it, not seeing it or taking it for granted. But you notice it. You stop, pointing your shoes at it–pondering it. "Which me is it referring to?" you wonder. "Which me do I want to leave behind?" Your mind is suddenly not responding. Your cells are running into each other, trying to come up with a solution. You try to see past the oil marks and spoiled cement spots. You feel like the message is meant for you, but you're not tuned into it. Your feet patter away: Ka-clump, ka-clump. Your steps are dissonant yet regular, melding into the sounds around it. Ka-clump, ka-clump. If you clink loud enough you can keep your thoughts at bay. ...

Accolades for Japan Cleanliness, order, and respect: that's what I would say Japan's mottos are. No stains on the seats of trains or subways like I've experienced almost everywhere else I've traveled. No need to recoil at your feet sticking to who knows what on the floor. The Japanese would also never dream of dropping litter anywhere, inside as well as outside. This despite the fact that the only garbage cans to be found are next to vending machines. The idea is that your waste is your responsibility. In my opinion, the maximum height of Japanese cleanliness and inventiveness is the toilet. In almost all the bathrooms private or public, the toilets have a built in bidet and seat warmer as well as a sound distorter if you're worried about someone hearing you during number twos. Simply fantastic! They also found ways to save space by building a sink into the top of the toilet in some places. (Obviously, using clean water.) The Japanese pride themselves on efficiency,...

Springing Ahead  The world has been quite loud in its non-sleepiness this morning. A crude, clear shout of a name. Murmuring in response. Car after car slopping through the muck on the road. (Did it rain? Is that what the slushing is all about?) All of this before 7 a.m.: this wanting to be awake or needing to. 7 is my marker of morning decency, particularly on a  Saturday. I get up, expecting it to be 4 or close to it. It's 7:09. More than decent. It's so dark, however, that it seems like it's 6.  Suddenly, I remember we did that...we did that to time by dragging back the clocks. It's funny to think of our tiny, human hands fumbling with the great clock of time. Last night the sky was pinkish and golden rays still highlighted the green of the park. I was entranced and boggled at the same time. Glorious light, how did you find your way into the night? It was almost 8, and the tendrils of dark had yet to be unleashed. I blinked and blinked, confused by the evening's ...