Thank You, For That Special Way of Feeling
It’s a promise of life. The joy, the suffering, and that special way of feeling. However it may come to you, you welcome it. I write as it was recollected to me. Out of which each experience, so pantingly full of life, might ooze and instantly transport you as if you were there to experience it yourself. The homeowner sustains the delicate essential of conversation. I am warming up my vocal cords to get started, settling in on a chair positioned perfectly to inquire the tales of others. When I get here, I forget why I am ever tempted to jump ahead through my days, thinking of what comes next. What is my story going to be? What things await me? But the reality is I am discovering it as I go. How strange it is to pause when the rush comes so naturally to me—to all of us.
How do I know what will come if I have never lived it? I know that I am human. I know words are sounds transfused with unequal shadows that intersect, vibrant and sharp as the record player’s needle transfigured with music that bounces off the home’s cypress interior.
Everything in the world is accompanied by the emphatic ruffle of a drum beaten by a soldier. The moment I open my mouth to speak in the pyramid, the world goes quiet. Suddenly, the drums cease and I may begin my story. All of a sudden I am here and I am alive. I know certain things because I have the time and space to recall them. Even the empty pauses to catch one’s breath have the value and appearance of plenty. One way of having is not asking and believing in that silence. The outcome goes beyond words and sentences and discovering what is unknown. I’ll venture into something essential to understanding the narrative I speak of now: that the structure is accompanied from beginning to end by an invitation to lead conversations in its holy name.
With each story comes an attempt to sensitize myself. I am made well aware that each passing topic is a moment to be savored, and each day, like today, is a day stolen from death. I try to recall the last time I allowed a discussion to carry me through a novelty that picks up in small details. The homeowner’s speech sprouts life into the ground, cheerful amidst the banyan tree that runs through the temple’s interior. Like the discussions we embark on, emphasizing a close connection between the structure and its surrounding environment. Blessed is home, blessed are the whispers within it.
What a gift it is to abandon escaping. To all appearances, the pyramid is a refuge. But I, and the homeowner, know the truth. The enclosure is kept to cater to what is in front of us. To recognize the space as an opportunity to get to know your neighbors and feel fully present and at ease, obediently playing the role of being. The home and its owner exist in a topaz of splendor. I absorb his tales like a cloth soaking up water. Could it be that by entering the pyramid I am agreeing to preserve its secret? That joy comes from the things we cannot materialize but what we can remember at the prompt of someone’s asking. Only here can we enjoy the story that lives from hand to mouth.
I am well aware that when I leave so will the feeling. Maybe I don’t have to leave right away. To be kept within the insides of the structure, allowing the flow of conversation to do the finding for me. The pleasure, like today, is all mine. I think I’ll stick around for a while.
Editor-in-Chief: Isabel Choi Editor-in-Chief Assistant: Lauren Vives Creative Director: Ella Brignoni Writer: Ella Brignoni Concept: Isabel Choi, Ella Brignoni Photographers: Matthew Stember Videographers: Lily Cosentino, Ella Denny, RJ Bañez Layout: Cole Martucci Special Thanks: Teddy Tollett