JOURNALS
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Journal entry 1995: I have to tell you that the freedom of
choice is almost unbearable for me. I often find myself thinking more about the
road not taken than the one I took. As a result, I am a very messy chooser. I
tend to get paralyzed by the choice, then freak out, short circuit, act out and
drive everyone nuts. I'm a passive person and I don't want to be ashamed of
that passivity. I want to make it work.
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FAMILY
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I wanted to see my son; after all, I'd never seen him and
now he was eight months old. I was completely unaware that this was a long
time. I was under the impression that once a baby, always a baby.
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I guess I thought of six years old as the end of babyhood. I
had no idea that eight months was quite a way along in the development of a
child.
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I called Kathie and went to see them. She woke the baby,
lifted him out of the crib, and he went right for her breast. When I saw that,
I knew there was no need for a blood test. I saw the back of my father's head
in his head. I saw my brother Rocky's eyes. I saw a distant mirror, I saw a
little lust flower.
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I saw a glorious accident. I saw a completely formed, whole
human being, and I experienced a perfect paradox at that moment; I knew now
that I could die and that I had to stay alive to help this little guy through.
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Kathie had a radical plan. She said, "You haven't seen
him for eight months, you should go bond with him. Take him off alone, to your
summer house in the country."
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And I did. I thought it was a completely mad idea, but I
didn't question it. I was on the train to Brewster North with this
eight-month-old creature, who was in my arms. I assumed he was beautiful,
because everyone on the train kept stopping to say, "Oh my goodness, what
a lovely granddaughter you have." And when I got up to the house, I put
him on the floor like a rug rat, a hamster, a cat or a dog - let him do his
thing; while I do my thing - get out the bloody mary mix, the salmon, the green
peas and prepare dinner. And then I had to change his diaper.
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Bending
over him, I looked down into his eyes and I fell in.
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I did not expect the gaze that came back, it was absolutely
forever. Long, pure, empty, not innocent, because way beyond innocence, mere
being, pure consciousness, the observing self that I'd always been trying to
catch was staring back at me; they were no-agenda eyes. Clear, open, not
blinking, not judging, not tempting, not needing, not hurting, not consoling.
Just pure - not old, not new, because not in time. And I just stared until I
blinked. And had to pull away. I couldn't go on anymore in there.
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I took him in my arms and we were together for five hours.
He ate with me, in my lap. And when I chewed my green peas, he reached into my
mouth and took them out to feed himself. I got the image of Mother Bird, Mother
Robin, the way they spit the food into their babies' mouths. So I took his
little head and, holding it, went to spit the green peas into his mouth like a
mother bird, and he gave me a straight arm. And I thought, My God, he's got
boundaries! Where would he get them at eight months? I could learn something
from him. His dad doesn't have them at fifty-two!
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Spalding Gray "Spalding Gray
Stories Left To Tell" (2008)
