Fluxus

 

Fluxus

So, I might as well face it–this fluxus of life into death, death into life. This mix of going and things to come, of ephemeral moments and the permanence of memory, the light sand of the skin blowing into the sea and the heavy tide pulling in again.

How the ocean can help hold this idea–the undercurrents of a life wave never to surface agin while the impulse for a new wave gathers strength and sputters out on the top.

Also the confusion stretching back and forth, the not knowing which is on its way back to the water and which clings to the sand.

So, let's get the going over first: a star of a cousin fallen into the sea. His heart was so big it burst-or tore. He has already guided so many ships with his light and will continue to do so.

A few days later, the father of a friend also fell into the sea. May he float away as gently as he can.

At the same time, the celebration of the birth of an island–the gaity lasting for days as the drums still sound in my head.

And the celebration of the birth of a sister. How I still hold in my mind's eye the young me seeing her for the first time! I was over the moon meeting her, and proud today whenever I mention her.

Birthdays to celebrate, lives to celebrate–they are on the same line, shifting back and forth. Of course, we can't have one without the other. And of course, we wish the line could stretch longer. But it's all in how many ties there are along the line where strong knots stand.

Text and photo: Kristen Mastromarchi