tightly

I watch myself hold on tightly and all the while inside I am constantly trying to let go. It's all like peanut butter on my fingers.
   In my practice, I am holding so much that I don't even get close to challenging the pattern. I keep hoping that some sort of change of place or season or people will unlock the creativity gasping and dehydrating in my depths.
  I think my instincts could be correct.
Or I think the ungraceful pressure could force me to a breaking point.

And that's all I have to say about that.

things i miss

Moonrises.
 Sunsets.
 Stars.
Driving alongside fields and forests and barns and pastures of animals.
Having dogs.
Having cats.
Having chickens.
Sometimes running into someone I know in a random place.
Being able to call people I love who are within 5 times zones of me.
Affordable things.
Having a place of my own..to paint, to decorate, to cook in, to make love in, to dance aloud in, to cuddle dogs in.
Hearing birds in the morning.
Being able to walk outside my house barefoot and find grass, weeds.
Being surrounded by trees on a regular basis.
Planting a garden.
Planning a garden.
Weeding a garden.
Loving a garden.
Harvesting a garden.
Wildcrafting.
Having dialogue with wild places, partially domesticated places, unconcrete places.
Camping.
Sleeping under the stars.
Backyard fires, front yard fires, fires in the woods, fires at friends' houses, moonlodge fires, marshmallow cooking fires.
Women.
Groups of women I adore as much as my own skin. 

you

I didn't see you coming. I was hiding and desperate....for life, for reprieve, for redemption.
 
  I was very busy recovering from destroying my Universe. I figured if I didn't ask for you directly, maybe a second hand request, maybe a deep guttural howl. Maybe you would come from the darkness with a cape.
    Maybe you would just sit quietly by me, while I went on with my life, tiptoeing around my tendency to ravage the world.
 Maybe there would never be a you. That was most likely. There would never be. A you.

   The curse of being alive is that we can't help but create. Every moment, Every Fucking Helpless moment creation is happening. No breaks. No stopping.
     So, there was going to be you. And I did see you coming I guess. Some part of me, some hiding hoping frightened creative part of me saw you coming. I don't know how there can even be a Part Of Me. But it's the closest way of saying "I was asleep"

  I ducked out of kisses until I couldn't duck out anymore.
   Like the ocean seeps into the sand, you were into me. And gone. 

Like a child, you stand at the edge of the world and promise every thing you have and don't have to give.

Like a child, I expect a promise like that to contain devoir.

  

I am crying so much more than I have reasons for. I am heavier and more sad than I can justify.

     So, it might be that I am at the end of things. I am getting ready to say goodbye to a whole chapter of my life, and a way of being.
   I have the impulse to start new things and to project into the future, to precariously balance on the edge of what I will leave behind and jump from the ledge as it crumbles beneath my feet.
    Thing is, what I jump from seems to be crumbling ahead of it's moment. Oops.

Here's a new thing to try: I will wait. Feel. Watch. Cry the tears without questioning their validity.
  I will let the sadness in, to mix with restlessness, frustration, failure, uncertainty.
 I might see if I can love every one of them and to let crumbling happen without panic.

   I might try to practice ending something purposefully and faithfully.

   

As a female

There is a reason why I, as a female, am more easily in touch with unity, surrender to the whole and melding with another living being.
  I was born with the unique ability to grow and give life. And this requires the beauty of the deep understanding of the bliss of merging.
   
   I am made to be able, without too much effort, to seduce a male into willingly, joyfully, happily, giving to me his life force so that I may produce new life.
  I am the connector. The center. I am carrying so cavalierly, so naturally the mystery of generation, the miracle of creation.
      The world may have forgotten the reality of this gift, this privelege.
There may be repeated centuries of fear,  producing control, producing suffering, producing shame, producing fear.
   But I remember.  I remember fiercely and angrily. I remember so heavily that I have wished to forget.
    I remember resentfully. I remember sorrowfully. I remember righteously and gratefully and peacefully.
That only half of the humans can carry such a power seems unfair. Maybe that unfairness has led to resentment.
     There are ways I can easily slip into states of being that my brothers can not because of this responsibility as life producer.
   I remember that this is not a weakness, even if every message I received since birth told me opposite. 
  
   I remember that the way wild people are patronised and educated and ignored is the same way, and for the same reasons my sex has been patronised and educated and ignored. I remember that they are not asked, they are not respected, like my sex is not asked, not respected. What they know and what we know threatens the same Structure of Forgetting.
    But, I remember. 
If I can remember. ...a child born in the devil's playground belly of the beast to a family of deeply invested forgettors and schooled in suffocating layers of domesticating education.....then there is hope.
  Can you hear it?
There is hope. I am the rebounded, throwback, wild card proof.
     I keep the memory alive, without consciously trying.
  It flows, it lives, it breathes.

IT FLOWS. IT LIVES. IT BREATHES.