Impressions in Pickled Jars (#8)

The impressions this place makes on me are on layaway.  

They are like pickled vegetables, stored in a creaky Polish cellar for the winter.  Only to shock in the summertime with flavor and a sort of spice that is indigestible.

I will take out the impressions I have of this place, serve them with herring, dabble everything in sour cream... and call it a day.

But until that summer day, these here impressions on layaway are all I have.

They ferment and comfort and feel completely combustible - sometimes, I do not know whether I will survive all that I am experiencing.  

And so I let laughter permeate the cracks in the jars.

And so Darwin lets me survive.

On to the little moments.  Maybe we'll get deep later.

Recently, I even went to a unisex bathroom at a Korean restaurant and found the signage disturbing.  And funny.  The amusing part is the assumption that the man will be interested in how the female is peeing.  Is this a reverse psychology warning against being a peeping Tom and Nancy in the bathroom?  Perhaps... but instead it makes one chuckle at the thought of urination being observed.  And the potential dangers of men and women frequenting the same place.  I never thought that a unisex sign could be so interpreted.  

The differences are palpable.

Below is my 2nd masked photo.  

The first one was taken as a result of the yellow dust.  This one is reacting to the floating MERS virus outbreak.

I am located only a couple subway stops from Suwon, where the outbreak originated in Korea.  The atmosphere here has been filled with panic and a rejection of caring too much.  The people here sway between paranoia and not wanting to give up the daily routines that make them tick.

So I continue to do everything the same way.  But I wear a mask that is specifically designed for flu and tuberculosis infections at hospitals.  

I wonder if this is the same as ordering an unhealthy dinner at the Olive Garden and pairing it with a Diet Coke.

These past couple of weeks, I have started to feed my creative monster.  What began this journey was the Diego Rivera exhibit that popped up in the center of Seoul.  It cried out to me to embrace its warm colors - like a soulful hug for the eyelids.  

I ended up becoming obsessed with holding his balloons.

Ironically, even though I prefer Diego Rivera to Frida, it was pictures of her room during illness that I found the most moving.  In the arts and in life, I always have more empathy for those who give back to others selflessly rather than indulging in their own feelings too much.  Diego painted murals in Mexico that inspired the working and indigenous classes - Frida laid in bed, felt sorry for herself, and produced some beautiful things.  

So when I saw these photographs of her life, I was moved for the first time by her struggle.  Perhaps because when a photograph is taken, it is someone outside of you who cares about your journey.  That kind of human caring is more tender and delicious than anything you can tell the world about yourself.

"Don't forget about me, my love" is embroidered on her pillow.

At the end of the visit, I tried to treat Friday to some personal hanky-panky.

I thought maybe this would help her situation.

 One of the most startling murals was one that was actually egocentric.  It is called "Man, Controller of the Universe."  It is simple, a man in charge of a futuristic plane that is gliding on the air currents of history.  The mural is full of impressions of the past, the roaring 20's, Leon Trotsky, and important moments of the such.

I suppose that is what we are intended to look at but.  But I could not take my eyes off of the man's face.

He looked scared out of his wits.

Maybe controlling the universe or even your own universe is more calmity than calm.  But in him it had transpired into profound sadness.  The world had started to borrow out of the library of his soul.

 The hiking has continued.  Here I am in the rain on a Saturday morning in a banana poncho in Bukhasan National Park in northern Seoul.  The saying goes "Some people feel the rain.  Others just get wet."  It is attributed to Bob Dylan and also to Bob Marley and more authentically to Roger Miller.

Whichever intuitive person with good things to say came up with this, I am always in the first part of that equation.

One of the most interesting parts of the hike was visiting a temple that lay at its base.  Our hike leader told me that the bells in Korea are special because they are the equivalent to Japanese pagodas.  By this he meant that they distinguish Korean temples from other holy architectural spaces.  And also were produced at a time when resources were abundant.  We journeyed into one such "bell tower," someone rang it, and perhaps they were not supposed to.  But it's so tempting.

These are my impressions in pickled jars.  

I feel more awake than I have in a very long while.  Maybe it's because I slept off my past impressions this past weekend.  Or maybe it's because I feel like I have found things in my life that make me stable and therefore free to embrace life again.

It's strange how that all comes about when you are least expecting it.

Below is a photo of me being taught by a younger version of myself.

I am being guided in the right direction by the things that made me tick as a little girl.

It's a... sweet thing.

Signing off for now,

The Biggest Jar of Them All