mary oliver reminds me

When loneliness comes stalking, go into the fields, consider
the orderliness of the world. Notice
something you have never noticed before, 

like the tambourine sound of the snow-cricket
whose pale green body is no longer than your thumb. 

Stare hard at the hummingbird, in the summer rain,
shaking the water-sparks from its wings. 

Let grief be your sister, she will whether or not.
Rise up from the stump of sorrow, and be green also,
like the diligent leaves. 

A lifetime isn't long enough for the beauty of this world
and the responsibilities of your life. 

Scatter your flowers over the graves, and walk away.
Be good-natured and untidy in your exuberance. 

In the glare of your mind, be modest.
And beholden to what is tactile, and thrilling. 

Live with the beetle, and the wind. 

nailed

and being the last to leave this time, after sacrificing leaving to the great fire at samhain.

that has meant: sticking around to see what happens, fighting my desire to leave prematurely, to make casual exits and smoke a cigarette on the way home, admitting when things feel really good, maybe trading rhizomes or roots or budding fungal networks for beloved light burdens and roadsnaxxx.

right here right now

soon headed to the bay

trading newfound comfort challenge falling-into for pilgrimages in the name of family

to return and to be returned to

and the integration of all selves isn't always comfortable

but i'm convinced there's something important in it.

yesterday i found a cabin in the woods and tried to get in through the chicken coop.

i have admitted that the moon is important.

i have told the sun that i miss it when it's not around.

i have come to remember cold fingers and cold toes and the pleasure of layers.

i am ready for something.

maybe that's all,

the mirrors in my life are shrouded for the moment

i trust that i am doing okay.

i repeat: our community is strong and resilient.

i repeat my prayer for strength and clarity.

i repeat: you are loved and needed

cause what i put out keeps on coming back

so i will collect my things, pull them out of boxes and cracks in the sidewalks

and put a shim in my heart to keep it cracked open

cause that's how the light gets in

Bhakti Yoga

I am so fascinated by partnership, this beautiful and complicated way of ultimate compassion and concern, of love, of surrendering part of your freedom towards someone else's joy

I am so fascinated watching all these partnerships form, thrive, be parasitical, dissolve, and shine, and beckon... they move around me and even (transitionally) through me

I said, listen, my joy is to be an independent warrior. Hands in pockets filled with alchemical chocolate and lavender oil, sprinkling magic upon the angels in my path, my toe-shoes gripping along the playa floor (a compressed globe) as I follow always only (only?) mostly always my OWN bliss, nurturing myself, my needs, my craft. I said, listen, I have to draw boundaries, I have to say no to the vampires.

He said, but what about vulnerability? Are you nurturing your softness? Your surrender?

"Aaaaah (soft eyes, exhale, sweet darkness, longing)"

I thought, how can I win?

I thought, I can not win, I can just be.

I can hurt, I can heal, I can cry, I can want, I can thrive.

Yes, but my path right now is to be a warrior. Moon warrior, goddess Athena the wise owl, Durga upon her lion steed. A warrior of my own healing and a leader in the evolution of the species.

(listen, come closer, slowly, fingers touch, let's nurture each other in this dance, let's laugh, just don't fall asleep, don't expect me to fall asleep)