alone and omnipotent

I pulled into the driveway and turned off the car. And like I hoped, like I expected, as soon as the engine sound disappeared I heard the soulful howling. And I felt the same. My sweet baby girl. After our first tentative meetings, I am back in my body here, settled comfortably back into spoiled rotten too muchness. And she hugged me like she always did, and she came to rest on my foot. Familiar. Sweet.

Back again as well is my old pace. The running, racing, scattered pace. The eating in the car, texting and calling the next 3 people I need to connect with, making plans at an alarming rate. Remembering abruptly the things I have yet to do. My body trails 2 steps behind and is fussing about it.

The spell is a powerful one. We cannot help who we are here. Some of us struggle against and suffer consequences, but it is easiest to just give in and start humming along. Nothing else exists here but us. No place matters here but here. We are alone and omnipotent.

It is a forgetting spell.

I owe so much in this place, and am owed.

And the exchange only gets deeper and more entangly.

To the loves in the soft underbelly, I watched LOTR just to hold you. I said aloud "can you see how ridiculous is that beauty?"

I hold you still and softly, amongst the bays and the grassy hills and the sweet evening light.

for the entertainment of lilith

Once upon a time there was a girl named Camilla. She was as cute as a sleeping Tasmanian devil, as sweet as a spoonful of fresh harvested star thistle honey and as smart as a Nobel laureate.

She spent her days playing in her perfectly green grassy backyard with her puppy, her kitten, her pony and her flower fairies. At night, she slept in her canopy hammock bed underneath a glass ceiling so she could watch the stars and the moon as she fell asleep. She dreamt of flying and running over open water to save people in desperate need. She always woke up feeling satisfied, rested and above all, very very happy.

Shit, times were good.

Eventually she grew up and had to leave her blissful childhood.

But, things did not turn for the worse. Oh, no.

She met a young man as beautiful and intelligent and charming as she, and they quickly fell in sweet love and were married. They lived in an enchanting old farmhouse on the edge of the hippest city on earth where the weather was beautiful every day and everyone was reasonable and conscientious.

They both had fulfilling careers and eventually decided to bring a baby into their perfect world.

What a fucking great idea.

After Camilla brought home her perfect child, things only got better. You bet you sweet ass they did.

Little Samuel Buchanan was as cute as a skunk, as sweet as honeysuckle nectar, and as smart as a girl. Why Camilla thought it appropriate to choose Buchanan as her son's middle name is a goddamn mystery.

He was desperately happy playing with his puppy, his kitten and his pony all day and sleeping at night in his whatever-kind-of-bed-boys-like.

Camilla had various frivolous affairs with impossibly beautiful women who knew exactly where to lick and suck and how hard without her ever needing to tell them.

Her husband thought it was nice that she had so many lovely friends. Did Camilla's husband have a name? I'm sure he did. It was probably something like David or Daniel. It's not important as this is obviously a sexist kind of story. Even Camilla is quite sexist. I mean, she just wants to fuck women behind poor Daniel's back. He would probably like to know, he might want to get involved sometimes or at least be able to brag about it to his friends. But, for Christ's sake, she named her own son Samuel BUCHANAN, I mean, who does that?

Anyway, due to all the gratuitous sex and the perfect life, Camilla aged extremely gracefully and eventually retired and then, well, who really cares after that? Stories that begin with once upon a time do not, as a general rule, extend beyond retirement. Probably because we all know what's coming.

And so that, my dear friend, is the sweet fucking end.

That is the triple chocolate cappuccino fudge mint marijuana brownie you are due for. Eat up, and don't try to drive home if there is a blizzard out. You're likely to get paranoid and lost.

Love you

fantastic fleeting and out of reach

Most days I wake up and ignore the screaming question. I have mostly tuned out what cannot be faced or answered. But it keeps at me, it comes in the many unoccupied moments of my current situation.

Damn. Bon Iver.

I cuddle what will not leave, what cannot be left.

In the back of the book I am currently reading, I saw a question......"have you ever quit your job to follow a dream?" Haunting.

Dreams don't lead, or maybe they do, like a butterfly leads......off into a meadow and over a cliff.

That's a bit dramatic. I blame Bon Iver. What you can't see in text, is an important part of this explanation, so I'll tell you what belongs at the end of that last sentence.....it's a sheepish grin.

What brought me here? How on earth did I end up spending my waking moments in this place?

And, most importantly, do I want to stay here?

For once, I have no idea.

On my walk to work yesterday, I saw a tiny child on a tiny scooter calling an older child on a skateboard "dad". Shit, I thought, if he can do it, what is wrong with me? Not the first time I've had that thought.

Sure, the cool wheeled couple on the sidewalk look happy enough, but there was probably a wake up call that came too soon, perhaps a fight over an outfit or a meal. And the diapers before that, and then in years to come there will be disappointments and then she'll leave him and he'll miss her. I don't know. It's a lame story, but it has gotten me here instead of pre-school shopping. Which brings me back to the question.

I live near the airport. Anytime of the day I can see the airplanes coming in, taking off, being taxied.

But it’s like watching horses in a paddock or horses being ridden…..I just want to BE there. It’s a tease. Somehow though, being teased is better than not. I can imagine volumes from the tease. And imagination…….

Back to the airport. A plane takes off today, flying out over the sea into the distance. And I imagine myself there, in a window seat, above the sea, heading somewhere else.

That is my constant. Somewhere else.

Some people stay. They become rooted. People visit places to holiday and then go back to their beds. And I never get satisfaction from that. I want to go and go and go. I am gazing wistfully at airplanes always. So it goes. Is there a such thing as a traveling beekeeper massage therapist horse woman?

Ah, so.....god I miss you. You have no idea the lengths to which I have to go to to cope with our distance. So, love suffers sometimes. I have no baby to miss but I miss you so entirely I cannot fathom a deeper longing. Longing to touch your skin, to hold you and cry for the miles and months that separated us and then to dance close and long until we must sleep, and then near each other. To wake and talk and not talk and just bask for hours in physical presence. And if I have to leave you again after that, I'll have to do it drunk. And carelessly. Any other way could not be possible. Kisses my love. All over you.