lordy, let it lie.

Photo by Ahmed zayan on Unsplash | sanguine meander

What i wouldn’t give for something to lean on right now. I’ve given up my bed to guests and I’m sleeping on an air mattress in my office, a cavernous room at the back of the house with a creaky floor that sounds its alarm whenever I move. I think a lot in here though. This is where the serious work really gets done. When I’m not sleeping in it, which is usually, it serves as my office and is also where I do stretch and meditate. The wall-to-wall closet at the end of the room has sliding, mirrored doors, useful for confidence-building or alignment but creepy otherwise. i lived in another house like this here too, a large box with mirrored closet doors throughout the house and a spiral staircase. it was like you could never escape yourself. i mean, i get it, but still…

So here I am on an air mattress in the middle of this larger room. I feel adrift on it.

There is nothing to lean on, so I’m driven to complete this thought ride by the desire to lie down. There’s a point in my cycle that’s pretty rational, and I’m in it. Without something to lean on, this is too hard to do.

I’m more interested in dreaming right now.

that one and this

i felt in her a kindred spirit, one who needed both a buffer from the world and space to observe it.

what kind of love was this, however, in which trust allowed for full creative expression? it was not what i felt i had. it would be the death of us, i was sure, the day i truly came alive again.

some things are worth the suffering. i needed to return to the world and expand again in it. both of us were innocents. we had empty toolboxes.

it’s okay. there is loss there, but loss is okay. there are gifts in it and i welcome gifts. for weeks though, i questioned what kind of person i might be: i was feeling expansive and social and willing to let my guard down and have energetic exchanges. i wanted to know where my grief was. I know better now, though, that really, it depends on the archetype. There are four of these who accompany me on my moon cycle, and I embody one at a time.

Fun stuff, being a woman. We are shapeshifters.

This is an interesting exercise, of once again dedicating focus on my cycle this way while I simultaneously experience deep loss and major transformation, both of which I  welcome as co-pilots on this new journey. Take me where I need to go but if I may be so bold, let’s all put effort into a gentle landing. This is the inward time, where I harvest, and likely my grief is here, waiting for me to take her in and acknowledge her presence. I still do not know but I don’t judge myself for it anymore either, and I no longer worry. We will see each other when we do.




where the roots of it lie

i decided to mess with her head this afternoon. i’m not a violent person, she was telling me, but someone had made her very angry. blew the top right off of her.

but i didn’t punch her, she said. i could have, but i didn’t. i’m not a violent person.

we were sitting by the river and i was high and so was she, and she’s savant-smart so i went for it to see if we might be able to talk philosophy and so i said yeah, there are people i have wanted to punch too but i didn’t do it, but i still thought about it. so what is it that makes a person truly nonviolent? is it when you simply don’t think of punching someone anymore when they drive you to rage, or is it the choice you make not to act on impulse or to indulge that rage? the latter would suggest that violence and rage are innate, instinctual things that had a point when our amygdala served more of an upfront purpose.

If the latter is the case, then more than likely some of this fear is imprinted in our genetic expressions, our limbic systems, and originating from a scarcity fear that turned us from peaceful garden dwellers in fig leaves to the warring, post-Saharasian tribes that may have given us our first real, violent inclinations. it’s one theory, anyway.

i liken this particular question to that of freedom versus determinism. i find great comfort in determinism, of course. it gives me purpose and meaning to look for and stay focused on. i am here with a purpose and that purpose is… bam. done, kinda. i will just go and do that.

freedom seems terrifying in comparison, like the difference of being in a lush and comforting forest versus facing a great wide open plain. it is easy to see which i prefer – the forest is as a womb to me. the field has nothing to hold up the sky and is too full of too much possibility. and again, i’m likely operating from my amygdala. i’ve done a lot of work the past several years on rewiring some things around that, but at one point in our evolution, we shifted to bipedalism so we could see over the grass and better keep ourselves fed and out of danger, so… it’s in there, that fear of the hunted, and it’s more about collective species damage than individual trauma (add that to our united misfortune, though, and that person suffers even more than most. they are always watched). It might do me some good to channel the raptor, to fly over the plains searching for prey, but i am not really interested in hunting anything, and I do not want to kill.

what i want is trust, strength and indulgence and a consciousness that has a very sharp eye. i ask myself what it is that i want from other people. the next step is to cultivate those things in myself.

when i remember to do this, i’m forced to be honest about what it really is that i want from others and what is mine to fill. what comes next then, are those joys that can only be shared through conscious communication with others, endeavored and indulged in with a much higher level of clarity, sincerity, and courage. and maybe some dirty words (actually yeah, definitely some of those. i’m a fan of spoken word).

oh, courage. one sometimes needs so much of it to be vulnerable. shame is maybe the biggest curse to befall us; it cuts us off from joy and catharsis and the sloppy wet sounds of life. we lose out on the answers to questions we don’t ask.


day out of time in this little life

i had some ladies from the town over tonight, and it was giggly and there was wine and cheese and lots of salad and chocolate and a clothing exchange which was also friends running around on the deck in their underwear because who the hell is ever gonna see us back here and is this cute on me?

and more than one of us said this was SO FUN! i have a sink full of dishes, always a sink full of dishes and there is never a day in or out of time when there is not a sink full of dishes. Tomorrow I will rinse the remains of brie cheese, sunflower seeds, strawberry leaves and tahini salad dressing off of them. I will wash a sink full of dishes as I do every day, and i will stare out the kitchen window like everyone does when they do dishes and this time i’ll see this collection of women from New Jersey, California, Long Island, Pennsylvania, New York all sitting and laughing on this crumbling old back deck with the massive old braided floor rug covering up the boards so no one gets splinters, the bright orange patio umbrella and the crappy little folding table, lacy underwear and a bottomless bottle of wine, some cannabis passed around, dogs at feet and cat in a lap, tobacco flowers glowing in the new night under this dome of stars and space. Oh, the stars.


And then here I am a few days into this cycle now, as things calm and relax and I don’t feel so… inflamed. It’s becoming an integrative time, a time to open the hips just a bit more, to sink into a deeper and more extended exploration of pain and release.

This is my process and it’s so personal, and it’s rational. The rational must remain dominant in order to keep from going over the edge. I’m building something with pieces salvaged from the things i am tearing down. It requires all of me right now. I am not ready to come to you yet but when I am, my desire will be pure and fierce and unattached.