to escape is liberation

Virginia Woolf writes that “one must, one always must, do something or other,” though also, in the same essay, she writes, “to escape is the greatest of pleasures.” In other words, escape as liberation. To be free from what binds us with the daily occupation, and becomes necessity: work, money, electric bills, the trash. So first, in my own recent flight, a gray sky with warm rain. The sand. And waves big like they could kill. In an almost half moon, palm fronds marked the air, struck grass, not charged at all, but the sand, when we touched it with our fingers, glittered. I saw radiance. An upsurge. Perhaps there isn’t a feeling as justified as liberation. On the ledge, between the fish and the bowl, I could elope, depart, retreat, if I watched the street in its busy employment, and no one knew I minded them, as in the way we sneak glances at those we attract. Avenue Palomar and later, the dizzying effect of liquid and doses, the swirling fan making shadows like thieves. Also free. I couldn’t make contact. Still, I know with my legs open and the lights on, I cried something that felt like liberation. You can’t feel passionately about a street. But I did. With my friend yearning. My friend crying. They all tell me what their lives are. And I want to be beautiful in their representation and mine. Woolf said, “It is impossible that one not see pictures,” as in he’s doing the dishes, as in I’m dancing, and still we’re free, only for a moment, then gone. As quick as bare feet on stones. Do you record the pieces or step aside and move on?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s