The other side of the world

A few weeks ago, working on a new book, a handmade book based on Chinese cookie fortunes; well that is not what the book was based on, it was a part of the "trusting the random" process to use fortune cookie fortunes to make up the content (this would eventually be eliminated as the good idea). The book was a gift for Sara's birthday, a treasure of all the words, messages, that might inspire her, hold her, shake her, comfort her, for the next year.

Measuring and precision cutting of book board, measured folding along the creases of the bone folder, colorful marble end papers on a slat of deep pewter, all for my sunshine girl, Sarasita. Everything in place but the content.

So I dive into the trove of cookies of fortune. Crack open the first, nibble on the crisp sweet almond husk and read the first prophetic words, "Practice makes perfect."

Seriously. Come on. I studied classical ballet; fifth position - tendue - fifth - tendue second, close back, tendue dégagé , close back, relevé , turn, repeat on the other side, relevé , balance, hold, hold, hold, hold. . . .

I know practice. Sara studied too. We know practice, balance, the focus on the spot on the wall that does not move, breathing, the energies in your body reaching in opposition. We have spent years at it.

So the cosmic forces were mocking me in my little book effort? No. There must be something more. I dig deep into the brown sack and pull out another cookie, split it and the pieces tumble onto the table.

"Practice makes perfect."

Okay. There are times when it is best to just listen. Practice. Practice listening. Practice patience. Practice life. No. Practice my craft - practice, the craft of art. Abandon the dive to the bottom of the brown sack of fortune cookies. Go to the source. Find her fortunes where I always have found them - in story - in poetry - in art.

From the bookcase, I gather the texts, Recipes from the Wizard of Oz, Naomi Wolfe's Fire with Fire, The Little Prince, The Dogs of Babel, Daddy Long-legs. Here is Sara's fortune. I add a few grants of my own design, reminders. I flip through the books, I let my eyes fall on the pages and the words reveal themselves, as they always have. "Have a little courage. That's all." "It is only with the heart that one sees truly."

I print them out, fortune cookie dimensions and glue them in her book. I paste in the final one and open and close the edition several times, testing the fold, the weaving of the flags, the binding.

I allow myself a reward - a fortune pulled without agenda, without necessity, without without, and I feel as if it is a ballet - with out, the seeming effortless piorrete, that does not know friction, that turns without resistance. This is how I reach into the bag.

"Your love life will be happy and harmonious."

I set it on the table. This was obviously a mistake. I've been lost and blind and quincunx in matters of the heart; which is hardly a happy and harmonious state.

Oh, sweet denial, rains over me. I pull Sara's book into proper form, wrap a purple rubber band around it to hold it through the night. And shake my head in waves of no ~ no ~ no ~ no. Obviously the cosmic gods are not done having their fun with me. Practice makes perfect. and Your love life will be happy and harmonious.

I lean on my elbows, prop my chin in my hands, and sigh, the long breathe of oh no and oh please and okay. Okay. Well, this has not been my experience. And I have to wonder if it is even what I would want. What would I want? Who would not want that - harmonious and happy? Yes. I want that. I do.

But that doesn't happen. Does it? Not if my experiences are any indication. Well I took the end of the summer and threw a lot of the bundled memories away or buried them with the accompanying redoubtable ghosts.

I decide the Chinese fortune cookie gods are just having fun with me. I plunge in once more, hopeless optimist, seeking the authentic truth in my brown paper bag of fortune cookies. I pull one off the bottom. Weigh it in my hand, it is almost nothing, the weight of three feathers, three wishes. I snap it with practiced efficiency, and slip the paper out. I won't give up.

"Your love life will be happy and harmonious."

I start to hope. After all, this is about the future. This is what "will be" and why can it not. If I seek that, surely I can discover it. Happy and harmonious. Guess it is time to look up the definitions of those terms!