i figure

there is a time and place for everything, for a song or a sentence or a few words to make the world stand still and for you to understand a little more about what you are. that brief time when the universe clicks together and a sentence slips into your bones, making you a little more whole.

my favorite album in the world, waylon jennings' dreaming my dreams, entered my world on a road trip i took whilst i lived in austin. two of my best girls and i took off for a trip through the southwest, from austin to college station to pick up one girly to good night, tx (which, jesus, that name alone was worth the drive) through new mexico all the way up to durango, co, passing though places lovely and places dreary. driving dusty texas roads, with the sun setting or at night, is really the only way to listen to waylon, i must say. ( a few months ago, i fell in love with hank williams' low down blues which i will safely assume is another perfect texas night drivin album.)

while i was in austin, i was comfortable and happy, but i missed big city energy; i missed the urban shock. i liken living in san francisco or new york city to that feeling you get when you burn yourself on a hot pan, and the awareness zings through you and snaps you to awake, that time of complete and utter being, before the burn begins to hurt. i was ready for that energy after a few years in sleepy, hot austin, but now i can think of texas with sweetness. sitting on a porch or a backyard at night, with margaritas, sleeping dogs and fantastic music and twinkling fireflies and good friends...with the heavy night air like hot velvet in your lungs. that is perfection.

i'm thinking of the perfect moments, because i am currently reading rushdie's satanic verses (there may be a the in there somewhere). i first tried to read midnight's children in high school when it was first published, but kept putting it down. for ten or twelve years, every year or two, i would pull it off the shelf and read to the part where the grandfather broke his nose and rubies and diamonds rushed out; i then would always put it down, faintly annoyed for some reason. this past december, i took the book with me to india with 10 others and finally began reading in earnest. i finished it on the plane ride home and absolutely shook with marvel with the genius of this man. satanic verses is sliding little sentences into my brain, especially when i read a bit about a man's return to india and being of india, but not of it at the same time. which is how i feel about india: india, being indian, is an echo to me. maddening, half understood, of my bones, my dreams, in my peripheral vision awake, but so far at the same time. something blocks me and i don't know what. more on this later.