The Weight of Memories

The weight of your memories can only embrace you for a little while before you let that furniture go.

Ilyssa Goldsmith, Goodbye (Hello),
”Beloved”
Miranda by John William Waterhouse

I’ve been thinking about how all our memories occupy a space in our minds and in our hearts, composing a sizable print of who we are — an endless cycling of people who loved us, who harmed us, who said beautiful and monstrous words, too.

What I mean by this is that we are the amalgamation of all the people who have come into our lives, for their imprint will stay with us to our very dying day. And, perhaps, this might sound dark or ill-brooding when pressed to the page, but I honestly don’t believe it to be that way.

See, I was discussing the weight of our memories with my friend Sierra yesterday and was caught by this idea. Oftentimes, we see healing pressed as a linear journey set with distinct trail markers. We are told to leave the past behind and to forget the weight of our memories at each passing juncture, but I don’t believe we should forget our memories.

I don’t think we should forget the memories of those who said one kind word  to us in one moment and another cruel word to us in the next moment. This, in the end, is the contrast, which comprises every moment of our lives. As human beings, I believe we are meant to sit with the moments, which made us feel good — the tender ones of first kisses, of late nights and early twilight conversations.

And yet, we are meant to sit with the weight of specters, too: of harsh words meant to sting, of the disappointments, which have marked us in the past by those we cherished as well.

Here lies the very principle of our lives. It is an act of proper unfoldment. It is to say I may not linger with you or keep you in my life, but I will remember you. 

I will honor you. 

I will cherish you because you have made me who I am today.

And to live in bitterness or to scorn the space of all these memories would be to say I might as well not have lived to this very day.

Desiccated Moth

In Healed Ford Fusion: Desiccated Moth⁣
By Ilyssa Goldsmith⁣

Recovered moth — desiccated in healed Ford Fusion (K-95 mask on)⁣

For the man who walked over to Albertson’s to pick up his lunch ⁣
I contemplated your meal of choice and its commonality⁣

Now a black mask (curtain) and memorial candle lies on your service desk⁣
Service (were you in service to others when they serviced you) ⁣

In death⁣

Today, they return to their work (on bodies of cars in need of reorientation to this world) ⁣

My Dad’s car could not breathe cold air (onto me)⁣
And now you cannot breathe (and be reserviced in this life) ⁣
I contemplate the mechanics of this contemplation — of bodies and bodies and bodies (and cars and cars and cars)⁣

And now you⁣
I don’t know you ⁣
I don’t know you⁣

But I knew you⁣
And I know you⁣

And now a black mask lies over your desk (in memorial)⁣
A permanent mark for the man who did not wear a mask (who was kind)⁣
Who made cars breathe⁣
until he could no longer breathe⁣

And now you⁣
I don’t know you⁣
But I know you⁣

I say as I recover a desiccated moth in my ⁣
Dad’s car ⁣

Can I Be Candid With You?

I’ve been contemplating this tarot reading I did for a quick glance at the year ahead and how when I arrived at these cards they made no sense.⁣

In December, I was confused in many regards. The future appeared uncertain and insurmountable to me. I felt like it had power over me — a restless wind and I was a Paper sail to be spun about by its whims. ⁣

I stared at these cards, asking what meaning they had to impart to me. Who was I? And what power did these cards have over me in my life and endeavor for meaning?⁣

Months later, I arrived at a new understanding of meaning for myself and my soul as we arrive at the conclusion of 2021 in nearly three months.⁣

Crazy to believe, isn’t it?⁣

Every decision I made has led me to this moment of unfolding. This moment of courage. This moment of creativity — to say, ah yes, here I am.⁣

This time, I can be Candid with you.

Goodbye (Hello) Leaves More Leaves

Goodbye (Hello) — my first full-length poetry collection is now officially out in hardcover as well.

For those readers who would love to add more leaves to their collection or enjoy the crisp feeling of a hard paperback, in their collection, consider the feeling of adding this lofty leaf to your collection.

I, personally, love the feeling of a hardcover book in my collection. There’s a feeling of antiquity about it as I keep a copy of my favorite books in hardcover. Plus, let’s be real here, when I really desire a back (back in the old days when I was a child; imagine that!?) I used to purchase books I truly desired in hardcover first because consumerism forced me to.

In this manner, I collected many many books in hardcover before the soft cover release a year later.

Luckily enough, this isn’t a requirement for you. Perhaps, it’s a matter of some consumerism (as most matters are these days), but it is also a choice in pleasure.

So, enjoy this new leaf I’ve gathered for you.

Goodbye (Hello)

Riddle #2

Downstairs by Arthur Hughes

Dear Reader,

I’ve crafted a clever series of riddles with Easter eggs in preparation for the release of my first linked collection of short stories: The Council of Amara.

Here’s the second riddle. Follow the journey (with tons of goodies) on my Instagram.

BSYLI
⁣⁣
Riddle 2
⁣⁣
In order to recover my name, turn to page 22 of Goodbye (Hello) and contemplate these words;⁣⁣
⁣⁣
An Oracle.⁣⁣
A Prophet. ⁣⁣

Until we meet again,

Ilyssa

Trust

Light At End Of Tunnel by Michal Vařečka

Repeat after me: I trust and surrender to the magnificent flow of life.

Today has been challenging for me. I’ve been met by specters of the past — doubt and a nameless kind of fear about my future and the birth of my newest aspirations — to write and live in the place where the lioness lay.

So, I’ve chosen to breathe through these shadows and fears and surrender to what is out of my hands and placed within the divine flow of consciousness. I believe in G-d — the magical, the mystical, the wondrous, and the unseen and I know even when I doubt that all is going according to plan.

Take some time for yourself today and dedicate it to play.

What does this look like for you? What does it feel like to trust and surrender to your heart and your wildest desires?

For me, it feels like breathing, dancing, and listening to good music.

For me, it feels like putting on my favorite fragrance and meditating.

For me, it feels like trust.

How will you surrender to the flow of life today?

Pressing Publish

Today marks the official release of my Dad’s novel: Retrieval. I feel honored to hold space for my Dad and have been incredibly honored to make my Dad’s lifelong dream a reality.

In July, I decided to publish my first full-length poetry collection. This action, in turn, inspired my Dad to pursue his dreams and make them a reality. With my help with digital know-how and formatting, I helped my Dad finally hit that publish button yesterday and I can’t tell you how humbling that feels.

I’ve been mulling over these feelings for quite some time, so I thought I’d put them to the page now. I can’t tell you how honored I feel to have inspired another to go after their dreams after years of conceding to the whims of the traditional publishing industry who deemed my Dad’s manuscript not worthy.

For many years, I was in a similar boat as my father. I thought I would never publish if I couldn’t walk through the golden gates of traditional publishing.

And yet, here we both are now, victorious, with our words written on the page and now in your hands.

Thank you.

A Multitude of Drops

Anne Birch by George Romney — My favorite painting at the Phoenix Art Museum

The last time I was at the Phoenix Art Museum with my friend, I was at odds with myself and the hundreds of years of creation isolated between the art museum’s walls.

I kept thinking to myself, why me? Why did I choose to be creative in this life when I am constantly reminded of the usefulness of other paths and careers.

At that time, I bemoaned my creativity — wished to be different, in fact. If only I could live a life in pursuit of something technical or scientific, I kept saying.

Now, a few months later, my perspective has radically changed. How lucky I am to live this life — to create art and share it with you, the stranger from a near-far distance.

How lucky I am to be the amalgamation of all the artists and creators who came before me. How lucky I am to live a life where my words can create a ripple in the ocean.

“Yet what is any ocean, but a multitude of drops,” David Mitchell writes in his masterpiece of a novel, Cloud Atlas. And how true he is.

I’ve been thinking of those who’ve been considered the literary greats — Walt Whitman, Bram Stoker, Sappho, Emily Dickinson; the list continues on ad infinitum.

I’ve been thinking of how Whitman spoke of equality — of Bram Stoker’s candid declarations of affection to Whitman and how anyone, including you, can touch someone with your words.

I think it’s rather lovely to hold this space for you, whoever you may be, across this liminal space. My words may not be pressed between a physical page, but I believe they’ve touched someone in the ether.

And in the end, that’s worth it.

Thank you.

-Ilyssa

Oceanic Memories in Art

I’ve been thinking lately about my legacy in these poems and words I press to the page.

One of my favorite musicians, Zella Day, once spoke to the oceanic nature of her songs and how in time she will collect a catalogue of pressed moments, which she can return to any time.

Now, as I near the next poem of my life, I think fondly back on the catalogue I’ve created thus far within my poetry. It’s rather beautiful how I can return to any poem I’ve written, or any work for that matter, and find something new every time.

In the end, this is what I love about art in all its multifaceted forms. I love how artists show up for their art every day. I love how people can find some new interpretation in the words, which I press to the page (and the words you may press to the page).

I love how I can go to an art gallery and connect so viscerally with a portrait painted hundreds of years ago. And I love how I can meet you in this hour, without ever touching you in the physical realm.

That’s why I show up every day in my life. That’s why I show up in my art.

I do it because that’s what it means to live well and to preserve a moment in time for eternity.

Unexpected Leaves at TSA

This morning, as I made my way to the airport, I was in a rush, surrounded by metallic drab grays and blues with insincere faces and the imminent will of the clock speeding me up.

I reached for my great grandmother’s gold necklace and fixed it onto my neck, combatting a headache and a sleepy daze, which I hadn’t been able to shake since last night.

I’m going home, I kept thinking.

As I rifled through my pockets at the TSA station, I discovered this memento I stowed away days ago from Yosemite Park. Instantly, it brought a smile to my face and made me remember, just like that, the divinity of this moment.

I’ll close off this note by wishing you well on your journey. Make sure you pack spare leaves and mementos as you traverse the darkest corners and emerge brilliant and golden with everything to show for it.

-Ilyssa