Rooftop Ritual

"The real fever of love for the place will begin to take hold upon him. The subtle, insidious wine of New York will begin to intoxicate him. Then, if he is wise, he will go away, any place-yes, he will even go over to Jersey. But if he be a fool, he will stay and stay on until the town becomes all in all to him; until the very streets are his chums and certain buildings and corners his best friends. Then he is hopeless, and to live elsewhere would be death. The Bowery will be his romance, Broadway his lyric, and the Park his pastoral, the river and the glory of it all his epic, and he will look down pityingly on all the rest of humanity."

-Paul Laurence Dunbar
From Richard J. Powell et al, Rhapsodies in Black: Art of the Harlem Renaissance

Everyday, for 3 weeks, I have been looking forward to one particular moment in my day.

I leave work approximately at 6:30, sometimes 7. I walk 20 blocks north, up 3 flights of stairs and into my apartment. I pour myself a glass of wine (last week it was Riesling, this week Cabernet Sauvignon). I then walk up 4 more flights. The stairwell is hot, but I prefer it to the elevator. I like being a little out of breath when I reach my destination. I open the door to the outside and immediately take a mouthful of air. It soothes my slightly suffocated chest. The rooftop is covered with hardened tar and concrete. I arrive just in time to catch remnants of the sun, it cascades colors over and around Manhattan’s jutting structures. The highrises tower over my little 9-story rooftop. I climb up on the ledge, set my wine glass down and take a deep breath. I look all around me. I see the BMW building to the South. Next to it an American flag waves atop a construction site for yet another waterside, luxury condominium. I look west and imagine I can see straight through the building to the Hudson River. I look up and watch planes ascend further into the sky, leaving JFK or LaGuardia. Where are they going? Bangkok, London, Paris, Dubai? I glance downward. I peak. I peak into windows, sometimes. I see legs walking around, laying down, watching reruns of Friends or the evening news (there is something comforting in observing the details of such prosaic deeds).

I think of so many things up there on that rooftop, but mostly I find a brief moment of pristine clarity. Not another soul. Just Me, my glass of Chilean Cab and the City.

I take this moment in, almost everyday, for the past 3 weeks. I recognize where I am and remind myself how amazing it is that I am able to, at any time, have this view. This view of one of the greatest cities in the world, where, for now, I live day to day.

How easy it is to forget.

The Unbearable Lightness of Being - Part I

"What then shall we choose? Weight or lightness?" Kundera poses this question at the beginning of his novel, The Unbearable Lightness of Being.

I’ve been reading it for months now. Stopping at passages, re-reading, dissecting words, trying to understand the encroached philosophies. It begins with Nietzsche’s concept of Eternal Return. The idea that our lives occur over and over again, no escape. Raised in a Hindu home, I’ve been taught that the universe is a cycle and I believe it to be so. Even within our individual lives how often do we truly learn from our mistakes? Patterns exist for a reason. Nature is probably our greatest example, Birth and Death… it will go on forever. This is what is referred to as weight. Life is full of weight. Yet Kundera challenges this and presents us with lightness vs. weight. "What then shall we choose? Weight or lightness?"

I believe one cannot exist without the other, and we each possess either quality. Society would describe men as light. Free of insatiable strain, easily detached. Women will bear weight. Emotionally staunch and overly analytical. However, this is not an absolute paradigm. Kundera’s character Sabina (who I deeply admire and, at my most affected moments, aspire to be) is an extreme example of lightness. She will not be held down by family, love, sex or guilt. I have seen her in certain people in my own life, both women and men. I have also met the character of Tereza in many faces. She is the epitome of weight. Constantly agonizing over her existence. A woman who cannot find her sanity because she struggles with her husbands infidelities (why she didn’t just leave his ass, I have no idea).

For me, this year has been full of release. I was freed of burdens I had no clue were holding me down, until they were gone. A shift took place and I began to embrace lightness. Recently, I allowed myself to connect with someone again. Each day we spoke, we took pleasure in the unknown, and I began to feel lighter. It was swift and potentially volatile. Neither of us held back. And as quickly as it began, it was over. Disheartening? Yes. But from that I realized I am now able to sustain my lightness. I am able to remain relatively unaffected. A year ago I may have tormented myself with the “whys and why nots.” I would be lying if I said I have not asked those questions again – but it is not heavy.

"What then shall we choose? Weight or lightness?" It seems to me that it is not much of a choice, but it is in our nature whether we are heavy or light. Though, in recent times I have acquired a lightness, I am not Sabina. I am innately a woman of weight. I will always love too much, seek more than I should and I will never be able to accept the irreverent ways of man. For now I will float and enjoy my light presence, because I know, as nature would have it, I will return from whence I came.

(Sorry if this post was a little heavy. No pun intended ;-)