)(( hannah mello ))(

Eve of 24...

This post is inspired by last year's.
It's 58 minutes before my 24th year begins.
Instead of penning explicitly all that I feel in this page-turner,
for now, the more abstract brush strokes will do.

(Fitting too because tonight, my housemate and I quietly listened to
iPod joys while sketching at the kitchen table. His idea. His genius.)

So, these thoughts are just the context of the eve...


SEEDS.
I met a boy named Eric Barth from Seattle, WA. Days before Easter, 2007. I had "accidentally" missed a bus from the airport in Shannon, Ireland to the little sea village of Galway and he ended up being on the bus that caught me eventually. He didn't have a place to stay, and so, following our arrival (and that having followed my initiation of conversation following me overhearing his conversation behind me), he followed me to the hostel I was booked to stay at and LITERALLY snagged the very last room that was available. (We were standing at the counter following his booking transaction and they had to turn people away.) We didn't really "decide" to hang out and parted ways-- off to our respective rooms to throw down our backpacks. But, then serendipitously, there I was along the sea walk, alone, enjoying swans and the clumps of college students enjoying the grass along the water and just BEING there together with their beer bottles and sandwiches and laughter and occasional hacky-sacks.

There he came, walking up with an old Irish man who had befriended him, finding him looking lost on some side street and had shown him the town. Seeing that we knew each other, he left us both to enjoy the seaside. Eric was a photographer-- having an eye and the not-so-strict-but-disciplined-nonetheless discipline of really capturing on film what he could. He had been traveling alone for over a month-- in Europe for the first time-- just taking buses all over Ireland. He told me stories of having camped on deserted beaches, spending way too much time with stone fences and sheep, and odd stories of observations and ideas. Eric also was a writer and a poet. He told me that when he begins to tell an idea to a friend, his specific friend will tell him-- "No-- stop. Don't tell me. Keep the seed in the ground."

There we were on the edge of a pebble-beached sea, walking on the muddy and soccer-player-torn-up green, green grass, talking about seeds. And here I am, months after our 2 days of hanging out there in Galway before he left for wherever and I left for the Wicklow mountains-- thinking about seeds. Sometimes ideas-- whether they're lessons partially learned or revelations partially realized or nuggets almost chipped off rock or descriptions not yet enfleshed-- must BECOME, like a seed taking root in the COLD, DARK blackness of the not-yet.

------

GRACE
I used to sign my paintings "Grace2"-- grace squared-- because of my name "Hannah" meaning "grace" in Hebrew and my middle name being "Grace" itself. At different junctures throughout my life, people have alluded to the idea that I was going to grow into my name in some ways-- learning "grace" as if I had been targeted to KNOW it and to know it deeply. Whatever the case, loving symbolism and loving the challenge of learning, I always intrigued and wondering what that would mean. Tonight, someone I respect, after hearing my specific wrestlings of the moment (in my work, in this in-between, in this semi-waiting/semi-active time of the not-yet) asked me: "Hannah, do you have the GRACE to be unproductive?" Do I have the grace to not be actively CONTRIBUTING somehow to the cause, to the needs, to others, but just to be-- to be present and THERE.

I have loved grace as alluding to: - the gracefulness of the walk of a true woman - the extension of an action in a relationship that is ever so beautiful and unexpected - the motivation of deepest love that makes people give when they should be stingy (what I've been on the receiving end of that face of grace SO MUCH).

However, here I am confronted with another challenging component of "Grace". Being willing to be quiet and simple when there is voice and complexity. The elegance of smallness. I find myself in this place of challenge and, although I reflexively shirk the opportunity of becoming in this aspect, tonight I yield; I welcome; I accept. I'm excited.

------

SO... bring on 24. The year after 23's epic-ness of becoming. Ah, SUCH SUCH SUCH an epic year. I hope I can be side-by-side 23 year olds throughout life. Such an epic year it can be... in all it's trauma and glory. Masterpieces though are marked by both, I think. Truth cannot be without paradox... or can it?

Yep. bring on 24.
Ah. This is the summary. This is the summary (below). ALL IN ALL MY SPECIFIC HEART.

------

"Twenty-four"
by Switchfoot

Twenty four oceans
Twenty four skies
Twenty four failures
Twenty four tries
Twenty four finds me
In twenty-fourth place
Twenty four drop outs
At the end of the day
Life is not what I thought it was
Twenty four hours ago

Still I'm singing Spirit take me up in arms with You
And I'm not who I thought I was twenty four hours ago
Still I'm singing Spirit take me up in arms with You

Twenty four reasons to admit that I'm wrong
With all my excuses still twenty four strong

See I'm not copping out not copping out not copping out
When You're raising the dead in me
Oh, oh I am the second man
Oh, oh I am the second man now
Oh, oh I am the second man now

And You're raising these twenty four voices
With twenty four hearts
With all of my symphonies
In twenty four parts
But I wan to be one today
Centered and true

I'm singing Spirit take me up in arms with You
You're raising the dead in me
Oh, oh I am the second man
Oh, oh I am the second man now
Oh, oh I am the second man now
And You're raising the dead in me

I want to see miracles, see the world change
Wrestled the angel, for more than a name
For more than a feeling
For more than a cause
I'm singing Spirit take me up in arms with You
And You're raising the dead in me
Twenty four voices
With twenty four hearts
With all of my symphonies
In twenty four parts.
I'm not copping out. Not copping out. Not copping out.

posted by )(( hannah mello ))( @ 7:59 PM