The Moth to a John Wick-Reiki Candle Flame, Nickel Creek, & Pulaski at Night

Matthew would make me late for Judgment Day, I thought to myself as I sat beside him in the car. And in doing so would cause me to forfeit my spot in heaven to some amoral shmuck who had snuck in a last-minute repentance to God, securing his entry to paradise. And I would stand, relegated to some purgatory, watching the pearly gates close in my face as Saint Peter turns an cartoonishly large key, uttering "We've got a wait". And he'd smile sheepishly as I'd March off to semi-eternal damnation. Matt's lack of urgency during these airport drop-offs and ease is naturally infuriating for me. It's younger brother privilege, having women worry around you while being able to remain perfectly calm. I'm aware responsibility is the hallmark of older sisterhood. I envy him and my brothers Jonas, Germ, and Jos. They have the luxury of flying by the seat of their pants.

I called Jonas, the night before from the Alamo Theatre to let him know John Wick is still the best action movie we've ever seen. I think of us during a better time in life, sitting in his living room in Florida, watching the entire trilogy in a day and a half. CPTSD has surprised me, a Russian Doll of debilitating symptoms. I'm seldom able to watch TV or movies anymore. I can manage in theatres, but even so, I'm always filled with a sense of dread, the fight or flight activated in my body. I watched, according to my Lettberboxd, 87 movies in the past year. In the 8 months, I've watched 8. It took me three tries to watch some of these in full. I struggle to get through even favorites of mine. ADHD is often a comorbidity of Complex PTSD, but I'm not ready for another earth-shattering diagnosis. I'll ignore it for now and talk about how great the visual effects are, something easy to focus on.

Mom says keep on moving, turn to God. I gifted someone with my Joy and Healing Reiki candles last year, a mistake, even moreso now as I was the one now ironically in need of both. The lady at Karma Nepal told me they had sold out of both candles. I think this is a bad sign of the times. But selfishly, it's nice to know that it's not just me, it's everybody - Weyes Blood. Reiki candles and horoscopes used to be a lighthearted activity I'd engage in half heartedly, poking fun at them as woo woo shit. But out of necessity, I've leaned all the way in to the Woo Woo, paying light attention to shifts in the cosmos, stocking up on more Reiki candles than can fit in my cabinet drawer, saying Psalms my mother sends me. I talked to a Shaman who sensed a "tender heart" energy. I'd take anything that'd give me a sense of hope or a sense of safety. I tap on my shoulders, light my candles, and pray to any God that will listen. The trauma is breaking down my body. I am limit for chronic pain and cortisol. I do what I can to push through, but I often think of this line in Frank Ocean's Godspeed wondering Was this the mountain that I couldn't move?

It's pervasive. Sitting in the theatre watching John Wick, I felt the fear too, the cortisol rise in the Alamo Theatre . Wick's blind friend turned foe, people you trust turning into your antagonists, causing your demise. I hate making these stupid associations, having these ridiculously painful reactions. Wynn, my friend, looked over at me as I did the tapping exercises, trying to calm my nervous system, as I kept my eyes firmly planted on the screen. I'm bad at it , but I still mask, trying for some fake sense of normalcy. CPTSD, depression, severe anxiety etc, these aren't on any comprehensible run of the mill emotional spectrum. They are not imaginable. They must be lived through to really be understood. I knew tiny versions of these things as feelings, manageable, routine, easy to move through and remedy, but not as states of being, as cripples, uncontrollable corruptions in the source code. You will never be able to understand what it is to sit still and suffer in quiet madness until you're there.

I think the events of the past year have corrupted my outlook. I stopped rooting for John Wick. In reality, he's just a man whose selfish quest has put countless lives in jeopardy causing an endless trail of destruction behind him. Like Barry, Joe Goldberg, the other beloved anti-heroes, Wick in a lot of ways is just a man trying to escape accountability, the outcome he is fated to meet. While he is not as "wicked" as his psychotic counterparts in the male anti-hero genre, he is nonetheless as destructive, destroying countless lives in his death-defying ego-driven crusade against the High Table. He's not fighting for any cause other than himself. I found that interesting, as they used so much French Revolution imagery as a backdrop to the power struggle between Wick and High Table. But, it's a revolution that by and large benefits one man. And so, when he dies in the end, you wonder what even was the point. All of the deaths, the lives taken, and destroyed as a result of his feud with the High Table, what did it actually mean?

As an aside, I have high praise for this film. I will say the club scene reminiscent of the first club/bath house scene in the first John Wick movie was so visually impressive and stimulating. Beautiful lighting even well choreographed, movements lightly unbridled but still somewhat uniform. I will be thinking about for days, the aerial bird's eye shots of his fight sequence going through the French apartment building. Absolutely unforgettable. Hand the production designers and cinemographers an Oscar immediately. I will write a separate essay on the use of gold in the film, and French Revolution and classic French themes. But overall, brilliantly clever stunt and fight choreography. Great infusions of humor. Amazing film.

Harking back to the end, perhaps Wick's death which ultimately secures freedom for his friends, is the worthy penance for all the destruction that's followed him. In death, he sets them somewhat free (obviously never fully free in the rigid hierarchy and untamed power of the High Table) - Jesus Wick?

The renaissance of my spiritual fanaticism has me on quest trying to soak up any bit of dogma or doctrine that is the least bit liberating, after feeling so trapped and powerless (you have no power flashback) in so many other places. I remember the powerful voice of Paulette, sex worker, Christian, immigrant slamming her words , powerfully and masterfully at the Brooklyn Poetry Slam this week. I blast Nickel Creek's Celebrants album through my apartment triumphantly. Andy Shauf and Nickel Creek are constantly flooding my ears. My favorite song Goddamned Saint, I writhe my hips, flip my hair, tap my shoulders as Alexa blasts : A trickle of light shone in from where I hadn't been.... That we can only change someone as much. As we're willing to be changed." It's a beautiful exploration of the feeling of finding faith , something to believe but watching how that same conviction can become a force for division.

This morning, I find liberation walking on a Chicago street listening to Pulaski at Night. It feels counterintuitive. I like feeling against the grain, free in a tiny contradiction. As I walk through the street, I remember this story I heard at the Moth members' show. I've listened to dozens of stories from the Moth as its been favorite podcast for years. But this story sticks with me. It was about a woman who had been caught in a deadly plane crash that had killed everyone on the plane including her then fiancée. She wandered around, with a broken leg eventually settling in some spot in the wilderness. In the backdrop of abject pain and suffering , she didn't think of those who had passed behind her, the loss of the love of her life, she could only think about how beautiful the forest was, the lushness the green sprouting around her. When she was finally rescued, she returned to the forest years later, remarking at how average it now looked. It is amazing the things the mind does to survive the horrors. We fixate on the good, make grandiose displays out of the mundane. We see the positives, focus on the foliage in the midst of tragedy because we need to to survive : The Nickel Creek song, the carefree ease of little brothers, the Reiki Candles, John Wick, and Pulaski at Night. This week, I'm holding them all.