there is a certain alchemy that i think is real, because somehow, something i'd dare call akin to panacea comes about. it's more than scientific, and the only base metals involved in the process might be found in an earring, a button, or a shoe. it's an alchemy of women, together, to talk.
yesterday morning, with a view of close-cropped greens and sand and heavy green branches, a little alchemy was practiced in a haven of atizapán. a book club, a golf course, and a constant stream of coffee. i left three hours later with a gift more valuable than gold: the generosity of mind and spirit, a nascent sense of community.
five years in new york meant five years of crowing over ethnic enclaves and their close-knit communities. little greece in astoria. little poland in greenpoint. little odessa out on brighton beach. the dominican republic up in washington heights. but until this book talk of vargas llosa's trujillo and his dominican domination, i'd been holding myself to a strange double standard; though less about ethnicity and more broadly about being foreign born, i'd spent a good year with no enclave at all. how silly, i realize, to isolate myself. i was ready for some alchemy.
i'm still sipping on the panacea.