Tag Archives: compass

The Point of a Compass

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Photo by Ylanite Koppens on Pexels.com

This is a lyric essay dear to my heart and a deeply personal piece that was recently published in the online literary journal Identity Theory. It was the first lyric essay I wrote under Professor Marcela Sulak’s tutelage, inspired by The Balloonists, by Eula Biss. (I recently found out that she had been published in the same journal which doubles the honor! By the way, I also love her book Notes from No Man’s Land. You should definitely check it out.)

I’m grateful for the existence of this non sequitur genre that was the first language that allowed me to fully articulate what is difficult to express, to Marcela for revealing the gorgeous world of hybrid literature to me, and to my dearest Geula– the best type of friend a writer could have– for the feedback that helped me polish it. It feels like a second birth seeing it out in the world.

Here is a clip from the piece:

I left home before graduation and moved in with him when I was seventeen. My mother called the police and said he was “harboring a minor.” The police car picked me up at his apartment to take me home. I went back the next day. She also took my passport. I reported it as stolen, and he bought me a new one. We went to the courthouse on my 18th birthday and signed the marriage certificate. A month later, we were on a plane to Israel.

The first compasses did not always point north. Early compasses pointed east.

Mother: “You need to ask yourself, why did you decide to marry him, and go to a foreign country with him? Why have you stayed together this long? Do any or all of these reasons still exist? Whatever you have done or not done, or whatever he has done or not done, is it forgivable? Can you move on and stay together?”

Compassare, from Vulgar Latin, “to pass or step together.”

I left him when I was 25—when I met Sasha.

Elisheva: “Some of the things you say sound eerily familiar. I tell you when a man or woman does not feel satisfied it takes on a life of its own. I’m glad about the way he has made you feel. Every woman wants to feel lost in love (or lust) as you are.”

It has a magnetized pointer free to align itself with Earth’s magnetic field.

Mother: “I know this may sound strange to you, but somehow I feel that I am to blame for your present situation. Maybe if I had been a better parent, or maybe if I did not give you money to go out, you would not have met or become involved with this guy.”

Read the rest of “The Point of a Compass.”

The Lamppost

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lamppostAside from maps and clocks and compasses, I also love lampposts. A clock is time; the human obsession of how much of it is left before we die, how it won’t wait, the only thing we can’t buy.  A map is location or dislocation, finding your way or acknowledging you are lost, lost but looking (or conversely following a path predetermined for you). A compass is where we are and how we get where we’re going (our location vis-à-vis the Northern Star). All of it is about the human condition– direction, or rather three questions: where are we, where are we going, how much time do we have to get there?

But the lamppost, it doesn’t take me anywhere. It does not define; it measures, neither time or space nor place. What it does do, however, is light the way from where I am. I’d like to think of lampposts as metaphorical friends on the path of time and spatial travel we call life; or sometimes epiphanies, ‘ah ha’ moments when we are static but suddenly know what is next; a luminous “Eureka!” It’s the light we may use to read the map, mark the spot, set the clock, tell the time, or follow the compass. It may be education. It is clearly literally and figuratively enlightenment that comes at points and appointed times.

You do not take the lamppost with you as a flashlight or a candle. It is not placed in the safety of your own home (except at the entrance of a door or the exit to a garden, welcoming a stranger, signaling entry into a new realm). You come upon them and suddenly, they are before you. You’d prefer to follow them, especially at night, but you never know, on unfamiliar back roads, when they will suddenly disappear when you need them the most. You find them sometimes unnecessarily lit in the day. Some parts of the world, some countries, some cities, neighborhoods, and corners of the earth have less than they should or more than they need.

We take them for granted when they are abundant and lament where light is lacking- we are not just complaining: we are afraid, incapacitated and anticipate imminent danger. We know not what darkness will conjure up, what is lurking in the unseen places…

There is no Bogeyman when the lamppost is lit. We find Narnia when the lamppost is lit.

We have celebrated light since the foundation of the world- “Let there be light!” We have coveted fire since Prometheus’ gift. We have put a candle under a bush. We have praised the sun. We have danced under the moon. We have followed bright stars. We have prayed to be light.

And when all of the lights of heaven were not enough, we scattered light across the earth…

White Night

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I was going to write

I was going to tell you that

You are a light

But I was too displeased with

my life that day

to celebrate yours in my mind

on the way

It took me a while to catch up

to dispel the fear, to join the cheer

To find more love

in your coven of people

like you, like me

Discovered why you are like you, like me

like the she I never knew

who was part of me, part of you

Part of the hurt from you inflicted

on me and now you say “hurt me”

Sorry, too much love in me for you

to do the first thing you asked me to do

Yes, too much love in me for you

to refuse the last thing you asked me to do

“Bésame Mucho” plays under a canopy of trees & eyes

On a white night full of love & fights, full of beauty & vulgarity

full of peace & war, full of unity &

a score…to settle

On a white night where the only compass

is four hearts & an orange star

And the only direction is where we are

On a white night when only the truth hurts,

but not for people like you, like me

On a white night where

the only truth is freedom

& the only rule is be

where the only gift is a lesson

and the only price is free

where the only thing existing

is the salt from moonlit sea

that glistens come daybreak

on people like you, like me

*dedicated to my soul mate sibling