april 2021 – hibiscus syriacus / 무궁화
the patter of rain accompanied my sleep.
it stayed gray til the afternoon. then suddenly, the blue beyond the clouds so ripe. the air so clear. pubescent bulbs on the branches out my window turned fluffy, tufts of lime green leaves, shimmying like hair in the wind. tender as wings emerging from a shell.
something catalyzing, reinvigorating about the passage of seasons. every time the naked trees start to grow their hair, it makes me a little sad and happy again. each season passing, 4 times a year, saying hello, and goodbye. a cyclical birth and loss. we endure so much, don't we?
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at the park. two teenage boys play catch with a football across the court. it amazes me, their bodies just know. chest caves, knees bend — an instant nest, a soft place to land for such a hard fall. how the ball crashes, shatters the sky, rattling into their arms, collapsing into their body. absorbing electricity.
then to throw. how big the stance, how wide the spread of one's chest, limbs to prepare for launch.
the great big give. the great big embrace. repeat. so much understood, with so little said.
another part of the court. a wobbly child incarnation of the pillsbury dough boy backs into a taller dude, blocking him from shooting a hoop. their sweaters brush up against each other. mutual touch, a language. i linger on this image, this word, before my mind erases it.
body. pieces. fast. slow. how do we move. how did we move. before this.
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today i found out korea became a country in 2000 something B.C. how small are we. so young am i. i want to think bigger. farther. than just our life we think we know.
what can my body tell me. what can my spirit say.
yesterday on TVK. an older woman walks through the basic posture of a traditional korean folk dance (무용 example). i danced along, eager to learn these words. i bask in the slow movements, imbued with intention, discipline, care. i imagine generations of women moving in this way centuries ago.
i'm trying to expand my vocabulary of korean culture... can a tree's new leaves hear the wisdom in that wet, dark, quiet, slow earth? scrambling for the words.
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watercolor. something challenging in not knowing how the pigment will interact with the water and paper. another new language.
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chantal akerman's film, les rendez-vous d'anna. she experiments with such precision. entranced. i too want to break society apart and piece it together with the words within me. how to say without saying.
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writing this, as if i'm on a run, going and going. or maybe, as if i'm catching that fast ball, feeling, touching, making a nest from my soul, to give it back to this ever generous life. give. embrace. again, and again.
~ㄱㅇㄹ
무궁화 (MuGungHwa) (Hibiscus syriacus); korea's national flower, a symbol of perseverance, for a nation that's endured ceaseless oppression, yet retains its spirit