sunday morning coming down

around the same time i started looking into south by southwest, i stumbled upon the works of artist mark rothko. actually, it was christmastime, and i bought a small box of rothko cards to go with my presents for closer friends and family. i was browsing borders when i ran into the stationary table, and realized i didn't have any cards to give in the first place. the rothko ones jumped out at me, and even though i tried to stay open to the other cards on display, at the same time playing with the idea of not getting cards at all, i was helplessly drawn back to them.

they were simple enough. blank on the insides, with one of five paintings pictured on the fronts of the cards. but i already had in mind which card was for which gift, the colors i thought best matched my relationship with its gift-getter. it was the first time i'd look at a painting and feel a genuine emotional reaction. some made me feel warm inside, those were for family. some made me feel introspective, those were for friends. some made me feel angry or sad, and those were for my special ones, like nick or jeff. one made me think of love, for amy.

i wanted more. i read up on the artist, and poured over hundreds of images of his paintings. untitled, 1969 brought me to tears the first time i saw it. i don't know why. i think i was looking at the national gallery of art's online exhibit when i clicked open the image, and right away, my eyes welled. it was an incredible, addictive feeling that i couldn't get over, and i kept searching for more.

i may not have gone any further than that online feature when i first read about the rothko chapel. meditative center partly designed by mark rothko. in houston. texas. only a few hours' drive from austin...

leslie had an early flight today, so i was groggily making my way out of austin around 8 am this morning. we were up late, of course, but the little sleep i got was spleeeendid, since it was the first night i'd slept on a bed, and not a floor, in five days. and the early start was great, since houston isn't really on my way home at all, but a sideways trip east across the state. going home from houston will probably take about as long as it did getting to austin.

barnett newman's "broken obelisk," dedicated to martin luther king jr, outside of the rothko chapel in houston.

i'll be honest. i came to austin hoping for something glorious to happen. i've been restless as all hell for months now, and it wasn't until driving to and from new york to see jiggsaw a month ago, that i found a glimmer of rest for my soul. something about the drive, in the anonymity of the road no matter where you are. my car became my sanctuary. it became my vessel for adventuring the outside world, with my own private place of music and musing on the inside. that's mostly why i didn't mind making this trip alone. i really wouldn't have had it any other way. i've been craving that zen-like duality ever since new york. i've felt pretty lost lately. and austin, with so much live music and so many people, seemed to promise someone or something would find me there.

did i really expect that? i ask myself this and, yeah, that's what i really wanted. i didn't know how or what was going to happen, but i was sure that if i kept my eyes, ears and heart open, i would experience something magical.

that used to be one of my favorite words, "magical." one night after we broke up, amy and i were talking, and somehow one of us described something as magical. probably me. all i really remember though is how she suddenly burst with distaste for the word, and concept of, "magic." it isn't real, she said. isn't real.

of everything about her i could keep close to me, this is what sticks the most.

and of course, nothing magical happened. really, despite how glamorous it all seems in the pictures and the stories, it was not. sure, i saw a lot of incredible bands and met a good handful of good people, but for the most part everybody was trying too hard to maintain their independent images and ideals, than to care about anyone else. i mean, have i been touched by anyone or anything in austin? not really. maybe, a little. i tried to take in as much of everything and everyone as i could, but i don't know, i only ended up with a head full of too much to make sense of. i'm no different now. magic isn't real.

i wanted love, and looked deep into the eyes of everyone there, hoping i might find someone who had more love for me than anyone i'd ever met before. i wanted the sense of belonging, and wanted to want to never leave. i was ready to call home and have my roommates ship down my belongings. i honestly wanted my world flipped upside down, by some new kind of happiness and peace i was convinced i could find.

my very first night in austin put all these hopes on hold. i was a little drunk and intently watching my first crowd of the week, studying the looks on the faces, the way everyone moved among each other, how they talked and what they said. i was fascinated with everybody's cheekbones, they were all so sad... and as i walked in and out of the bar, to the beer garden and the other stages, i was overwhelmed with the sense that i was not alone in why i came to austin. everyone lining the walls of these bars expected something amazing to happen to them during their stay. and what did that mean? is this just where the lost and lonely migrate to every year, 14,000 strong? suddenly it was never-never land, and we were all just hoping to stave off adulthood one week more. just a bunch of kids with questions and nobody to answer them.

but somehow i still felt more enamored, more engaged and engulfed, in this new world, than anyone else. i was charlie and this was the chocolate factory, and i was going to win it because i deserved to more than anyone else. it didn't have to be magic, but it had to happen. i needed it.

the whole week is replaying through my mind, moment by moment, as i'm sitting on a bench in the middle of the rothko chapel. all of these things, churning through my head, and i'm fighting to let them go. but the chapel is dark inside and the huge paintings morose, screaming madly from the walls all around me. i breathe deeply, belly breaths, in and out. i close my eyes and try to think back to acting classes, and guided meditation with my instructors. i can hear a generic voice in my head trying to help, but it can't counter the explosion of disappointment in my head. i don't know whether to keep breathing deep and trying to let go, or simply count my losses and go home already. i start to wonder what i expected out of this whole chapel thing, too.

i feel something moving on my arm. i look down to see a little bug, making its way across my elbow. it snaps me out of my delirium and i smile, wondering what the heck a little bug is doing inside this big, dark room. it doesn't belong in here. and i start to think, "you don't belong here any more than i do..."

when the bug flew off, i lied down on my back. there was a skylight in the middle of the domed ceiling that drew my gaze. i really don't belong here, i thought... no more than that bug does. my eyes are closed and i'm thinking back to this recurring battle i'm having between escaping life and embracing it, when a woman was suddenly standing over me. i hadn't seen her before but she appeared to be an usher. she whispered, "you need to get up." i apologized, but she was smiling, and for a second i felt like her words meant something more. i sat up and looked back at the dark walls, and started to cry. i did need to get up, and i needed to go home. but i wasn't ready, i hadn't found anything yet...

through my welled eyes, the walls looked lighter than before. i could still hear them screaming, but the noise in my head wasn't so loud now. there was the quiet hum of air conditioning. a bird whistled from outside, muted by the walls of the chapel.

i felt strangely... at peace.

it all made me think about this magnet one of my roommates has. i made her take it off the refrigerator because it made me sad. it did. it said something like, "peace is not living without war, or struggle or pain. peace is living among these things, and being still within your heart." it used to make me angry, because i didn't know how to do that.

looking at the walls of the chapel, painted by a man who, shortly afterward painting them, went home and cut open his wrists; hearing these giant brushstrokes screaming at me, from every wall of the six-sided room; yet, feeling completely serene and calm on my bench in the middle of it all, i started thinking, "that goddamn magnet is right..."

i said a silent thanks and picked up my bag, on impulse, and walked out of the room. the usher smiled at me as i left, and whispered in that same, knowing way, "come back." i smiled and thanked her too, and said i would. i might.

on my way out, i stopped to sign the guest book. there was writing on the page already, frantic cursive filling the entire page and the one before it. somebody was writing to a lover or friend who had passed. she said, "i think i've finally realized it's not about letting you go, because i've tried and i can't. it's about acknowledging the fact that i will always miss you..."

the tears welled up again, and as i flipped backwards through the book they started falling. there were entries in french, in spanish, in chinese. a girl, signed as only ten years old, wrote that she walked out of the chapel feeling like her life was changed. good for you, i mumbled while sobbing quietly, still flipping through the entries, touched surprisingly deeply by almost all of them.

i didn't know what to write myself, or if i even should. but i wrote down exactly what i've expressed here. that i came in not knowing what i'd find, if anything, despite so badly wanting to find something... but that i did find exactly what i needed. and that it's not here, but back home, amidst the madness i left behind.

it was hard to leave. i was holding that guest book like i'd fall down if i let go. but as i did walk out into the beautiful houston sun, almost an hour after i had left it, the humidity thick and sweet, the birds alive and singing, i honestly felt a happiness like i've never felt before.

right now i'm sitting in a small cafe just down the street from the chapel, with some of the most beautiful, down to earth people i've met all week. in fact, i think i could probably stay here forever...

just kidding. i actually can't wait to get home. i can't wait for the drive. hell, i can't wait for the walk to my car. i love you all and i love houston and i love mark rothko. and the bug and the usher and even austin, as hellish as it was. right now, i kind of love everything. for the time being, at least.

which is just fine with me.