| Seattle has drifted through my subconscious for years, it seems. The stirring first came to me in 1991, upon hearing two aunts speak of their holiday, during which “it rained all the time.” Then again in 1995 when I awoke one day with the thought that my then boyfriend, Daved, and I ought head to San Francisco where we’d spend a week exploring the city, before heading up along the coast to Oregon, then Washington, eventually arriving in Seattle. We never did make that trip, but Seattle remained simmering, a seed planted in the fields of my mind.After a somewhat less than favourable holiday in Austin last summer, I logged on to find the Space Needle and one suspects part of my future staring me in the face. It was linked to piece listing Seattle as one of the nations “ten best” cities. Without a moments thought, I’d set things in motion for my autumn holiday to be spent there. The summer was turbulent, and there were many obstacles, making my holiday seem it would remain no more than a fond dream. As it’s usually wont to do, at the last minute the universe aligned, and to my great pleasure one day last October, I found myself blessed to look out upon a cloud capped Mt. Ranier, and later the Space Needle and downtown Seattle from above. Less than two hours later, I stood on the observation deck of the Space Needle with my then best friend, marveling at the splendor before us. As a tanker moved through Elliot Bay far below, I took his arm, and said to him: “Eric, we must be here.” Inexplicably, I had the oddest feeling of having come home.Studying photos from the period, it is apparent that I was searching for something, a connection with Seattle that I didn’t feel with those encountered thus far, many of whom seemed wary and distant, if not entirely unfriendly.A few days into our stay, on a lovely dark and rainy afternoon, as we split outside the Museum of Art, and I set out for Pike Place Market in search of lunch, it finally happened. A wet scarf blew in from the street, carried on a cold gust of wind, seemingly crawling across the sidewalk, coming to a tentative halt a few feet ahead of me. Kneeling down, I took note of it’s lovely autumn colors and Native American pattern. Words fail me in describing what happened next. Closing my eyes, I felt a measure of peace come over me, and overcome with emotion, whispered my thanks to Seattle for the gift. Returning to the flat that night, I gently washed and laid it out to dry. Today it sits neatly folded next to my jewelry box, a powerful reminder of the place Seattle holds in my heart.Weeks after my return, the Emerald City still haunted my sleeping and waking states. Many nights, unable to sleep, I stood on my balcony, heart and mind wistfully drawn across the miles. Often at work I found myself looking out our ninth floor windows from which one has a rather good view of the sprawl leading to the Texas hill country eighteen miles beyond, only to discover it replaced by an expanse of gray water bordered by mountains. My friends find this a charming quirk, a passing fancy, but deep within, Seattle has come to mean home, and nothing shall change that. Holding precious stones gathered from the shore of Lake Union close to my heart, I am transported back to that rocky beach where I knelt in silent prayer to the native spirits very much still present. Lately I’ve come to wonder if it wasn’t always there, patiently awaiting the day I would “feel” the yearning to return. Quite honestly, that’s just what it feels like. Even if a year and almost 2,000 miles away, I must answer this calling. Until then, I seek ways to transfer within my company to our office on Bainbridge Island, have sought ways of honing my skills that I may more than stay afloat in the less than solid job market, and am returning to college to begin the long-delayed pursuit of my dreams.Sometimes I find myself wondering if my vivid memories of Seattle were no more than a dream, but then I experience sensory recall of walking down Broad to the waterfront after midnight in the biting cold, the aroma of freshly baked pumpkin cake at Starbucks in Pacific Place, standing across from Pike Place Market, gently swaying in the cool night air to Dave Matthews Band’s “Crash Into Me,” the near mystical melody carried on a shaft of yellow light from an unknown shop just beyond an almost shut steel bay door. As time callously moves on, my recollections seemingly part of another life, my heart and mind open a door in time, and I am there once more. It doesn’t take much effort, as all I need do is go deep within, touching the bit of emerald carried home with me.Recently, during a less than ideal day at the office, I found myself gripped by the most wonderful feeling, completely turning my day around. All the troubles of late which had weighed most heavily upon my mind, a recent heartbreak, the seemingly insurmountable hurdles I face in order to return to Seattle, and the power-mongering madness possessing many of my alleged co-workers…evaporated into the thoughts of yesterday. Looking out at the bright blue of the Texas sky, I smiled, comforted in the knowledge that one day soon I would be coming home.
- Kassandra A., 5th July, 2002 Latenight musings: Seattle I can’t sleep tonight. Seattle is on my mind, and in my heart. As I sit here listening to the almost ethereal Ivy’s “Undertow” I am comforted by that languid feeling ones body has when drifting between the realms of waking and dream; as well as a softly silent sensuality. The miles and mountains separating me and the emerald city vanish when I am quiet and close my eyes. The fears of late have gone. Something has changed, and it began in Seattle. I can’t quite explain it, but I am sleeping again. I am also willing to face the fear of once more opening my heart. This i am doing quite gently, as one would handle a tender artichoke. Sorrow and pain can come of this, but finally I understand that that is part of the joy I am coming to feel now. Years ago, I heard this expressed between Joy Gresham and C.S. Lewis (Debra Winger and Anthony Hopkins) in the remarkable “Shadowlands” but never quite understood it’s meaning. Stood out on my balcony almost an hour ago. Looked out into the night sky, and imagined what it must be like right now, so very far away, and yet so close. I remembered the view across the rooftops of the dark gleaming structures from the windows in his flat. I’m still standing with him at the monorail station a block away, the next morning. The hope in his eyes both haunts and comforts me. I rewrite this scene in my mind, in my heart. “Should I set the alarm for eight?” he asked. “No, don’t. I need to stay awake and leave for home by six.” What I was really thinking, what I knew, was that if he did so, we’d sleep in and I’d awaken late, my best friend long gone, leaving me stuck in Seattle, no job or place of my own…but that was, and is, what I truly wanted. And why had I begun referring to Seattle as home? I noticed that days earlier, when Eric and I were downtown, splitting to go our separate ways. “See you back at the flat,” “Let’s meet up at home later…” We said these things quite commonly, with no thought given their deeper meaning. I’m happy that this began before we met. If I move cross-country, I don’t want it to be for any other reason than me feeling it is where I should be. Any move is over a year away, yet I have the feeling of pages turning in a book. I had to come back, I now realize, as there were many books to be closed, some yet barely written. I’ll try to sleep again. In an hour it shall be time to start the day anew. I’m still standing on that platform, the carriage long departed. Yielding to the intimacy between us, accepting the caress of his eyes and his tender, nervous, kiss. I think I’ll walk back to the flat with him and sleep, the scene rewritten. - Kassandra A., 28th October, 2001 |
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