Slower, Cleaner, Deeper

Two blogs! In a day!
...I know it's a bit excessive, but hey. I've missed you.

"This is the work of warriors," I growled at Tim tonight as we swabbed the kitchen decks. Sweat on our foreheads, the steam of the industrial kitchen sterilizer surrounding our mop-wielding, muscle-rippling arms, we prayed with our bodies. Stroke after stroke. This is what the Raphael House will do to a man.

Rowlitza is from Bulgaria. I know this because I asked a stupid question tonight: "Sooo..." I asked in response to an accent-heavy request for more dish soap, "where are you from originally?" "Bulgaria." "And how long've you lived in the States?" The response was instantaneous: "Eighteen and a half years." "Hm," I say because I was expecting the meditative pause that comes after a question like that. "You get that question a lot?" I ask. "From every person I meet for the first time."

Wow, Zak. You lose.

I followed it up with a question about pizza. This got a lot more thought. And for the record, she likes Pepperoni from Round Table.

Pang. Gut wrenching hollowness. Gah! I miss my foreign friends! Fredy Traub, Aude, Clo, Fanny, Marina, Nadia, Stefan Zierock, Emma, Eileen and Molly and Harry and Nora and Norman and Valarie, the Caldwells. I want so badly to visit them! And now, look at this... I'm living down the hall from Randa (from Lebanon), Rowlitza (from *eh hem* Bulgaria), Olga and Elena (from Russia). If I made it my personal goal to visit each one of my foreign friends at their home, it would take a lifetime of travel and boatloads of money. They - and I'm speaking especially of my friends from American University - are so driven to see everything that they possibly can. Every day is an adventure to be lived. Travelers are by nature, I think, exciting (and excitable) people. And there is a particular beauty to the way each wanderer whispers tales from her home country, eyes far away and softer, and call it the most beautiful place that exists. Home.

In my quieter moments, I wonder what 'home' is for me; living in many different worlds has made my world larger, certainly, but also rootless. "Rolling stones gather no moss." I may have no moss, but I still enjoy Japanese Gardens.

Which, unintentionally, brings me to this afternoon's nature-y walk. I travelled to the heart of San Francisco's Golden Gate Park: the Japanese Tea Garden.

That time was...
Stepping stones over glass water
Heavenly bamboo tightly trimmed
Ponds made of gravel and moss
Shade, sunlight, shadows.
Stillness.
Quiet.
Peace.

I must take more time. Slow time.

Master, give me breath for slow moments.