Gregory Pardlo and the human experience

My lovely (times two) new friend Roger recently introduced me to the podcast Poetry Unbound. This morning, while eating my eggs, I was casually listening to some of the episodes he recommended when “Wishing Well” by Gregory Pardlo undid me. Eyes wide, mouth full of egg as the tears came on, then goosebumps as my throat tightened and I couldn’t swallow the egg. I was helpless, riding the wave of his brilliant words up and up and up, waiting for crescendo, caught between the mundane (egg in my mouth that I couldn’t swallow) and the sublime (Pardlo cracking open the everyday to expose a universal truth of the depth of human longing) until finally something broke loose inside me. I’ll post the poem here (found on the OnBeing website), but part of the magic of this morning’s experience was listening to poet Pádraig Ó Tuama’s reading of it. You can listen here: https://onbeing.org/poetry/wishing-well

Wishing Well

Outside the Met a man walks up sun 

tweaking the brim sticker on his Starter cap

and he says pardon me Old School he

says you know is this a wishing well?

Yeah Son I say sideways over my shrug.

     Throw your bread on the water.

I tighten my chest wheezy as Rockaway beach

sand with a pull of faux smoke on my e-cig

to cozy the truculence I hotbox alone

and I am at the museum because it is not a bar.

Because he appears not to have changed

them in days I eye the heel-chewed hems

of his pants and think probably he will

ask me for fifty cents any minute now wait

for it. A smoke or something. Central Park displays

the frisking transparency of autumn. Tracing

paper sky, leaves like eraser crumbs gum

the pavement. As if deciphering celestial

script I squint and purse off toward the roof

line of the museum aloof as he fists two

pennies from his pockets mumbling and then

aloud my man he says hey my man I’m going

to make a wish for you too.

     I am laughing now so what you want

me to sign a waiver? He laughs along ain’t

say all that he says but you do have to

hold my hand. And close your eyes.

I make a starless night of my face before

he asks are you ready. Yeah dawg I’m ready.

Sure? Sure let’s do this his rough hand

in mine inflates like a blood pressure cuff and I

squeeze back as if we are about to step together

from the sill of all resentment and timeless

toward the dreamsource of un-needing the two

of us hurtle sharing the cosmic breast

of plenitude when I hear the coins blink against

the surface and I cough up daylight like I’ve just

been dragged ashore. See now

you’ll never walk alone he jokes and is about

to hand me back to the day he found me in

like I was a rubber duck and he says you got to let

go but I feel bottomless and I know he means

well though I don’t believe

     and I feel myself shaking 

my head no when he means let go his hand.

It reminds me of my very first yoga experience, when at the end of the session, the teacher had us lie on our backs then came around and stroked, with one finger, each of us between our eyes. I burst like a swollen water balloon. Sobbing and snot crying from out of nowhere. As if I’d been waiting my entire life for someone to touch me. And of course I had been. I still am. Aren’t we all? 

I’ve felt this longing for as long as I can remember, but I’m grateful to finally know that it’s deeper than what any human (or substance or activity) could provide. I wonder if it’s even possible to find fulfillment for this longing in our human experience? It feels so beyond. Since I gave up drinking, I’ve been allowing that unsettled feeling to just rumble around, co-existing with it as much as possible. When it gets too intense, I try to meditate or go for a walk. 

I just started a new book, In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts, by Gabor Mate. It’s about addiction. I’m only a few pages in, but I imagine he’ll have to mention this longing. I also keep thinking about Alex Wong’s song, “Show Yourself.” Wong is a beautiful, local singer-songwriter who inspires me to believe that showing ourselves is an act of great bravery. Local reiki master, kundalini yoga instructor Jason Latham is also currently doing this on his Instagram posts. They inspire me toward similar vulnerability and bravery. All the while, something else is trying to keep me safe, urging: “Don’t be too weird. Don’t be too emotional. Don’t be so sensitive. At least, don’t let anyone see….” I wonder if that’s why the writing stopped. Maybe my ego (or something) is just trying to keep me safe. I’m trying to open the writing flow back up again, though, so although this post just barely touches the realm of too-weird, too-emotional, too-sensitive, and although only a few people will even read it, this is, at least, a first step.