I set out early in the morning (maybe that is why I was tired, or maybe it was the cumulation of lack of sleep) to sit and write. I stared at the blank page hoping that words would form themselves. They didn't. Well, that's not quite right. Words did form. They made no sense.
I got up from my seat at the cafe, wrapped my scarf around my neck, and headed out to the market. It was time to get my day going. I needed to pick up veggies for the curry I was going to make. I needed to get more plastic cups. I needed to do some printing. I needed to pull together everything so that I could carry it from my house down to The Box Factory. I needed... What I really needed was some rejuvenation, and all these other needs felt like they were getting in the way of my ability to rejuvenate.
Then, I found myself at my kitchen counter just staring at the pile of veggies that needed to be cut, diced, seeded, cleaned. I almost cried standing there knowing that there was a mound of work to do. But something caught me, held me, loved me. It was otherworldly, dare I say magical. It was passion. It was love. It was the knowing that if I just started everything else would work itself out.
You see, cooking -- the kind of cooking that requires multiple steps and numerous processes -- nourishes me. It is as if something else takes over my mind and body, let's the thinking part of my self rest. So I let this passion take over, let it dice the onions, puree the cilantro and ginger and garlic and parsley, fry the coconut fat. I let everything go and poured love and warmth into spicy green curry.
Slowly, I started feeling myself reconnect to the ground beneath me. Still I was tired. Still I wanted everything just done. But I felt at least a little more grounded.
More errands, more printing, more connecting of dots and last minute promotions commenced.
Finally, I was ready to take everything over to The Box Factory. It seemed such an insurmountable task. I have no car, had no money for a cab, was only traveling four blocks anyway. But I had to carry this large pot of bubbling curry, a cooker full of brown rice, all the materials and supplies for the night. Four trips later everything was at The Box Factory.
I stood there in that space of art, community, and heart and looked around slowly. There was still quite a bit to do, but something shifted. I was no longer tired. I was starting to wake; I was starting to feel the life come back to me.
Maryam Rostami, the curator for the evening, arrived, a hug was exchanged, stories started spilling. More life returned, my eyes widened, my bones relaxed. It was magic in that moment -- the one before the guests.
And guests then arrived and so too did the writers. Spice filled the The Box Factory as brown rice beeped "I'm done."
The evening unfolded with words, living, moving, stirring, beautifully funny words and delectable dinner served in paper boats. And I laughed, I laughed, and I laughed. And I paused and listened and felt. I was renewed.
Thank you Kat Marie Yoas, Ben McCoy, Anisse Gross, Ali Liebgott, Tessa Micaela, Monique Jenkinson, Cara Rose DeFabio, and Maryam Rostami for all you contributed, for all your words, for all your art. It renews and inspires and moves. I am so honored to know you and briefly share this stage.
And thank you to everyone who came to The Box Factory for The Bloom: Magic & Technology. Together, we create community, arts, and wellness.