Great Blue Heron
A thought about bodies—Bodies of water, bodies of land, bodies of beings, bodies of light.
Theodore Zeldin said, “History is the account of all human experience and philosophy is the attempt to make sense out of that, discover what is a full life—what is worth doing using the experience of the past. Not to obtain lessons but to obtain provocation of the imagination.” At one end there is a tendency towards obedience, the following of rules—imitation. On the other, there is provocation of the imagination. Creating relationships that haven’t been created before—interconnected bodies reflecting an object, converting to heat. To think of ourselves as bodies of heat living in this specific time is a mistake. We dream of what doesn’t happen, we dream of what could happen if we let our light refract—travel across optical densities, encounter unique boundary behaviors—new mediums, new obstacles.
She couldn’t remember if it was an elk or a caribou. She had no idea which one climbed in the bed with her and her partner that night. When she asked him about it, her partner, he looked at her with that scrunchy baffled smile he reserved for misused words or annunciations. He started to speak, but before he got his question out she began explaining what it was she thought he was asking. When she did this, started preemptively explaining something he hadn’t asked her to explain, assumed she knew where he was going with his words, refused to wait for him to get out his own statement—his response varied. When he wasn’t in the mood for her “unnecessary emails”, that’s what he called them when he was feeling playful, “Tiki,” he’d laugh, “why are you sending unnecessary emails?” And she’d smile, curl her face around the inners of his neck and breathe. But, when he wasn’t in the mood he’d use a voice of quiet assertion, “Hey, hey,” he’d interrupt, “Stop. I didn’t ask you to explain anything—I haven’t even gotten my question out.” And she’d know what she’d done because she’d done it so many times before and they’d had the discussions about how it felt to him on those bad days—dismissive, controlling, authoritarian. But today he didn’t do either, he took the third route, the route that made her feel close to him, and just listened to see where her brain went. This route was one of the many reasons she fell in love with him. He was always interested in the way her mind worked. Completely enraptured by it, and she’d never in her life met a person who cared in the least about the perusing of her inner world—the place she spent most of her time.
Maybe people are like land and sea—spontaneously smashing together, losing pieces of dirt and coral inside one another. Or, maybe it is all one body connected inside something so vast and luminescent the magnitude of compatibility goes unseen—connectedness hidden by societal misunderstandings and spiritual disbelief. The light only realized for a moment — the eerie softness of a lover's touch.
She started explaining again, this time with free range—”Was it an elk or a caribou who got in bed with us in the night. I can’t quite figure it out.” She said, “I watched you snuggle with it. It had huge horns and its backside was nudged up against your face. You didn’t seem to mind, you just lay there running your hands softly along the edges of its fur.
“Where were you when this was happening?” Her partner interjected as he sipped the fresh juice he’d just made— too much lemon today he said and she reached her hand over letting him know she wanted some. She loved sour juices that made her nose reach for her eyes.
“What else is in it?”
“You tell me.” He said, passing it to her. She took a sip,
“Hmm, obviously lemon and ginger—apple maybe?” He nodded, “Spinach, and maybe, I don’t know, something else but I can’t tell what it is.” she looked at him waiting,
“Good it’s a secret. I can’t give away all my tricks Tiki.” She passed the juice back to him, it was a good day when he called her Tiki.
It had happened before. Someone arose in a dream about a lion and a snake. They orgasmed together—somewhere between land and sea. It was an unwatchable moment riddled in speed and time. A body connected to a body. A light ray passed from air to water—slowed by the weight of salt, a slight change in direction.
“Ok, back to the story, I jumped out of bed scared as hell and was trying to warn you, but you just lay there and eventually you started picking ticks off of it. Wait, Tito . . .” That’s what she called him on good days. “What is a Caribou again? I think it was a caribou but I don’t actually remember what a caribou is?”
“Rangifer Tarandis.” Her partner said casually, “It's a deer with circumpolar distribution typically found in mountainous regions” He looked at her and started laughing, “A reindeer Tiki, it’s a reindeer.” She rolled her eyes,
“Thank you. I mean come on—circum-pole what?” Her partner knew all the weird scientific categorizations for things, he uncannily spoke the jargon of many different academic sectors — another reason she was enthralled with him.
Or they have become a bland simulacrum of past memory. Something regurgitated—used to court a lover and feed their eventual young. Predatory flowering—a carnivorous plant that receives nutrients by trapping and capturing, blossoming at the end of long stalks—bilaterally symmetrical flowers with fused petals. Conspicuous mechanisms designated as active or passive.
“Ok. So let’s just say it was a caribou, the name sounds mystical in itself and this creature was definitely mystical.” Her partner was laughing, “What Tito, what?”
“Here we go with the mysticism.” He put his hand on his stomach and his laugh turned into a raucous cackle. “You know what’s mystical?” He said between breaths,
“What Tito.” He could hardly get it out. “The tt . . .” Big breath, “The Tiki Tuchus.” He got up and put his arms around her body, laying his hands gently on her backside and squeezed. “That’s right,” he said, “The Tiki Tuchus—that’s all the mysticism I can handle.” He brought his forehead down to hers and they stayed there, skin to skin, for a few soft moments.
Whether aquatic or terrestrial there are tightly packed leaf bases surrounding the membrane of these intricate bodies. Sunlight hits what looks like raindrops causing an electromagnetic spectrum—a meteorological phenomena catalyzed by extreme amounts of reflection and refraction. There are majestic, multicolored bows that appear and disappear like waves. And then, it goes dark.
I love you, she said.
I love you too.
Transmissions 2022—excerpt from Tito & Tiki
Birds-Eye-View Spotlight Artist
If you want more from The Birds — Check out Joya Bravo— Eclectic powerhouse performer Joya Bravo combines her Jamaican roots, Atlanta upbringing and her native New York style in all of her unique performances. This vocalist, rapper, actress and classically trained violinist has traveled to, and done music work in many countries and states including Brazil, Germany, the UK, Japan, Atlanta, Los Angeles and of course New York City. She has been fortunate to have many large brand partnerships and performances under her belt including but not limited to McDonalds, Mazda, Target, Kipling, Diesel, Facebook, Carnegie Hall, DEMOS.org, New York Fashion Week, and HSBC Bank. From the big stage to the subway, Joya Bravo is putting in the work to create a foundation for global success! Her violin performances consist of timeless classics, and todays hit music. Joya Bravo brings her talents to the public, creating spaces where people of all walks of life can, for a moment, forget the hustle and bustle of New York living, to embrace the connection with people they otherwise would not have. This is Joya Bravo’s truest gift and greatest joy. This Jamaican American multi-genre, eclectic talent pushes the boundaries of the usual and the expected, to continue to normalize the melting pot culture that America truly is. Stay tuned and connect with her journey by subscribing to her YouTube page: youtube.com/joyabravomusic, or her instagram: @joyabravo where she announces her upcoming performances.
