(Written at Zee Zahava's Writing Circle.)
What if I have already discovered the treasure?
It is like a word on the tip of my tongue—almost retrievable.
I went to my printmaker’s studio today and there was another person present. She said “Hello” as if she knew who I was. I said “hello” back, unable to place her.
Ten minutes into the conversation, she said, “Do you know who I am?”
“No,” I admitted.
And when she told me, I gave her a hug. Of course I know her! She is a good Facebook friend and was at my house several years ago.
“I can’t remember faces,” I said.
The only time in my life when I knew faces was when I drew and painted portraits. That is a way to truly know a face.
Drawing to learn, to explore, to know.
That is a treasure.
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I write and paint to discover more than I do to express.
I would like to discover the treasure—just below my conscious awareness. It is there with me whether I’m paying attention to it or not.
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After my mother died, I lost the ivory elephant in the bargain I made with my sister to take Mom’s crystal star instead. I think the elephant would have remembered my mother better than the crystal star.
All the clocks have gone digital and secretly speeded up. A year hardly lasts six months these days.
If a teacup can’t find its way home, then it was destined to be a traveling teacup, serving the masses English breakfast, Darjeeling, orange spice, and sleepy time tea.
Any itch at all is too itchy. Itching will kill you. Itching will make you kill.
Tomorrow comes from a lack of being here today.
That sound is the stuff in my head banging around and arguing with each other, flying off in all directions, looking for a leader.
I’m sure I have already discovered the treasure—I just can’t remember what it was.
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I have already discovered the treasure because everything already is. There is nowhere to go, nothing left to find.
What I need to do is to peel away all the collected debris that hides my treasure from me.
Or I could just keep doing the stuff I’m doing—tap-dancing the rest of this lifetime into oblivion.
What is the big deal about treasure anyway? It’s just that I have a premonition it is here. It’s here in this room, with us as we write.
The sound I hear is Zee clicking on the keyboard—a comforting sound keeping time for us, because all the clocks have gone.
How much longer can I sit in this position before my leg goes numb or gets itchy?
If I had a teacup now I’d fill it with plum tea or peach tea. I would give you three cups and I’d take two. We’d put a little jelly in each cup because we’re out of honey.
The turquoise jelly and the yellow jelly would float together in the tea, turning a cheerful lime green.
We’d talk about the day the sky flew away, but we wouldn’t talk about tomorrow because it never comes.