The Depressionist Letters and Poetics

Macchu Picchu: We live on a planet

2010-04-25T23:02:00.000+02:00

For Shane

When I was a child I would sit down on a hill slope in front of my cousins house and look at the skyline. My parents had rented an apartment above the garage there and the farm had about 200 acres along with it. I can remember exploring and even more the emotional craving for more exploration, further exploration and solitary exploration. When I would sit and watch the world, like I did on the slope, it would dawn on me beyond the sky was space and planets and stars, but the greatest most thrilling realization was that I, myself, lived on a planet. I had heard of atoms by the age of 4, most likely, and the idea of 'being made of something' entertains me to this day and I thought of the world as an atom building

The world seemed gigantic until I thought about it in terms of the solar system. When my mother and I arrived in Peru, however, the world again seemed gigantic and I felt a part of a colossal, matrioshka-ish, world. Mountains have a way with your self-perception that is similar to the socialist ideal of the relationship of the individual to the community. One is not made insignificant but is somehow put into place by the very sight of the mountains.

It was on the second day of our trip, at the hotel in Cusco that I realized the enormity of the mountains was distilled in the people who breathed the air of the Andes, whether they were native to Peru or not. Our hotel was just off of a quiet square. When we woke up in the morning we went out to 'lobby' of the hotel which was an open air courtyard a man with a quiet smile gently gestured to a tea pot and told us he had just heated some water for tea. When we went over to the tea-stand we saw tea cups, packets and some loose leaves in a woven basket. “Ahh...” I thought, “and there is the famous coca.” It looked so harmless there in its naked unprocessed body. I would come to learn that the relationship that many Peruvians have to coca is very different from those who regulate it. I gladly and freely picked up 3 leaves, as the hotel employee had recommended and dropped them into the steaming water. Before sitting down I took a sip...the taste was strong and strange but not entirely unpleasant. I decided on some sugar, which is raw in Peru, took some extra leaves and sat down with my mom. The gentleman had told us that our travel agency was going to meet with us at 9:00 and so we sat in the sun, relaxing and drinking our tea like the European conquistadors must have done. Part of me felt strange and indulgent even accepting my mom's invitation to come on the trip but I was there for her, as part of her birthday wish and new that I had better just be grateful and light and not let any feelings of guilt influence my ability to enjoy my time with my mother.

Our agent, Allison met us gave us some brochures and things explaining that the day had been fully planned for us but we could do as we pleased. She knew we were both ill with airlessness, oxygen depletion and did not seem surprised when we opted out of the pre-set plans and decided to spend the day on our own terms, photographing and exploring the city. She gave us some ideas for places with interesting photographic subjects, places she enjoyed the most in town. She seemed cool and I found myself wishing she would come with us and hang out with us, talking about her life here; I guess a little part of that wish was the nosy folk-songwriter in me.

We eventually got ready with our cameras and plastic baggies full of coca leaves and left the hotel, a little light on our feet I must say. The coca leaves were supposed to help with indigestion, nausea and diarrhea, and they seemed to be working...kinda. We stepped out into the lower square which opened up to a view that spread out into the surrounding mountains. The mountains that surround Cuzco give the same effect to the bustle of the city as a french horn solo gives to an ensemble piece: they float over everything, slowly, gliding over the faster tempo of people.

We were assaulted by street-vendors just then: Women and children dressed in traditional Inca clothing with real live alpachas, lamas, and baby goats. There is nothing like a baby goat and little girls in brightly colored dresses to bring out the cameras. Snapshots made a symphony of there own in Peru. But...we were professionals, or mom is anyhow. We whipped our our glorious Nikons and began a day filled with colors and sounds of this strange, new world.

Macchu Picchu: flying in

2010-03-20T15:00:00.000+01:00

The day was gray and the gray made the green shine somehow. Freckles of light filtered through the clouds and sparkled on the ground. Mountains and their valleys wandered as far as the eye could. Even from the plane there seemed be no other landscape in the world than this one.
Ahh, Peru...your body was breathtaking, even more than the altitude at which you reside. While, just to see you, would have been plenty, to lay my feet and head on your ground was like coming home.
My mother was smiling as we flew into port, everyone was. We all seemed to float through customs, high on mountain air, high from the lack of oxygen, high, topographically. Cusco airport was small and in the lobby we found a crowd awaiting our plane's arrival, a slew of tourism kiosks and a Peruvian band plucking out Andean rhythms. They were dressed in 'tradition' Andean garb with colors streaming out making the music seem even more lively. Several languages sounded in the mix of chatter. The smell of dust and sun and sweat and spice folded around us, it was not unpleasant, it was warm and inviting and real, like Peru herself. We were met at the airport by the Peru-For-Less crew: the driver, whose name I have forgotten and the travel agent, Allison, who my mother had emailed vigorously with questions, I am sure. They had a good rapport from the get-go. The driver helped us with our luggage and we all loaded the forest-green mini-van, which said, "Peru-For-Less" in white letters on the side.

The drive to our hotel entered us into this new world slowly and calmly. Everything was different there. The street were made with big brown cobblestones. In the main square there were 2 gigantic Spanish cathedrals.We arrived a day or two before new years eve, my mother's birthday and had 3 days to acclimate before we were to begin on the Inka Trail. As we drove into the main square we saw a flood of colorful clothing, some Christmas decorations, including lighted, wire statues of alpacas as well as reindeer. The Andeans really have a thing for alpacas. Their enthusiasm for th alpacas made me enthusiastic about animals too. There were even people from the mountains in Cusco with alpacas and lamas trailing behind them.

When we arrived at the hotel we were tired and jet-lagged and the altitude was beginning to give our bellies and lungs problems. The travel agency had tours planned on that first day. We began a tour of one of the cathedrals, which was filled with paintings from the Renaissance and had a huge, beautiful pipe organ that I wish I could have heard. The pipe organ is as far as we made it before my mother and I called it quits. There were storms swelling in ou stomachs and every step was weighted. We excused ourselves from the group and walked through the fresh, thin Cusco air back to our room and fell fast asleep in our beds.

This is the first post of a series I will be writing about my trip to the Andes. More letters and photos in a couple of days. Thanks for reading.

Birthday Depression

2010-03-10T16:47:00.001+01:00

So I am 29 now. I didn't manage to make any money for the Nature Conservancy but I was reminded that I have more friends than I can count on my fingers. I want to thank everyone for their well wishes.

I have been putting a lot of time lately learning Norwegian. I really enjoy learning a new language because it is rewarding; the more you speak it the better you become at thinking with in. Regardless of the rewards and any enjoyment I get out of the learning process, I still fight with the procrastinator in me every day. It seems so contradictory to love learning yet fight it with such trickery. Ah, but my senses will win!

I think procrastination is a good subject to juxtapose with depression as they play off of each other and begin validating each other. When I am depressed and am thinking without the awareness that I am thinking in a depressed mind I tend to put off projects because I feel tired and heavy, or perhaps even ask myself what the point is.

The Depressionist Letters and Poetics: On Depression

2010-03-08T22:20:00.000+01:00

Blogging is strange. I suspect that no one really reads my blogs but at the same time I can wonder if people stumble upon them, accidentally, and maybe have a good laugh. Rather, they would have a good life if I wasn't a depressionist, writing my way out of the patterns of depression.

I haven't been taking my medication for a couple of days. This is an awful thing to do because I know, every time, that I will end up in a sorry state. But I have trying to save the medicine skipping a day here and two days there because I am worried about being able to afford more. It isn't that expensive here in Norway as the socialist minded government believes in making things available for people. However, my husband and I going through a rough time, having just moved to a new location. It doesn't help that I cannot get job because I don't speak the language well enough. That will all come in due time I suppose. I shouldn't have stopped taking the medicine but each time I do I realize more and more that depression is a disorder. Depression is a mental disorder and no matter how much I or anyone else would like to believe that at the route of it, I am really in control it and can stop if only I 'wanted to', the truth is that I am not and cannot.

I have heard the debates about using medicine from people with spiritual points of view, who say that sickness is an 'energy' and that we can harness this energy (I used to fall into this group), to others who say things like, "well, I get depressed, I've had a tough life, but I go on living without making my problems other people's problems or letting it rule my life." So many people view depression as a state of emotion and a choice. I believed this all myself for a long, long time. I have been struggling with depression since my teen and perhaps earlier. It worsened after I had a cardiac arrest in 1999. And I still deal with it, over and over again. This is not a choice. Yes it's in my head, it's all in my head but that doesn't make it any easier to live with. Everyone who is close to me has to live with it. That puts an unsolicited and a surprise weight on the depressionist. It is an extra reason to feel the need to punish oneself; an extra desire relieve the world of my weightedness.

I hope that last remark doesn't scare anyone, though it does frighten me. I have plenty of will to live but I do feel heavy tonight. I know this feeling will pass and I will go on; I know that I have increadible people in my life; I know that I give plenty to the world; my ability to feel all of that is simply hindered at this time. I always have words to turn me around.

Thanks for listening.