“…There’s A Feeling I Get When I Look to the West (and East) and My Spirit Is Crying for Leaving…”

In the last couple of months filled with exhaustion and awesomeness, (which in part brought said exhaustion) there has been the constant ache to write, and the words always lingering, asking to be (said) or written or something. But almost every time I sat to write, no matter time of day, the exhaustion won, and the words stayed hidden behind eyes that couldn’t stay open. I know the words were about anniversaries of sorts. Final goodbyes, and hellos, new and renewed. And about love because there is always love in all it’s forms, even if I’m writing about sadness. But also because love and LOVE have become such huge, real parts of my world, in ways I’ve never known, and didn’t foresee. Which is cool, and weird, as fuck.

I woke this morning to 30+ notifications of new likes on my Instagram. All the likes were for posts prior to the anniversaries of which I’d meant to write, and I was brought back to the place when darkness was still wrapped around me, but I had found my voice, if not yet light, (not yet become light) or love as I know it now. I didn’t know what the sudden large number of likes were for, until I started to read some of the posts. Surreal isn’t a big enough word to describe the feeling of reading those words, written by a version of me I can no longer imagine being. If absolute love for/from someone is the best feeling in the world, the lack of hate/extreme anger for someone toward whom you once felt those things, has to be the second best. But the one who wrote those posts was still pretty deep in hate/extreme anger, which really are masks for hurt if we’re going to be honest.

So someone found them, those posts fueled by hate which was hurt. A someone who specializes in helping those who are sex addicts, and their partners, as well as those who are experiencing domestic violence. And all those posts he found were my time of coming clean, to myself and the world, to use my voice, and be a voice. So maybe if they found those words, they found something that will help them, help THEM. Those who are where I was, or where I was by proxy. That notwithstanding, it was an odd thing to wake up to.

(It’s taking me so long to write this… they keep stopping me. The energy flowing from my hands stops me. The magick stops me, and asks me to redirect my energy to someone(s) who need clearing or healing, and I can’t not listen because more than ever it is not about me, while always being about me because as I heal {you}, I heal. But if you could let me write…just for a little bit?)

Yesterday morning’s memories brought to me by social media were so much different than today’s. I don’t always check out memories from the “On This Day” thing on Facebook, but the pic it showed me compelled me to look. It was a pic of a blue sky, and of fluffy white clouds. Specifically the photo is of a heart, and an angel, formed by the joining of, and spaces between, the two, and so lovely is said picture, I made it my (whateverthefuck is the name of the pic at the top of my Facebook page.) The horizon is one I’ve not yet seen for myself, in real life, but was sent to me as means of sharing a journey with me. Of taking me with. The something so simple, that was a something so huge. Like so much else has been in this last year, for so many reasons in so many ways…

(…if you envision me dancing in the stars it’s because you showed me I can….)

There was so damn much to say, not just from yesterday’s memories, and the anniversaries of the last couple of months, but also from having a movie day of LA LA Land, (a new favorite) and Audrey Rose, (old favorite, exquisite Anthony Hopkins, beautiful book, woo woo as fuck, sad, and gorgeous). I was deep in the vibe of love, and nostalgia for times I didn’t actually live in as this me, but am probably currently living in as others who are me, and not. I was wrapped in blankets, sipping tea, drifting between here, and there where I want to be. And words were coming to me, or ideas of them anyway.

Also there things to be said from time before, from Arizona, last year and this. Of seeing my friends, who are (were? fuck) his friends, (Chester’s and mine) and speaking of their last memories of him, and mine. Of the amazing show that was Hospice Rocks. Of how beautiful is my friend Yvette, in heart, and soul. How magic she is. How much I want to be half as good a friend to her as she has been to me. How much I admire her as a mom to Divo. (How jealous I am that a 9 year old boy has better hair than me!)

There were words also, of seeing faces I’ve known for 20+ years, and many I haven’t seen in far too long. As “back to life” and myself as I have felt in the last year, when one of the dearest faces looked into mine and said “you’re still doing it, after all these years, and from so far away, you’re still promoting music. I came to see you Michelle. I mean, I’m here for the cause, I’m here for the bands, but I came to see you because you’re still doing it.” it was as if the last little bit of myself that was laying (lying? fuck it) dormant, came all the way back. As small as was my role in this show, it was like flexing a once often used muscle, and it felt good. Because; music, creativity, shared passion, art.

(I sing from side stage, because that’s where my star shines brightest. Being the keeper of music. Supporting those who create it, in whatever way I can. ~ Random Muse.)

The music was (and is always) magic. Even the show the night before the show. Soulfly. Me in my pink shirt, and strappy sandals, amongst the none-more-black jeans and t-shirt crowd. The sounds aren’t those I crave, but the energy was breathtaking. Onstage, and off. It was people watching at its finest! It was observing people’s passion as they got lost in the moment, and the mosh pit. It was knowing my friend Donny, who has taken care of me from day 1 I walked into the bar he owned where my bands used to play, who calls me “fun waiting to happen” is still taking care of me when I’m at his venue, so no matter the crowd, I am always safe. And rarely sober! (Which is not to say drunk; reference “fun waiting to happen”)

And then it was tears, as I sat in the balcony in the venue, watching, realizing that balcony was where I was meant to be sat on September 29 just past. There where Chester and Grey Daze were to have played. …

This was all so much more poetic, and meaningful, as written in my head. But the poetry of it has waned, as the day has wanted to be focused on energy. On light, and being light. Healing, and being a healer.

This something that has become so much a part of everything and me, that as I was getting ready for the show last weekend, on 11/11, the downloads, or symptoms, or the feeling the remnants of the departure of a someone, through the filter of a heart I hold most dear, almost buckled my knees, over and over and over. And unless you’ve felt those sorts of moments, they defy explanation. But I had to ask them, or it, to allow me the night to be present. It worked that night. Today, not so much…

As I figuratively look to the west, and the east, both of which contain elements of my past and future, (for whatever any of that means) I fight to remind myself that for now I am here. For now there is contentment or even something more, which I have to choose as my reality because it is reality. I remind myself that all of this is so much bigger than me, and not just about me, although all of this is of my own design, (maybe).  I search for the value in the moments that challenge me most. Those moments are most often the ones in which I feel lonely, and when I am missing what I have never had, but have never been without. Because of the blessing and curse of a memory that makes yesterdays as palpable as right this minute, (but only the pretty parts, so thank you for that, whatever it is that makes it all so real) sometimes in the silence, the lonely is amplified.


It’s now 1:30 in the morning of the morning after the morning during which I started writing this. Its 38 degrees, and I’ve just come back from a walk meant to clear my head, ground me, tire me out, but didn’t. Instead I walked outside myself, watching as a paragraph or more (of the book, not this blog) was written, becoming a few frames of a movie, with shades of Jackson Browne playing in my ears.

In 4 days its Thanksgiving, and in a month Christmas. Dates which are often relevant, but in this instance only relevant if you are me, and have my memory, and can recount in vivid detail words, and the moments in which they were exchanged, that changed everything. “…becoming a more awesome version of yourself…”


I’m still figuring this all out. The light, and being light. The love, and being love. Because its really fucking odd to say, and odder still to feel, that I’m ready now. Ready for the parts of me that are so separate from everything here but are also not because of the oneness. On the daily I work to stay in the magic of it all, to be patient, and to act in the highest good, for the collective, and for me, which inherently includes you. Because I am ready. Ready to move (in)to where I am meant to be. Ready to not be surrounded by others fear, and vibration which I must fight to stay above, in a not snobby but real way. Ready to heal the one’s who need it. Ready to learn that craft, and devote myself to it. While writing the book. And singing the songs from side stage, figurative and real.

(I’ve no doubt that when my first book is finished, some editor will become rich, because there will be so much work for them to do!! Did I make a point? Any point? No idea. But if you’re still reading, you’re beautiful, and I love you.)

Advertisements

The Absence of Fear

It’s 38 degrees, and I woke at 4:45 today, more due to having passed out on the couch somewhere around 10 last night than anything else, I suppose. Undisturbed sleep which I can’t exactly term as peaceful or sound due to having had a 12lb ball of fluff taking up a larger portion of the couch than one would think he could. No doubt happy to be “allowed” to sleep with me, as generally night time is when we go our separate ways. Morning cuddles are always a thing, but I don’t dig middle of the night wake ups that include puppy butt in my face.

Puppy butt, cold mornings, and too early aside, if my writing about fear the other day was Yin, this writing about it’s absence must be Yang, and just must be. Been in the back of my mind for some time now, in some form or other. And what its about more than the absence of fear specific, is how almost exactly a year has passed, give or take, since so many corners were turned, choices were made, calls were taken, and I remembered me.

I don’t know exactly what was my mindset, or where was my heart, or “soul,”  a year ago this time. Meaning, how happy I was, how clear I was, how anything other than starting in earnest the climb up from the place that I’d dwelt in for many too many years. What I do know, courtesy of Facebook memories, is that I had purchased my plane ticket for my trip to Arizona, and was making plans to see my friends, and to immerse myself in myself, and meditation, and whatever else I’d find when I got to the workshop which I was traveling to AZ attend.

Similar plans now made, at least where traveling to Arizona is the topic, and where I am today, what is my mindset, and where are my heart, and soul, … what a difference a year makes. I have so much clarity in so many ways, and so much confusion which is possibly more just a lack of defined path or steps than true confusion, in others. And even the places which are clear as crystal, don’t as of yet have plots or plans, or blueprints, to outline them. there is just, knowing. And love.

What I didn’t know at the start of what was this year of tremendous change and transformation was how deep it would all go, and how far out, as well. When it started for me it was just a shift from being the lost spouse of an abusive sex addict, to (re) becoming the rad chick who wasn’t afraid of most anything (that isn’t a creepy crawly, or slithery icky thing), who explores people, places, feelings, and ideas. It was just that simple, which wasn’t simple at all.

Meanwhile, there’s this book I’m writing, and these feelings I’m feeling, and thoughts I’m thinking, and things I want to say… and when THAT all ended, and THIS (which also includes this, which is no less THIS than the other THIS) all of those things came out in rushes and tumbles, minutes and hours spent wrapped in laughter, and beauty, tinged with occasional tears that weren’t the kind that hurt, but just a last little clearing of a long ago past. The absolute absence of fear, which didn’t and doesn’t mean recklessness, was like wings, to sound like a cliche jackass, but it was. THIS –  the first, while still blurry, is so much more clear as light shines in, on, and through me. As downloads, or upgrades or shifts, or whatever it is, fill me with energy


4 days later. Not that I haven’t written since then, just, not this, not here. And nothing complete. Too often is the case that by the time I get home from work, later than I want to, walk a couple miles, which I want to do for as long as I can while the evening weather still flashes between summer and fall, cook, eat, clean up, my mind is just too worn out to formulate full thoughts on virtual paper. And it frustrates the fuck out of me. My mornings are either too early when I all but beg sleep to take me back, or a semi-rush to get out the door for work. I never was much for the middle ground.


I keep seeing a meme the last few days that says something about hoping the last 3 months of this year (which is closer to just 2 months now) is the plot twist “you’ve” been waiting for. And I think with sort of amazement about how the last year has been the plot twist I didn’t know I was waiting for. And it’s here where the absence of fear returns to me.

If there is such a thing as miracles, the changes in my life in the last year has been the stuff of that. Not in the fishes and loaves, or dead men walking sense. (which reminds me, The Walking Dead is back on tonight!! Holy fuck am I excited!) … To sort of echo what I’ve written in other blogs, and because at its heart this blog is not for me, but is for anyone who may need what it says, underneath the sometimes silly or indiscernible bullshit, there was a point in time where I absolutely did not want to wake up again. I saw no hope for a future that was of interest to me. I said those words to more than one therapist. I have daughters I love to the greatest depths, and the highest heights, but I didn’t think I had anything of value left to give them. My trust had been so utterly eroded by one person, (on top of the residue of erosion from others) that I didn’t see myself ever trusting anyone again, and life without trust is a very bleak place. I also though myself absolutely unloveable, and unworthy of being loved. So what was the point, of anything, ever, at all?

Maybe this was my “Dark Night of the Soul” except while I was in the midst of it, I’d never even heard of such a thing. (Which is likely just as well as I, for myself, believe that I wasn’t focused then on a target in the future, and what was coming, seeking out a something mythical around a next corner, but was instead fully immersed in the present, feeling every ounce of every bleak, black, horrible emotion.) But even if it wasn’t, even if it was just depression around being married to an abusive sex addict, to have gone from there, the absence of light, to here, where there is light so SO bright…. I know it’s not just me who can go from that dark to bright. I know part of why I am here, the biggest part of why I am here, is to be the light which allows others to find their way to the light.

I think for those who are where I am, or in places similar to it, it is easy to understand how almost happy I am to have shadows, such as fear of a certain something, pop up. Hold up the mirror for me, (or be the mirror, incredible as it is, that it is so) so I can SEE, and FEEL, and work through, every teeny, tiny, or huge, thing. While it is for me, it is absolutely not just for me. I have come to accept, and embrace, and be astounded by, the knowing of how much not just for me my path is, so if clearing, or embracing shadows is what it takes to get me fully there, I’m in! Because I am here to shine light, to be light, to heal.

With that said, I am, (we are) also here (I believe) to shift or destroy paradigms. If everything that was “how it’s always been” was still “how it is” no progress (or what passes for it, in some cases) would ever have been made in history. And I’m not saying I have all, or any answers. But I am saying, an energetic return to ancient ways, doesn’t mean a return to the way it’s always been. Its the usual case for my life; if you try to put me in a box, I’m going to protest, and hopefully find a productive way out. I’m going to find a new path. Or forge a new path. Chaos theory (magick?) all up in here. Where this once might have been done in protest, it is now done in a something “higher” way.

It was my own steps that, once again, brought me back to the absolute absence of fear. My own steps that included seeking wisdom, and knowledge, and then using my discernment to see what applied to me. My own steps that included going as deep inside as possible. And as far outside myself as possible. But also, it was the reminder of unconditional love I give, and get, that has been one of the most amazing part of the plot twists of the last year. The sort of love that can’t not activate, and elevate. A love that is intelligent enough that it requires me to do my part, as in; getting the fuck out of my fear if I’m dwelling rather than working through. (As a preemptive strike to questions along the lines of “are you in a relationship now?” Of course I am! Any interaction with another human is a relationship. Ha. But really, I’m not speaking about love in that way. That’s not what I mean here. 3 words have 2 meanings, which can be, but don’t have to be, mutually exclusive. So for purposes of the words I am writing here, think of love in the biggest way you can, multiply it by a billion X infinity, and you’ll have a fraction of the idea of the kind of love I mean right now. Is this about a dude I’m dating. Also no. Stop being nosy.)

So to recap my blah blah, not even sure (as always) I’ve made any sense; I was in a dark shitty place, I got happy and light, I realized I am light, I realized I’m here to shine light, and love so that everyone can remember they too are those things, here for those reasons. I am the luckiest human on the planet to have received, and allowed to give, unconditional love, shadows sometimes pop up, I let one get the best of me for a minute, now I’m through it.

And I’m sending love. Always, always.

Fear

4AM wake up. Was it you, or them? Or them through you, or the converse? As I turned to meditation in hopes sleep would take me back, found myself instead surrounded by angels, or aliens, or nothing that is also everything. Surrender was for what they were asking, and what I must give, as light poured in, energy poured out, in an exchange of love, and knowledge that I’m yet to understand.

Even now as I am asked to write, in between are pauses for hands raised, (mine) re-positioned, (by unseen them) as they teach me; ancient ways of healing? They won’t say. But each time I’ve tried to withdraw, they have pushed back on me, and made it impossible.

As quickly as words come, they melt away before the path is complete from mind to fingers to keys. If the words I write (or hear or say) are for you, then they have to be for me too. Immutable truth.

Over and over and over; “Don’t fear the embrace.  In the embrace all fear will be lost.”


Iteration 4562. Which is really 3. And instead of 4am, it is now 2am, and my alarm will happen in 4 hours.

As I search for the reason why I have so much of others fears around me, have so many around me who choose fear, knowing that now is my time of revisiting shadows and to choose (or not) to fully, finally, learn certain lessons, I realize I can’t joke or laugh my way through, because this is bigger than me. I am bigger than me because its never just about me.

My biggest fear I am able to identify at this moment is losing people I love. This is not about death. This is not about abandonment. This is about temporarily letting go in the knowing that it is for the highest good. Last time I let go, temporarily, from the most pure place in my heart and out of the most absolute and unwavering love, my world exploded, then collapsed. No matter what hindsight says about why it had to be as it was, I don’t want that again, ever.

But still, what if temporarily letting go is the best thing? The highest thing? The thing that will (fully) heal? (you) and me? Will I be able to stay in my magic enough for it, and you, and me, to reach the place we’ve for so long been journeying to?

All I want to do though, is love. Feel love, be love, give love, and as far from least as possible, receive love. Which I know I do on the daily, but that’s not what I mean. I don’t want my super power to be letting go, even when it’s with love. Loving without the letting go is so much less sucktastic.

And I’m weirdly emotional today. Which maybe isn’t so weird because I’m also utterly exhausted. But everything is perfect. Leaps of faith have been taken, and even as this writing tells me it’s drawing to a close, I feel the clearing, and the rising, and the tears that cleanse are here now too.

Don’t fear the embrace…., they keep saying it.

—-

“…2 am and I’m still awake, writing a song

If I get it all down on paper, it’s no longer inside of me,

Threatening the life it belongs to

And I feel like I’m naked in front of the crowd

Cause these words are my diary, screaming out loud…”

Anna Nalick “Breathe”

——

(Drawing credit Austin Osman Spare. Recently tweeted by someone I follow and I meant to remember who, but don’t. Used cause it seems to capture fear well. Going to have to check him out.)

“…I’m a (wo)man whose tragedies have been replaced, with memories tattooed upon my soul…”

Because I'm deep in the depths of my other writing, my writing to, and about, Chester, and cancer, but my thoughts, and heart, betray me so often I can't focus, there is this. Other thoughts that aren't those. They are all here, HERE, in my soul and my fingertips, the words I want to finish,  which I've been writing for almost a week. Today though, I've been riding the waves of memories from ages ago, tinged by anger, and hurt, or something, of right now, but I have to say something. Something… Because the other writing is as much about me as it is about him, and suicide, and depression, and cancer. But this one is about me, as I relate to him, and just me. And Liz Gilbert. (Eat Pray Love) And I don't know why I'm writing it, just that I'm supposed to.

This is not a cry for help blog. This is not an "I'm in a scary depressed place" writing. Because by the grace of what the fuck ever it is, as much as I am some insane mix of angry and sad right now, and clearly dancing with expansion that has left me exhausted I'm OK. I mean, I'm often these last few days on autopilot, and I would LOVE for now to be the moment of melting into the arms of the one I trust implicitly, who trusts me implicitly, and to just let go. (There, I said it, I SAID IT. I'd shout it from rooftops. If I could. Because as much as I'm scared to say I want {translation: need} that hug, I'm not scared to feel it at all, anymore. Mostly not scared. OK, sometimes a little scared but also, not. Fuck. Note to self: finish clearing fear of saying I need that hug, and of actually needing hug, etc.)

There's some sort of irony in the timing when need might be said (more than once) but… reality makes it not really possible to say. C'est la vie. I trust there is a reason to the timing of it all. Maybe now is a time for me to lean in, more than to lean on. Except I do know I'm not alone. That it is inherently impossible for me to ever be alone.

These things that I am going to say next are being "spoken" into smoke to lift them, carry them away, as they are what has been but does not still need to be. I will phrase them in the present tense as in this moment while I am writing, they to some degree still exist as my truth.

I have abandonment issues. Big fat the size of the Milky Way (galaxy, not candy bar, in case you weren't sure) abandonment issues. These stem from boringly typical, and fuckeduply atypical, events throughout the course of my life.

I have trust issues. Whatever is bigger than the Milky Way, (galaxy) is the size of my trust issues. I believe in the best of people. That people are inherently good. My half a hippy wants to bounce across the earth giving hugs, and cupcakes (except cupcakes with their processed flour, and sugar really aren't good for you, so that's kind of not a nice thing to give. But how lame would it be to give, like, celery, or cheese, which are actually better for you? I mean, I LOVE cheese, but, cupcake trumps cheese most of the time.) I will absolutely trust everyone, right until they give me reason to not. Or right up until I start to look for a reason to not. To look for, and find, the teeth that fit the scars, and then say the teeth came before the scars. And it's not just a male/female relationship trust issue thing, BTWs. I can not trust you irrespective of your gender. To not hold my past against anyone continues to be my quest.

My mind, if too much time is spent by me, alone in it, is a bad neighborhood. (I've stolen that from Chester, yes I have!) I over think, I over analyze, I "should" on myself, and have been known to spend entirely too much time looking over my shoulder, or into a figurative crystal ball trying to catch a glimpse of tomorrows. I have been prone to a melancholy I did not understand. I doubt my appearance, my intelligence, my worth, and second guess myself, a lot.

I have a fear that if I don't say everything I need to say RIGHT NOW, I will not have the chance to say it. I believe this stems in large part from ~ went to visit for a weekend, dude I was dating, who lived in another state. When time came for me to go home I said to him, in tears, "I'm afraid I'll never see you again." (Random, melodramatic, and clingy much, 19 year old Michelle?) He said "of course we'll see each other again, we have too much fun when we're together, to not." The following weekend I had a brief phone conversation with him. He said he was going to go for a ride on his motorcycle. He wrecked his bike. His injuries were catastrophic. I never saw him again. Each of his friends thought the other had called me to tell me. It was 5 days after his passing when I called to speak to him, and was told what had happened. So not random, melodramatic, or clingy, at all. I could genuinely have anxiety on the daily out of fear of losing someone I love, and not getting to tell them I love them, in general, or one last time. This is compounded by fear of something happening, and no one calling me to tell me.  So I often say too much, and its never enough.

I've made an art form of self-sabotage. Frequently because of attempting to fit into the boxes others think I should be in. As soon as I acquiesce and climb in, I start fucking things up, left, right and center, in a form of futile protest, as the only damage done is to myself. I can pinpoint every reason I have this tasty little habit, but, meh. Is it when I'm happy too, Chester? (Because he said of himself that he is {was. fuck.} never content, even when happy.)

As I re-read, I can say in all honesty, a lot of the above have decidedly been more my truths in my past than any time recently. But as they each have presented themselves to me tonight, they got included. Many of them find their origin in molestation when I was 7. I only mention it as it is one of the things Chester, and I, share as a commonality. Part of why I GET everything he said, in every interview I've seen, when he's spoken of his depression and where it has taken him.

*Cue smoke into which they will float away*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I listened to a brilliant Ted Talk given by Liz Gilbert titled "Your Elusive Creative Genius." Only 20 minutes long, but, a game changer if you choose to hear what it says. As it relates to me, to Chester, to Chris Cornell, and too all of the other ridiculously talented creative feelers I have ever known, what I HEARD above all was (screen captured 'cause I couldn't copy/paste)

liz

This proved to me once and for all that she is my hero, and possibly my spirit animal. Because I have spent YEARS thinking about WHY so many of my creative lovelies, are so fucked up. But more than that, seem to almost wear it like a badge of honor. "I'm starving for my art." Well, go you! You go right ahead and be that stereotype. Imma be over here, trying to create something, and also, eating. Since you'd rather starve, I'll eat your portion too. You've seen my ass, right?

In all seriousness though, in the years I was working with bands, and in my interactions with artists, always, I have had a very clear train of thought, that starving for one's art, literally and as a euphemism for a bunch of other dumb shit we do because we are "arteests" and sensitive, isn't really cool. Or fun. Or interesting. Also, its been done, to death. Literally. Irrespective of at a point being the girlfriend in the "what do you call a musician without a girlfriend? – homeless" joke, I always ALWAYS walked away from working with those bands who by choice were starving artists. Music was too important to me, people were too important to me, to do either the disservice of saying "Yeah, sure I'll watch you be your own worst enemy, in the name of creating art." My standard line, which was never just a line, but really IS the song of my soul, "keep pursuing your dream, while taking care of reality." Read: get a mother f'n J.O.B. if ya got to, so ya not living in your momma's basement, while you're trying to be the next (Chester Bennington.) Don't be a drug addict while thinking its cool to be a drug addict, because its not. If you accidentally become a drug addict, don't decide it's cool. No judgement. I've got that t-shirt. But heroin chic, is not.

I am not saying that Chester did anything he did, ever, much less at the end, because of the paradigm of the tortured artist. I do not assume to know what was in his head, and heart at any moment in time, less the time he told me exactly what was in his head and heart. (Which is part of another blog, and of a blog to come.) What I am however saying is, perhaps as a group, we should stop accepting that this is who we must be. How we must be. I understand, with a capital UNDERSTAND, how that may not be easy, because we do FEEL, so deeply, so everything, and because when I was in my darkest, most horrible place, I might have told someone attempting to shine a light in, to get fucked. But maybe if we shine a different light on it, each for ourselves, which will then affect the group of us, maybe it will help a little, until it helps a lot? Maybe if we nurture the tiny ridiculously talented creative feelers while they are still tiny, instead of discouraging their dreams, it'll be a preemptive strike but in a good way.

As I see it, Chester did not "go gently into that goodnight." No matter how that goodnight came about. I believe that Chester with every ounce of his energy worked to shift what needed shifting, inside himself. For himself. For EVERYONE. He put his life into his lyrics, in the most raw, and vulnerable of ways. He furthered his transparency by speaking candidly, and frequently about his hurts, and fucked-upnesses. I know many people are watching his interviews and posting them as his alleged cry for help. I think that's absolute shit. I think he was just being his honest self because he knew on some level that to be so would help him, and others. So maybe we can shift that too. Speaking about what hurts, or sucks, doesn't mean you're crying for help, or crying at all. Maybe its just that you know it is the right thing to do, for yourself, for others. Perspective baby. Get some. See where yours takes you. Might not be the same place I go, and that's cool.

Why I put myself so fully onto these "pages"is a combination of my NEED to create a something, joined with my NEED to work through my shit, and my HOPE that maybe my words will give a someone the tiniest something when they need it most. Even if its just because they read what I write about myself and think "this bitch is CRAZY, and I am absolutely NOT" right when they need to think they aren't crazy. Maybe in me they will find a kindred, and feel not so alone, even if they never speak to me. Or maybe they will reach out to me, as some have, and say, "You have been where I am right now, you are giving me hope that I will able to be happy again, someday." And I'll have a new friend, and so will they. THAT is what it is all about, really. Touching lives. Experiences. Making a difference. Helping others. And not being afraid to show our crazy, while also being happy, and creating.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

To Liz Gilbert, thank you for being so wise, and bad ass, and inspirational. Please don't ever stop writing. I mean, unless you want to. Also, tons of love to you, and your Rayya.

Thank you to those who today helped me to walk through the mini fire that popped up. I am so very grateful.

http://wp.me/p6f5rK-1FEChester, your thank you is in another writing. But also in my heart, which I know you know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Title is an excerpt from "Into You" by Dead By Sunrise

Your Elusive Creative Genius – Liz Gilbert

 

 

Thank You For Not Being My Hero

Its important to say from the start, this is not a feminist “I don’t need no mans to save me” something. Mostly because I’m not a feminist. But also, I don’t need no mans to save me. Or womans. Or even a priest or minister, although I am sure there are those who will beg to differ, but that ship sailed when I was 6 so, get over it already! Also this is not a “be your own hero” thing. I dig the vibe that is trying to put out, but, that’s not what this is about.

These words have been trying to come out for days, have been partially written for days, as I’ve again, still, been walking, or sometimes what has felt like crawling, through so much that I don’t understand. The things that make me feel crazy, which also make me feel not crazy, that I in some moments fight,then surrender to, when I’m not contemplating running, or crying; with gratitude, or because so much feels like SO MUCH!

I keep it mostly inside because as much as I am pretty flexible about certainty these days, I feel pretty certain that all of what I am being brought to, or that is being brought to me, is a solo journey, except not really, because that is inherently impossible. More its about rolling around in what my intuition says, and what my truth is, rather than seeking counsel from “experts” or friends, or some random dude. Which that one, the random dude one, would be not really about the counsel thing, but more about an attempt to forget the everything, and to fake take away the lonely that sometimes creeps in. For as much as it is a quasi-solo journey though, it couldn’t possibly be any less about me.

If ever you (whomever you are, reading this) aspire to feel like a crazy dumb ass, have a “spiritual awakening” or whatever name is appropriate based on your particular flavor of beliefs. Then try typing those words, about yourself and see if you either laugh at yourself, or think ‘what in the actual fuck is occurring, because I don’t say shit like that!’ Especially if you weren’t ever spiritually “closed” nor were you seeking any sort of opening thing. And also if you roll your eyes every time you read the words “spiritual awakening” because it sounds so cheesy/pretentious, when you think it relates to you, you’ll feel like a crazy dumb ass, who a little bit wants to punch themselves for sounding like an idiot.

Maybe part of my “mission” will be to come up with a less stupid sounding expression for what I’m feeling/doing/have happening to me/I am happening to. Ascension is another frequently used term, but I don’t vibe with that either. It reminds me of Jesus, or the Virgin Mary, and Bible stories. All I know is, some crazy (cool) somethung is going down inside me/around me/in every version of me, and has been since last November. Well, really long before then, as I can pinpoint other dates that  parts of this journey started (continued) in this lifetime. But in November I had some sort of “quickening” like in Highlander. Except there can’t be only one, and while I often feel as if my head has fallen off, I’m pretty certain no hot Scottish dude is going to show up with his broadsword to chop it off anytime soon. I mean, hot British dude always  welcome. Chopping off of head, not so much.

To quote  (again, as I’ve used it in a previous blog) a brilliant line from Marianne Williamson “we are the ones that we have been waiting for”  and in thinking of a story also recounted in another blog, told by Denise Linn, from the Elders of Native American tribes, those who sacrificed themselves lifetimes ago, for a moment in the future/some other time, in which they were needed, are returning because that moment is now. And no matter how nuts I feel sometimes, no matter that “this”  and elements of it, triggers me, challenges me, causes me to dig so deeply into everything I think I know about myself, and my beliefs, in moments I feel raw, I’m all “game on” about this path.

If none of that blabber appears to have anything to do with the title, it really, actually does. So I’ll say it again; Thank You for Not Being My Hero.

Don’t get me wrong, there are many times where all I want is to be wrapped in arms I trust, and to just let gooooo. To not have to be in charge of anything, or worry about anything, or think about anything, for even just a minute.  And this isn’t a “Jesus take the wheel” (haha) thing I’m saying, I mean literal arms. Man arms. Preferably attached to a man. I’d love to just melt into the someone I trust implicitly, who trusts me the same. Chick arms are cool too, for hugs, or cuddling sometimes, but just not the same. Still though, I don’t want to be saved. Or rescued. 

I just FINALLY dipped out of the part of my life where “victim” was the brand I was “supposed” to wear. Victim is more itchy against my skin than cheap wool, uglier than polyester from the 70’s, and more constricting than Spanx. I don’t want to wear that ever again, even in the arms of one supposedly rescuing me from it. Bleh. 

So to my not heroes I need to say, thank you for not trying to swoop in, scoop me up, and “oh poor you-ing” me,  to the point I’d start to think “oh poor me” also. Thank you for instead of trying to make my boo boos all better, giving me your time, your moments, your humor, and your ear. Also, your voice, your opinions, your ideas, and thoughts, without insisting or even suggesting, that I make them mine, as they (my boo boos) healed on their own. 

Thank you for not spouting platitudes that would have annoyed the fuck out of me, but instead, sharing photos, quotes, stories, poetry, or music, meant to comfort me, make me laugh, distract me, or bring me to a warm, and fuzzy place.

Thank you for being whole enough in and of yourself, that you see me as, in and of myself, whole enough to be able to navigate everything I needed to navigate, until I saw myself as that whole, too.  And for patience, as I, like a Rottweiler puppy who has reached full size, am still a clumsy as hell, not having yet fully grown into myself, trip over my own feet while excitedly running through the world, and slip on the hardwood floor  because I’m just too busy wagging my tail to notice anything else going on.  But really, the growth spurt was fast, and my inside is still playing catch up with my “outside” so, thanks also for the patience when I jump on you because I’m just so happy to see you. I’ll grow out of it. Not the happy to see you thing, the having no chill thing.

Thank you for not trying to patch the holes of my insecurities you did not create, with whatever it would be that could fill them for a moment, but instead just BEING, as I remember I don’t need the insecurities. And for kissing my wounds, while not seeing them as disasters in my soul, but cracks in which to put your love (Paraphrased/bastardized from Emery Allen) while making no attempt to fix them, either. 

Also thank you for knowing I want you but don’t “need” you.  (Except sometimes. Shhh, don’t tell.) But also for not NEEDING me, but wanting me too. Thank you for being in your own ways, a brilliant shiny example to be followed, by me, by others, in our own way. 

Thank you most of all for the trust. In its defying of explanation, it is probably the most clearly ‘exactly as it is supposed to be’ thing I’ve ever known.

If you think that this might in part be for or about you, it probably is, because there is more than one not hero. And not heroes aren’t just boys, which still isn’t feminism but is fact.  There is also though, one SUPER not hero? Not SUPER hero? Whatever. One who has, by happenstance, which is more likely part of a “divine plan” not just held the mirror, but is the mirror, that has allowed me to see the possibility of all, to paraphrase myself. 

To each of you, but most of all to YOU, I send my endless gratitude and love. You’re the most amazing not heros any girl could ever have! Thank you for not thinking me crazy. Or liking my flavor of crazy. Whichever works best for you. And at least one of you is going to one day, when I write a book, which will then be made into a movie, in which my not heros will be featured,  end up wearing some skin tight something or other, irrespective of your not hero status, just because it will be fun. 

Floating Around With My Head In The Clouds

An alternate title could be “Jesus Christ Michelle, shut the fuck up already.” But I’d hate to offend anyone. Which is a lie because if you’re offended by my use of those words strung together, 200% truth is you should never read what I write. Unless you enjoy being offended. In which case, you’re more fucked up than me. (More fucked up than I? It’s 430 AM I don’t know which is correct.)

The thing is, I can’t say enough, I don’t have the answers to anything. I used to think I had some answers, which as it turns out were mostly based on what others told me the answers were. And were wrong.

From where I lay right now, which is to say in a home so new to me, as I bleary eyed stumbled to find the bathroom as the rude Restless Soul Syndrome woke me again, I wasn’t sure which way to turn outside my bedroom door, I know less than I used to. I can’t recall in which kitchen cupboard I put what. (Other than those which make logical sense. Do not make me verbally slap you because you don’t know that your dishes should go in the top cupboard closest to the dishwasher!) Outside my apartment, I don’t know where a grocery store is, or gas station, or how to get to the closest Wawa. (If you don’t know Jersey you don’t know Wawa, and I’m sad for you.)

For reasons that have little to do with being severely directionally impaired, I can’t drive to my new job without using my Waze app. Once I am at work at least twice a day I make an ass of myself wandering the halls in search of a restroom, or breakroom, I’d been to earlier. Thankfully I know the industry I’ve gone back into, and learn new software easily, but otherwise most of my days are spent learning things new to me.

I think it’s fair to say that, inside and out, 75% of me, and my life, has 100% changed in the last year. Which is great given the shit show my life had in many ways been for too long. Certainly I’m used to change with my life of permanent impermanence that to others has made me appear unstable, or irresponsible, or flakey, but these changes have been BIG. And I’m not talking geography here.

There are very few immutable truths I’ve held much of my life, those being; my kids before all else, which also means me letting them go to be who they are. If I had to choose between never hearing music again or never having sex again, I’d give up sex. (But also fuck that Sophie’s choice! It’s just to illustrate a point!) For me, blood is NOT thicker than water, and it doesn’t make me an asshole to believe this. I would have traded big boobs, and a big ass, to be a Ballerina. Most forms of math I was forced to learn in school were useless in real life, like I said they’d be! And I fit in everywhere, and also, nowhere, and I’m cool with it.

Also immutable (except those years it wasn’t) is that I’m just, me, and I actually do love me (again  now).  I’ll speak my mind clearly, other than when I stumble over my words because there isn’t (or is) eye contact. Part of me is also about struggling with when to speak, and when to not. Like, timing is everything, but there’s no time like the present. Except maybe my present being the “no time like” isn’t the same as that of someone else. Maybe their puppy is sick and they don’t have the capacity to hear my ramble. And I forget that sometimes.

So right now expansion is happening rapid fire.  Things I didn’t ask for, hope for, dream of, or even know existed, seem to be the foundation upon which I was built, but didn’t realize it until ideas found me, and said “don’t worry baby, you’re not crazy, or a bad person.” And there’s a limited audience whom I sought out to support the “not crazy or bad” thing, cause they’ve been where I (think) I am, who may get this, if it is what is, with whom I can discuss the parts of it which can be discussed. 

But for as much as it makes sense, it’s also scary if I let it be scary, and lonely until it’s not,  and in a run away as fast as you can, sort of way. Where I want to look around and be all Jersey girl and say, “fuck outta here wit dis bullshit, have you MET me? Why would I be a fitting person for this role?” But I feel like I’ve gotten a “this is your mission and you can’t not accept it” note. 

Even if I’m reading a million signs wrong, the direction I’m headed is the same irrespective of who is along for the ride, and it’s good! I will always have to be at least ok, no matter who is coming along. 

So while I still don’t have answers I now at least feel like I get myself, and my life, a bit more. Permanent impermanence has been on purpose to allow me freedom (just another word for, nothing left to lose) and flexibility of sorts. A constant quest for deeper truths without blind faith in anything or one, has allowed me to REALLY find my truths. (Work in progress)

And for those who may wonder or may need to know, each step I am making is made with integrity, love (global and specific) like I’ve never known, and highest good for all as it’s driving forces. My focus is inside me, healing my me, raising my vibration, and watching for the synchronicities as a (beloved) friend has helped me to remember to do.

So all this being said, I’m tired AF, and it’s time to get up for work. Also, I need a break from my own head, from deep thoughts and emotions that come with rapid fire transformation. I need to go out and play, to shake my ass (dance!) hear the ocean. Sometimes too, I just need to shut the fuck up, like right now.

You Were Written Into The Song Of My Soul

Maybe laying here in my bed, typing this into my phone, the words bubbling once again below the surface will find their way to light, in a way they were reluctant to do when it was the couch, and the laptop, and me.

There’s a whirlwind now, circling around me. Everything is changing, inside, and out, and its brilliant, and beautiful, and I’m peacefully overwhelmed. Because I wrote maybe I need to shed skin again, and God, Universe, The Flying Spaghetti Monster, whatever,  responded with “get naked, baby!” So naked I am, in the whirlwind, at peace, overwhelmed, but not. No need to be in control of any of it, but also in control of it all because; manifestation.

And it never looks like I think it will but always looks like what I wish I’d dreamed it to be, now that I let go of what it is, or will be, and just let go. With tears of unknown origin once again finding their way to me, this time I’m not on my knees, or even surprised. This time I’m grateful. Each tear that clings to a lash, reluctant to fall, or makes its way out amongst a rush of it’s peers, is a spontaneous ritual of purification. Is a signifier simultaneously of a closure, and a further opening.

Absent all fear, the step forward, upward, sideways, whatever it’s meant to be, leaves behind another footprint in memory’s past. And I have no more answers to questions than I had when I finally chose myself that day 7 months ago, except so much now makes sense.

Whether it is a matter of heightened awareness or a quantitative rise in frequency/frequency of occurrences, synchronicities abound. And what I need when I need it, words or actions or phone calls or songs or love, reach for me, take hold of me, assure me here is where I’m meant to be. Here where I have the most incredible people in my life. And where magic(k) is everywhere.

I’m still just half a hippy, (the half that will always be well groomed, and never wear patchouli) but in my halfness I am (holy) fully in a place of knowing love more deeply, more intimately, than in any time (in this lifetime) before now.  Love generally love specifically love globally. Starting with me, for me, for both halves (still really both wholes) of me, and with love for all, even those I maybe don’t like, or for whom my first thought isn’t loving, there is love.

Where once I thought a mirror was held before me I’ve come to understand there is no mirror held but is simply a mirror. My mirror into which I reflect back as it’s mirror.  Ideas about, and descriptors of,  history lessons, and titles, none of that matters. Tomorrow, or next week or 2 months from now, it just is. (Everything of light, and bright, and cool)

This is all about me,  but it can never be just for me. While naked 11 (which is not the same naked as skin shedding naked) may appear to be some days a default setting, the absolute truth hovers more around (veiled? robed?) 8 or whatever number below 10 best expresses authenticity & transparency with some (tiny amount of) reserve, except when expressed as frequency (Hz) which makes the number at least 500.  And isn’t about appearance, and only meaningful to those (one) who hear(s) what it/I say(s).

7 months in the past and 15 days into the future are significant, but right here, and now, is where I work to stay.

—–

Fell asleep at 3:00AM, phone in hand, typing. I guess this is the place at which the words stop.

Angel

Come find me. 

I am here, 

where I kiss the sun, 

and burn with the moon. 

Where I hear your feelings, 

and dream your thoughts. 

Waiting, 

but never just, waiting. 

—————–

This isn’t a bloggy blog post, and it’s not poetry unless you want it to be. This started as an Instagram thingy, turned tweet, in an almost mocking way. (Mocking myself, to be clear. Not my writing. My romantic, sappy, emo artsy fartsy creative feeler-ness)

 It ends up I like it in spite of it being the kind of writing I often hate. It’s ended up a love song to both halves of me, which are actually both wholes of me, but that just sounds weird. And also I wanted it somewhere I could find it, in case it needs to say more someday. 

This is not about sitting around waiting for my missing love. I did that, in a manner of speaking, waited to be seen, to matter, and watched years slip by. Highly overrated. And also, my love is not missing. For whatever that means in the moments after this one.  

And tomorrow is another step forward. Tomorrow is the continuation of beginning, again.  Tomorrow is actually 10 steps forward. So if you feel shaking, it’s just my chakras being cleared. And if you hear music, it’s just my soul remembering it’s song. 

The title of this? Fuck if I know why. They just told me to call it angel. So I did. 

Song For Johnny

Non-specific words force their way from my fingers, in a desperate attempt to escape (my heart?) where they have lived since before I knew them. Without understanding of why at all, and without desire to be so crass as to say what it is they actually might mean. Insistent fucking words once woven together like braided ribbon, wrapped tight around a mystery, untangled with the passing of days. Weeks. Months.


This isn’t a song, and there’s no one named Johnny, and this started out as something like automatic writing, in February, and its now the ass-end of April, and at some point most of the draft as it originally existed,  was somehow automatically “unwritten”…   Whatever it is, or was (not?) asks now to come out…

Johnny’s song is; missing what you’ve never had, so you can’t possibly miss it, except you do. It’s (a) dream(s) that bend space, and time, to reach across ages, and reunite souls; sort of.

Johnny’s song is, in moments, that which makes you (not sad) cry for the intensity of the everything that rushes past you, around you, through you, like the coldest winter’s air. Except it’s everything that couldn’t possibly ever be cold… It elicits tears of release, and confusion, of wondering why,  and what are you supposed to do with the everything that was supposed to be not really anything, or not at all. It is the grey of every question you’ve ever had, washed away by the sublime peace of knowing that the questions don’t matter because sometimes things just, are.

Johnny’s song is an “of course I love you”  because to think I don’t would be to imply that there is a way I could, not – when the crossing of stars, and connecting of planets, deemed it to be so. Without understanding of what it is now, or attachment to what it ultimately may be, it is being first drawn in by timbre of an unknown voice, unexpectedly become familiar – love’s song.  It is strength, and confidence, and gentle vulnerability. Complex in its simplicity. Borne of all that is beauty, and light.  If time has a beginning, it was then that this song began, the score for a first meeting of (souls?)

I still don’t know what it’s meant exactly to say, this Song for Johnny.  Or why the night was without rest, as they fed me lines I summarily rejected, once figurative pen, half asleep, met paper. If they want it different then they shouldn’t have unwritten it the first time around. And maybe they is just me, who visits only in heightened states of (emotion.)  Or maybe it’s something more.

And while I will never tire of Johnny’s Song, it’s time to stop writing (this) and launch it into the ether so I stop looking over my shoulder at it. Maybe then my muse, with her ridiculous randomness, will have enough space to conjure something new.

“…So We Must Love While These Moments Are Still Called Today, Take Part In The Pain Of This Passion Play…”

Listening to:  Everything Indigo Girls (again) which started (this time) here “Galileo”

12 years ago, 2005, in the span of 5 months, my confidant, greatest supporter, in many ways my mentor, my teacher, my almost-mother-in-law become dearest friend, Roxy, 5 days before my trip to Denver to see her, lost her (2nd) battle with cancer; dear, sweet, YOUNG boy, sound engineer working with the band I was managing, Chris, just starting his career making music beautiful, was taken literally by fire; and my niece, Cristina angel completed whatever it was she’d decided to come here for, and crossed back over to where she was free from the medical mystery of a body she’d occupied for not quite 11 years, this time around. And what I thought was forever (and real, and passionate, and nurturing, and healing, and spiritual, and healthy, and everything beautiful) love, found me. I wonder sometimes, had it not been for all the death that preceded the finding of me by (love?) might I have made different choices. Maybe. But I made the choices I made, and really, who the fuck knows. And now here I am… exactly where I want to be, at my core, happier than I’ve ever been.

In 5 days, in a courtroom far away, a Judge will wave her magic wand, and the life, and marriage, formerly known as mine, will be legally, formally, officially, eternally, over. And it’s good. I have outgrown that marriage, and the person I was when in it, and the person to whom I was married. I never understood until a few months ago that people can outgrow each other, their relationships, their marriages. I got it in terms of friendships, but not beyond that. I get it now. From my own experiences, and those of some others who have, or are going through this. They don’t have to involve things such as domestic violence, and addiction, for one to outgrow the other. Or both to outgrow each other, and the situation.  Moving on, walking away, is not something bad. It is not a sign of failure, or of lack of integrity. In fact, it is likely the exact opposite of that in some cases. (Such as for someone I will be quoting later in this writing, who helped me to shift my perspective on this topic.)

In one month’s time, my littlest angel, Ari, will be ascending a level higher toward her dreams, starting out on the road-trip, that is really a (permanent) move to Los Angeles. So much everything cool, and good with that. But cool, and good, isn’t always synonymous with easy, and free of sadnesses of sorts.

In two months time, I’ll be moving, locally, somewhere. As (accidentally) as accustomed as I am to moving, for some reason I didn’t think I’d be doing so again, quite this soon. I have always been “lucky” or whatever it is that has my back in this life, so things always work out, but, this just feels a little heavy this time, which is throwing me a bit off balance.

—-

I’m over-thinking, and under-doing, and not breathing enough, but also, breathing sometimes too much. Maybe I need to get high? Or laid? Or swim in the ocean? Take a road trip. Spend more time in meditation? Allow myself to fit into a box, and be suited to a label? Live more in this world, and less in whatever the one is that so often calls to me? Drive until I get lost, and found again? I definitely need to sing again. And to dance more often, with absolute abandon, in a crowd of people doing the same, to share that energy.

——

From Elizabeth Gilbert – one of my favorite authors, and humans:

Yesterday, I asked my Fear, “How are you doing, my old friend? What’s going on with you?”

My Fear said, “I’m so tired. Trying to keep everyone and everything safe has completely exhausted me. I can’t do this anymore. Somebody else needs to be in charge now.”

And then I heard Love speak. She said, “Let me take it from here, babe.”

That’s when we all started breathing again.

Elizabeth Gilbert – Love this lady

——

I am now self-aware enough that I have been watching myself slip into where fear, or something similar to it, which is not shiny, or beautiful, has started to be a little bit in charge again. Not fear of a something, or a someone, or an event. Non-specific fear, that I’d thought was relegated to my past as a way of life, or even just an interlude. Not to say that I don’t know what some of the “triggers” are, but, triggers aren’t inherently the boss of me. And also, sometimes triggers only have the slightest hint of a fragrance past, which strikes the chord of a memory of a something that wasn’t pleasant, so making the decision to believe that the top notes, and finishing notes, and all in between, are exactly the same as the scent of experience past, is just, stupid.

So I look deep inside myself to see what’s going on, and I look to the planets, and stars, sun, and moon, to see what is maybe their part in all of this. I wrap my arms around myself when need be, remind my me that this healing is a process, and that my shade of crazy is actually quite beautiful, and that which sets me apart. Not above, or below, but apart. I (for once) reach out to others to talk to them about it, this (slightly) off balance moment I’m having.

The origins of fear –

Knowingly putting myself into situations which may result in me getting hurt in the end. But that’s a little bit what this human experience is about in total, so I kick my own ass, widen my view, and remember that I’d be bored, and filled with regret, if I didn’t take the risks of LIVING  vs the safety of existing.

Never afraid of change, but sometimes when a lot of it comes all at once, and when at least a part of it means (physically) letting go (again) (because it has seemed sometimes that universe has wanted to say to me that my super power in this life is letting go of anyone I love, but not because they die, but rather due to circumstances I’d never seen as remotely possible) I stumble, and momentarily clench my hands to grip more tightly, instead of releasing.

Feeling a lack of contentedness for my todays, because I’m very excited for my tomorrows. I got a little high, I think, on the fast pace at which things were changing, and moving (inside, and outside of me) for a while. Instead of appreciating the calm, and matching my energy to the rhythm, and in spite of knowing that a slow groove builds the foundation, so that when the crescendo comes, it is of mind-blowing proportions, I focused on the “high.”

That my wants will be perceived as neediness. That I’ll forget, again, that “no wo/man is an island” and won’t let myself be held, or nurtured, because that means vulnerable. And that vulnerable is scary as fuck for everyone who has any amount of living under their belt, and as far as I can tell, a lot scarier for those who have experienced years of betrayal, and betrayal by everyone in their life ever sworn by lineage or deed, to protect “you.”

That I will be seen (not by anyone in particular) to be “less than” because I don’t have a plan for 2 months from now, much less 10 years from now. Because all the good people, right people, best people, have a solid foundation, a firm plan, own a house, aren’t divorced, have a college degree, and a linear career path. They also don’t feel as if their life will be incomplete if they don’t travel to certain countries. And especially by 50 years of age, they have very firm roots planted somewhere, with someone, the end.

That what is before me, which is burning inside of me to know, and has been since before I knew it was, is held by unseen forces, and just carrot on a stick, with which I will later be smacked.

I want to write about shadows (in which I am not meant to live) because I am the girl who (metaphorically) sings from (metaphorical) sun drenched mountaintops, and dances on them too, not in the shadows. But also not in spotlights. Sun light. Glitter light. Neon light. Lava lamp light. Strobe light. Because I have a primordial need, and unquenchable thirst, for all that is light, and bright, but am not concerned with getting attention. Its not that shadow dims my light, or that (momentary shadow dwelling) is forced (because it is my choice). I’m just not very good at it. So now I’ve written about shadows… without saying anything at all.

These words that are my own, which had such another meaning to me, for me, when I wrote them 2 days ago.  My lovely Bloom says “Why are you doing that to yourself? You’re missing out on the joy of today!” And I know she’s right.  So I take a night off from the weight of all I’ve been carrying, am amused by the couragesness, or craziness, of those much too young for me to take seriously, and take more shots than I mean to. I have another conversation filled with laughter, childhood memories, and connections that defy space, time, and logic.   I allow vulnerability to have a moment or 2. And then hours of poetry in the form of lyrics, and harmonies, and melodies, fill my world. And I let love take over,  recall that vulnerability is absolutely precious, sacred, holy, rare, remember I’m not in shadow, I’m bathed in light, just not in the same way I’m used to, and again throw my arms wide open, and step forward without fear, into whatever might be, in every aspect of my life. 


Listening to: Still on Indigo Girls – Below quotes are from some of their songs. Brilliant, inspiring, intelligent, thought provoking, evocative, lyricists, they are.

“Of all my demon spirits, I need you the most”

“Working through the grammar of my fears”

“The hardest to learn was the least complicated”

“Now we all are chosen one’s”

“My place is of the sun, and this place is of the dark”

“The less I seek my source for some definitive, the closer I am to fine”

“And when you’re learning to face the path at your pace every choice is worth your while”