15 September 2015 – for 16th Sept. at 18:53 pm local SC time
(EDT GMT -4)
By Michael J. Farris
love so strong feel like
could
split completely
open…
spill juice
drop seeds
what flowering this is
wanting to-
holding back perfume
afraid…
going up
spreading out
what madness
threatens…
to render me
so open whirling
mad
so lovely
and permanently
uncomfortable?
By ACFarris – from her Tumblr account KaraKelebek731 – (means
“Black Butterfly” in Turkish)
This marks the second year following the transition of
Aundreta Conner Farris – I am compelled to remind everyone that “living in
someone’s heart” is certainly part of life; and as closeness bears heavily on
moments of reflection, we should all be thankful for the potential clarity of
such moments.
For my own part, much of her life with me was concentrated
around the pen, the word, the idea. We “courted” for years just through letters
and even made chances to write to each other, to go out to cafés specifically
with the intention of designing some special note or finding ‘the right paper’
to give each other something to hold onto, to meditate upon, to grow into, so
that we could remember things and direct ourselves in knowing one another better. As I type this I realize, as I have often
considered in this growing time, that I have known her for more than 20 years –
I first saw her in 1994 (as I exited Shoney’s in Orangeburg for a family
reunion breakfast, walking my grandmother to the door), had my first meeting
with her in 1996 (Cindy was there, and she has been witness to so many parts of
our adventure) – she missed an Etta James concert and came to buy some music
where I was managing shop. The first piece of my writing I gave her was a
poem-poster I was selling. I told her that I wanted to know her, but I probably
wouldn’t call, but I would be glad to write to her… she did, and thankfully so.
“Images from my Wandering Star”
(Caramel
and Fresh Breezes)
In the morning, when she wakes, she pulls on a skirt
and her skin becomes diamond, and sapphire.
She likes that.
She stretches her arms,
right arm out, left arm hooked under her chin, and her breath
vibrates the room.
I like that.
A wandering star in a dark heaven,
she holds serenity in her abdomen,
resting and ready to be dynamic,
in her laughter, in her song, in her music, huuuu;
I sit and wonder at her resonance, and it moves me.
It causes me to move.
--MJFarris, September 2015
Speaking to everyone is difficult for me sometimes; in the
spirit of “The wound is the place where light enters you” (Mevlana Jelaluddin
Rumi) – of whom we were both so fond – I am trying to be open to what this
process can teach me while giving myself time to move through the day in a
generative way. So I keep to myself, but please know that you are all in my
thoughts, and prayers. She always said
that if everyone that loves her were gathered into one room, people would be
hard-pressed to describe all the connections.
Some of you got to see that in person, and she was right. It is my
continuing hope that those people can find new ways to affirm that love and
lovingness in their lives, in their own spheres and together. I wish you
Peace and good health – (mjf)
When you visit old places, the exercise becomes "trying to be present" while a part of your mind retrieves memories that may make it difficult to see "the present". Going to the Gedavet in Zafer in Konya is one of those things. I saw so many people who remembered me, and I had difficulty retrieving memories, but in other moments, it became difficult to see the present at all. I believe it was a learning moment for me -- all that I knew is refusing to be static, and so it is an encouragement for me to also be dynamic, in keeping with that theme. I am not being allowed to make my memory palace a museum wherein I can live, but only visit from time to time. It would be unrealistic to hide amid the archives. Instead I believe I am being directed to make new memories. 
