Photo by Casey Horner on Unsplash | oxygenate | sanguinemeander

i love pain – not necessarily the surface-infliction of it, but the bowel-deep pain that stirs emotions and kind of throws them all together as they start moving their way out. catharsis ache. i used to resort only to orgasm for this until i discovered that this kind of  pain makes orgasms even better. it takes a little longer, but longer and deeper is the point (girth is nice too — if i’m going there, i am definitely a size queen).

other expressions like this: on an evening last week when i was writing,  shit was getting serious and i was there in that zone when a large and strange spider crawled across my lap. i lost myself and everything went flying with a shriek. there was a moment of limbo, my 1940s art deco coffee table with its original glass panes and a chromebook and time stopped but then nothing connected. the little laptop landed in a papa-san chair full of pillows and the spider jumped or fell to the floor and wandered off to a less chaotic part of the living room and then i collected myself and sat back down, lighter.

another once had its place here in this paragraph but i lost it while writing the last.

ah yes, it was that time my car went spinning on the highway. a friend and i, on a day trip from Portland to the Oregon coast, were coming home when i hit a patch of black ice with near-bald tires. the car spun in circles in slow motion and Ben and i looked at each other calmly as if we might be about to die. the car came to a standstill with its ass stuck in a snowdrift and before i could even call AAA, a Mexican guy pulled over in a very large pickup truck and winched us out and we had faced death with the utmost in resolve and acceptance and ten minutes later we were continuing on back to portland and it was like it never happened and it also changed everything.

i breathe more deeply after having suffered a little. the process of catharsis is a birthing process. the end result, that great release, is where our focus lies. it makes it easy to forget how much it can hurt along the way but somewhere in the trying of that, i figured out how embrace the pain. i learned to love it. it became ecstasy.



and just like that, it starts again.

and so it begins, and so it starts again | Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash | sanguine meander

i’m not sure i was ready. the structure is comforting in many ways, but it also means a numbness that comes from knowing what i am supposed to be doing at any given moment of the day while i am awake.

it makes it hard to do dreamwork at night though. sooner or later, one must stop working. sometimes the brain does its best work when it isn’t being observed but even then, it’s hard to simply go to sleep without purpose. i am tired but i must remember my dreams, it seems, in order to make any use of them at all.

but no, not tonight. tonight, have at it, brain, like you’ve got a pocketful of molly and a hot friend at your side.

(who am i kidding though, i haven’t done that shit in years. it was fun the last time I did, though).

there must still be some fun in me somewhere, with or without the help, but until i can find it again, i’ll settle for fiberglass vessels and friends paddling out over an alpine lake until all the tourists crawling all over the beach are less than ants anymore. They are nearly invisible now and we aren’t watching people feed white bread to wild ducks, just staring out across dark blue water, feeling like it’s all still so unadulterated.

when shit gets to be too much to handle it helps to shift my perspective. i’m getting there now, shit is getting to be too much to handle for sure. i am about to ask myself a question i’ve asked myself before. what other choice do i have? and i will consider the myriad ones that arise.

i just need one of those things, those fiberglass vessels. it would be so much easier to find me. i’d be floating away.


everything is wet.

Photo by michael podger on Unsplash | sanguine meander

it’s all wet. things are dripping in august. this is a blessing.

there’s almost always a little fear anymore… what if and where, and what if is slowly turning into when. it takes work to let it go, though i usually do it.

i guess the bonus is that when i don’t do it, i’m aware of the detriment now, too. that’s motivating when i need it to be. working with myself is an ongoing thing, a journey to be present, and still a thing i have to remain conscious of. not yet evolved, sorry. cool with it though.

so, in the present, it is gray and rainy outside at the end of august in a place where normally a plague-worthy legion of grasshoppers parts the sea of dead grass as i walk through the yard. everywhere, indicators of the land’s needs show themselves to me and ask me to feed it and i pray that it’s enough. i accept the pace, i read the ground and the things that make their homes here to see what they will tell me and the process, it’s slow, it’s oh so slow. i only have time if i’m conscious of it.

afraid of lightning

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash | sanguine meander

i welcome storms, especially the gentle beginning and inhalation of petrichor, yeah, that shit always winds up in a poem somewhere, for sure… not mine, but somewhere. it’s a great word but it’s one of those words that shows up unsurprisingly, like ‘liminal’ (maybe time to just live on the edge and let that one go).

it smells so good though, in the way that a musty attic full of secrets to unpack also smells good, and also not like that at all. the attic is the smell of time over a span, and petrichor is a smell of the present. their own similarity may be, in the end, that i happen to like both kinds of time.

we once welcomed thunder and lightning when we knew more about it. skygasms of light and electrical discharge, visual shock felt also through the follicles and then the ears, driving the body to spasm. boom. big bang indeed.

now, we cower as the lightning strikes, afraid of a power bigger than we are. it could burn down everything we know and love, this power, even if accompanied by rain. it is never enough now. we are dry to parched, soaking it up as fast as it falls, praying it stays on the land so we can welcome thunder and lightning back into our lives as something to behold without so much terror. it’s no longer a matter of if, but when, yet we stay. such a human thing to do.

fire cycle fire

Photo by Stanislav Kondratiev on Unsplash | sanguine meander

so many thoughts passing through so quickly i’ve forgotten them, having been driven to the present cyclically.

it started with thoughts on how much i enjoy cannabis and a practice often referred to as ‘restorative yoga’ – a deep state deep stretch that realigns my spine in such an organized, methodical way. it’s an ecstatic process of feeling myself from a multitude of perspectives that all boil down to, essentially, three. the mind starts to run and oh yeah, relax your hip and you’ll literally lower down three inches and focus on the breath, bam, you’re back. do that again. but also, feel free to groan because that stretch is so deep it’s like the hand of God digging deep into your glutes and all around your hip sockets…

i mean, for me it is. fuck yeah feel the self-love. can you blame me for loving it this way? feel free to moan. in the end no matter what kind of moan it is, it is the depth of human feeling. i think it all goes to the same place, that deep well of emotion we are, most of us, so capable of. No fantasies of who we are once we’ve all wormholed our way together through a vast array of the dimensions and expressions we are capable of, perhaps even believing at some point that we’ve finally seen it all – and it’s only then that we stop falling, but we also die.

In these deep centrally connective spaces on my body i hold these visions, some of which are true and some of which need a little more space before they can be released, so they can be let out completely, leaving not even a hair behind. gone. full mobility has returned along with ecstatic release.

i spray the room with magic to clear all that has been let go, to bless and send it further on its journey. may it glide its way out the window and fall to the ground. may its decomposition fertilize soil and create space for new growth, new experiences and new ideas.

clearly, i will also bleed soon. i will feed this land.