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About the Author
- MartaSzabo
- Woodstock, NY, United States
- I think that writing memoir is the most potent action I can take in this world. When I sit down to write – not an easy place to get to – I feel all my energies and abilities come into one focus, one laser point – I feel like a bird, pausing in mid-air, then plummeting down into the waves, intent on that one fish that will save it. I write, then come up for air, then look at what I have unearthed. It usually looks like just a handful of dust, not worth much. I could easily toss it out and forget about it. But I don’t. Not anymore. I add it to the pile. I am not sure what I am building, but this is all I have. For some reason, it is my most precious thing, the one thing that feels purely my own.
1 comment:
As I reach a new place in my closure with SY, this has been on my mind: who could possibly still be in South Fallsburg and what could they possibly be doing?
I still receive the mass emails; don’t know why I haven’t removed myself – or haven’t been removed – from the list. Maybe I’m just waiting to see when they stop coming; waiting for some final signal it’s officially over – for me and for them.
The images of South Fallsburg as a ghost town and the Mandap as deserted are bleak, chilling. They recall for me somewhat The Overlook Hotel in Stephen King’s The Shining and read like a scene from a movie:
Our lead character stands in the middle of the empty, cavernous Mandap, hears the hollow, haunting echoes of discordant mantras, feels the cold filmy marble beneath her feet. To her right, Gurumayi’s chair sits covered in a dusty muslin tarp, a few stray audio-visual extension cords, discarded like dead snakes, lie on either side. Above hangs what was once a technicolor portrait of Baba, bleached sepia by the sun. Images from past celebrations – dancing saptahs, darshan lines, laughter, weeping – flash across the screen and dissolve back into each other one by one until once again the Mandap appears in a longshot, deserted.
Marta, if at some later date Gurumayi contacted you and asked to participate in one of your writing workshops, would you accept her as a student?
That’s a memoir, if written authentically, I’d like to read.
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