The idea of madness is entirely different. I cling to madness, to chaos, to the unknown, to what cannot be determined but only experienced. Madness is the second between jumping off of a plane and the moment the parachute opens into the wind; you are ignited by the power of risk.
My poetry collection begins with the quote, "There is wisdom that is woe; but there is a woe that is madness." Moby Dick
This line encompasses my poetic place in the world. It is the human I strive to be. A contained madness, dedicated to disrupting a perfection to make it an imperfection, which is actually a perfection.
Bits of Madness for your afternoon coffee:
1) Call it WWE, call it "RIP HIS HEAD OFF," call it Saturday Night: I was a big fan of Hulk Hogan when I was younger. Not because of his presence in the ring but because of his incredible mustache. This was the extent of my WWE knowledge. When friends got tickets for the WWE event taking place just minutes from our house, we went without hesitation. The fighters entered the ring and the next thing you know, I was transformed into a mad woman screaming on the top of my lungs. I'm an ex-boxer and very fond of one on one combat (strange for a poet, I'm sure) but WWE?
The next morning Doug was talking to my mother, "you should have seen your daughter." I heard her say, "sometimes you need to let your hair down."
Letting your hair down = embracing madness.
2) Call it a photo: Occasionally (okay, like every day) I look through the pictures of Rylee on my phone. She grows so much on a daily basis. I love starting from the first picture Doug took of her and scrolling through her progress. The fact that we created a human who smiles when you say "I love you," who holds onto your shoulder when you pick her up, who jabbers on about everything and nothing is just amazing; it's madness.
The picture I always stare at the longest is this one:
It was taken on her 36 hour birthday. The early am she was born, our family and friends were in the waiting room. They waited until 2am to see her. The doctors were in and out that entire night checking in on us. The next morning brought a whole slew of visitors until about 9pm. The next day on her 36 hour birthday, no one visited. Doug had to go to work. I thought I had gotten the hang of the routine: change, feed, change, put her to sleep. Wakes up crying 20 minutes later: change, feed, change, sleep. At 10am, I did this and ordered breakfast but she didn't go back to sleep. She stayed awake staring at me. We spent an hour just looking at one another. I sang her songs and kissed her forehead. I was a Mother. Madness.
3) Call it words: I began a book titled, "Madness, Rack, and Honey." This is a collection of lectures by Mary Ruefle. I sat reading with soy milk and tea:
"And the lesson is always the same, and young poets recognize this to be one of the most important lessons they can learn: if you have any idea for a poem, an exact gird of intent, you are on the wrong path, a dead-end alley, at the top of a cliff you haven't even climbed. This is a lesson that can only be learned by trial and error."
Poetry relies on madness, spontaneity. I constantly have to remind myself that planning should be for social events and Rylee's feeding schedule (although this can also be a subject of madness). My poems have to talk amongst themselves in the moment. They need to jump out of a plane and not know if the parachute will open.
"In life, the number of beginnings is exactly equal to the number of endings: no one has yet to begin a life who will not end it."
Do all beginnings in life have an end? I'm not sure about this one. This is why grief is so maddening. The life of our loved ones may end in a physical sense but their death, the memory of the loss is an infinite amount of time. It is like the poem. Although the ending has a last line it lives on in a maddening way.
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I find the fact that time passes so quickly to be utter madness.
Fill your day with surprises,
A
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