The Write Thing

North of Brazil – 11.30 pm of Thanksgiving Thursday

No simple tourist camera could do justice to a deserted beach at night. A wooden deck acted as a pier of sorts where I sat down to contemplate a dark sheltering sky, intermittently lit by a multitude of stars. There was a half moon and lukewarm port lights presiding over a sprinkled sea of tiny fishing boats. The breeze was soft, perfect to accompany the dazed thoughts of my tired mind after an early morning flight…and thus began my first stop on a Brazilian beach ever.

In this dreamlike scenery, it was almost inevitable not to yield to the charm of the sea. It was as if its vast overpowering presence suddenly revealed some of its secrets, as if its mystery could become clear right there before me. I enjoyed the delusion, and could not help feeling a curious empathy for those who choose death at sea. Take Storni or Woolf, for example. I do not know Storni that well, but Woolf and her river Ouse are somewhat closer in their pathos and their fate. True, Woolf’s choice was in a way more modest, but still open enough for the arbitrary categories I came up with as I sat there, contemplating the vastness of a Caribbean Atlantic.

Yes, why not playing with the idea that by choosing your death you agree to categorize yourself, or you are perhaps simply exposed to being categorized? I would see two main options – death by expansion or death by restriction – the latter being a preferred pick of those that would kill themselves by gas inhalation in the kitchen or car fumes in a garage. In a way, if choices in life make us, so why not our choice of death? As I write this now on a small balcony overlooking a swimming pool from which loud exchanges in Portuguese and heavy laughter rise up to distract my otherwise lazy state of mind, I realize that a pool would not make it to the first category….no, sir. It would be death by restriction.
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August is a month of renewal in my personal calendar. It may be because the end of the month signals a new year of my life, a sort of willing or unwilling rebirth that will hopefully come full circle in the next 12 moons.

Virgo, an earth sign. Supposedly, natives are known for their perfectionism and meticulousness, as well as their ability to keep their feet on the ground. An acid and sharp critic tends to reside in those born under the influence of Mercury. Interestingly, the four elements mark astrological signs in sets of three. In a single human being, diverse combinations of these elements often reside, but…can they co-exist?

Logic would indicate that they can and they do. Earth and water, for example, would make a good combination, as long as water is not overdone and a marsh suddenly traps the feet of the intrepid wanderer. Air and fire are trickier, although a soft breeze is always welcome to calm a unwilling spontaneous combustion. Fire is a challenge, indeed. Once, while I was indulging in a stalwart defense of my fire friends Aries, Leo and Sagittarius, somebody just shared a good word of wisdom with me…

“Honey, fire signs can light a fire, but they have no idea how to keep it going…”

Poor little fire creatures, I thought. They are really so much fun to be around though…Earth-based creatures like me tend to function relatively well with fire-born people, impatient and quick-tempered, yet as transparent as cellophane in so many ways. Actually, most of my friends are either Aries, Leo or Sagittarius, and love itself has knocked on my door carrying a torch a couple of times as well. I think I have a right to say something in that department, and it would be all positive….well, or at least I’d like to remember the good times.

However, my root element is earth, mutable and yet unmovable. Earth supports the beings that grow on it, hiding part of them underneath, providing the nutrients for life to exist, grow and, sometimes, persist. In a curious way, earth both reveals and it covers, and sometimes it is difficult to tell. Its changes can be imperceptible, requiring patient observation before transformation becomes visible. Earth is normally ready to work and be worked on. However, its inherent lack of mobility leaves it more vulnerable to the other three elements. After all, a fire, a drought or flooding can all result in death.

It must be the reason why when earth meets its equal, there is a mutual, unspoken understanding. There is some degree of patience, enough to dwell on the gradual possibility of growth rather than a quick idealistic flight of fancy. And yet, passion is there, deep, intense, vital…because all the elements are about life and death, but your element is  your equal and you know it.

I have found you, my equal and my love. I am in my element.

I have recently seen a wonderful movie, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, soon to open in Buenos Aires. The script is based on a short story written by F. Scott Fitzgerald which you can actually access online.

The story essentially poses the question of aging backwards. The protagonist, Benjamin Button, looks like an 80-year-old in a baby’s body when he first sees the light of day, and then grows young. Life happens in the meantime, and shows its complexity through it all, even with the benefit of youth instead of old age as part of progress. Who has not ever imagined what it would feel like to be a 20-year old in the mind of a 50-year old, combining experience gained with suffering with the supple structure of a vigorous body that responds to everything with a lot more energy? I know what it feels like to be 20, but I don’t know what it feels like to be 50 yet. Perhaps I can only idealize such an adventurous combination. However, after seeing the movie, I still do not think it is too different from the normal order in which we age. In other words, life’s complexity is the same no matter in what direction you grow.

As a closing statement for this post, I cannot but remember one of the key lines for me, spoken by Benjamin as he goes through the suffering of being different, or maybe simply of choosing.

You can go mad as a mad dog at the way things went; you can curse the fates, but when it comes to the end, you have to let go.

That is the way, Benjamin. As I write this, only a few days away from getting onto another plane leading me places, with adventure hopefully waiting for me at different ports, I can look back and smile. I am learning to let go…