My insides these days are not as consistent as the Brussels weather, which has consistently been overcast and lightly drizzling all week. We had a storm last night and for the first time since I’ve been back from Dublin last Sunday the clouds parted, this afternoon. A peekaboo (above) just in time before leaving for Ljubljana and Prague. But I am going through a divorce and my guts and everything under my ribcage feels like they are changing places: “Oop, this is my stop. Oh, no wait, not this one. Yours? Excuse me. Can you hand me my bag. Thank you. Sorry, wrong bag… Tha… Sir? Sir, that one. No, the red, pulsing one! Wait, stop! Come back with that!!!”

Where are you? Will I find you behind the scarves or the hanging meat? Will I find you for sale when I find you? A knife in you, barely beating or high, about to crash? Cleaned, drying on a rack, waiting for the midnight bustle to calm? You will be playing with children, maybe, hopefully not as the ball, but as one of them again. You are also rolling by the curb, mixed with the wastewater and lost money(which you should pocket because we could use it). Oh, sacred thing, like Jesus among the prostitutes, collectors, and dealers. And when I find you will you forgive me? Even if I can promise you nothing… Alle, alle! Go for your walks in the woods. Go for your cries in the woods. Pass the teenagers drunk and the police sober. Pass the ruins of gamblers and tents of clowns. Go find the dirt and the trees that eat signs. Sit there. For me, us. I will will try to remember to drop my shoulders, relax my ribs for when you are ready. When this house is empty of legions and ready again for you. It will happen. Trust me, don’t trust me. It will happen.

I somehow feel like all my history is coming to my door but not in the nostalgic way which I’m used to. In ways that are more like the T-1000! Rejoining after you’ve cut it in half, now a spike for a hand! It’s not evil like that, but my history is also me. The crumb trail I am leaving behind, the link to who I am, is more like seeds than roots, it seems. I see people I love root-forming. Children, husbands, wives, dogs, houses, yards, philosophies, chickens, retirement plans, children, traditions, children, doctorates, children, timeshares, children, children, children, children, children, children. I guess they are seeds, too, but children need parent-roots to grow in between. Unlike the seed I leave behind. My poetry, my dance, my music, my stories and thoughts. I was trying to cultivate a garden. One that had seen a storm. One that had roots. I go out with friends for drinks now. I travel the world. I hold no schedule. I perform. I rest. I start over. None of these things bad, I just feel tired sometimes. But there is also singing and the sun did peek out today. Speaking of drinking, time for some! Don’t worry, mom.

I get to the hostel I am staying at for the next tonight’s, Isaac’s, eating some toast and marmalade and the first song to play when I sit down, “Nothing Compares 2 U.” Held my breath for something off Joshua follow to follow.

I’m running on the hour and a half of sleep I got on the plane ride here; my flight left at 6:50 which meant I had to leave the house at four. It’s cold here. But I guess people don’t come to Dublin for the weather. What do they come here for? Whiskey? Guinness? I guess the reason I wanted to be here a few days before the rest of the company was for the Irish, the people.

I went through a period in high school where I was fully enchanted by anything Irish, this was around the time the movie Far and Away came out. Not ashamed to say I fully enjoyed that movie. It was also a time that I would sit in my room burning incense and reading Ray Bradbury and Michael Crichton under my black light and glow-in-the-dark ceiling of stars with the Cranberries yodeling in the background of my consciousness at about the decibel level of a garbage disposal. I went through a similar phrase in college, albeit everything African.

So, now I am In Ireland for the first time! I would love to travel the western part of the country and experience those cliffs(I will be back for that), but today and tomorrow I’ll get to know the city a little and its people and probably a bit of its whiskey. By recommendation of a genuine ginger Irish friend I’ll probably feed the ducks in Stephens’ Green:

“Dublin can be heaven with coffee at eleven and a stroll in Stephens’ Green”

I already had a cup of coffee. Any more on this little sleep will just make me feel anxious. Now I wait for my laundry I couldn’t do yesterday since I came back from Holland in the late afternoon. Maybe I take a nap, like the girl on the couch. Gather, gather, gather steam for the pub crawl later tonight.

I’ve been wanting one for a while. I am in Holland in the city where What The Body Does Not Remeber first premiered: Haarlem. I haven’t made it into a “cafe” but I did find  a decent ukulele for 40 EUR. This really is a nice city. Quiet, but alive. Walked through a great market and bought some tasty olives and smoked fish(so good). And came across a church that is straight out of Game of Thrones!

Grote Kerk, Haarlem

Anyway, I’ve already learned the first two songs it seems are uke standard, Iz’s “Somewhere Over The Rainbow” and Ingrid’s “You and I.” It totally relaxed me before the show and had a great show, I think, because of it. Excited to learn more!