Waning days of summer, fighting melancholy at the thought. Not just for the inevitable arrival of winter, albeit months away, but also because I a little bit (really a lot) missed the mark of my wishes for summer. The things that were for sure to happen, that did not. The things I intended to do, but didn’t, and as my own worst critic ALL THE TIME, I’m a little bit salty toward me right now. But, I hold onto the idea that everything happens exactly as it is supposed to, and when it is supposed to (maybe) as solace in moments of sadness, and as “get the fuck over it” in moments of “just quit being a whiny bitch, everything is great.” Sometimes I’m feeling a little trapped in the box I chose, until I remind myself that the lack of a comfort zone (excepting that which is inside myself, and the warmth of the few I keep close) is what has propelled me to here, where I need to be.
Its been a really weird fucking summer. I mean, an absolute 180 from last summer. I’ve manifested a couple of things in ways I didn’t think possible. And I’ve found a peace in most moments unlike I’ve ever known. I’ve made new friends who get what’s going on with me, and offer brilliant support. “Old” friends too, have been steadfast in their support. But there has also been extreme sadness. Absolute broken heartedness. And my shadows have come out to play with a vengeance, which is fine. I understand that to move on to the next place, they need to be embraced or cleared or in some instances nuked, to ensure they don’t dip in again.
In tandem with sadness, and heartbreak, have been things I’ve not got words to describe, and am also loathe to put labels on. Things that have amazed me and caused me to say quite literally and absolutely out loud, are you SURE you’ve got the right person? Not because I doubt myself, or because my self esteem is low, but because for as much as I’ve often been deeply psychically connected to my daughters (Sorry I knew who you kissed and when! And told you what you were eating, when there were HUNDREDS of miles between us.), astral projected since forever, have had some CRAZY experiences, nothing has ever been what is now. Never have I felt or experienced things like those of this summer. (Unless you count those dreams and dammit this is a reference that wasn’t here a few hours ago and this is why I should never re-read, because then I re-write, and then things happen)
This writing is, at least when I started it, a return to the roots of my reason for having this blog. A place to breathe or bleed, as needed. This is not written in sadness, as I am not sad. This is being written as a place marker, and a reflection. As in, reflecting on the past, which means last year, and a minute ago. Maybe to learn from it. Maybe to help another. It’s a little bit (psycho)-therapy too. Which should never be confused with psychotherapy, because the former is simply me exorcising (or possibly just exercising so it won’t destroy things, like, for example, me) my “psycho” side. There is no university degree involved here, there is only the knowing that sometimes shit gets crazy, and shadows happen. I’m just Michelle with the windy path that has led to here, and many pauses along the way have taught me deep lessons; the most important of which is the continued theme of being light, and love, and a hand to hold, or whatever is needed by the one in need. And that there is bliss in the surrender to everything that was supposed to be not much or nothing at all.
Thoughts come in waves of feeling, interruption (with tears right now, each tear that washes another something away only I don’t know what it is being cleansed and I’m feeling someone else’s something right now, and it hurts a little so I’m sending love wondering if its your tears I’m crying) …I’ll set fire to your fears, to stop them hurting you. (Because I think I see, or saw, you ~ in a blaze of yours that altered your course, and you were so close to the everything or way to get to it/there.) Mine too flicker in and around me with varying degrees of (in)frequency. And as I come back to myself, and re-read, the addendum is; do not assume these words are for you, please, unless you KNOW these words are for you because you FEEL them which has nothing to do with me saying them. But maybe if you, whomever you are, react in the least to them, pause. Feel. I think they (who is maybe just me) mean them for more than one person. If you landed here, maybe, if you want to, go deeper….
When I started writing this, it was going to be about the year anniversary, as it were, of me fully leaving behind the life that used to be mine, of which I am only aware thanks to the Facebook “on this day” feature. It was going to be about how I’d been triggered by a co-worker telling me women make up lies about domestic violence. It was going to be how that caught me off guard because even when the ex leaves me mean, and threatening voice messages, as he did week before last, I’m not triggered, and how I still think it’s important to be a voice for domestic violence. Probably Chester would have been thrown in the mix had I gotten that far, because next weekend is the weekend that was going to be the Grey Daze reunion, and I was still going to go to AZ for that weekend then thought it better to not, and now I am regretting that choice because I am longing for the familiarity of my friends, and to feel that sunshine on me. And to cuddle because there is where I can safely, simply, cuddle with those who have known me forever, and I sort of need to cuddle because irrespective of it being by choice, sometimes cuddling only with puppy is lonely, and this is a huge tangent. Sigh. And cancer too was likely to get a nod; as the dance continues. But everything that is everything else keeps pushing all of that away, in spite of the fact that I’ve said next to nothing.
Maybe it’s just all the waves that have been crashing lately, into me, around me, as I learn to master the energy, instead of it mastering me, that has me so flustered in moments. There’s so much information everywhere about what is the right thing to do, and what I shouldn’t do, and how my path will unfold, or not unfold, and I believe all of it, and none of it. And all of it matters, and none of it matters. (And this isn’t an echo of the mirror I thought it too, before it was said then. Just to say, so if you see, you know, and now I’ve done it, twice)
If some of this isn’t what I believe it to be, then its nothing I want because that would make me crazy. But the labels about what it is don’t matter. All that matters is the (global) love the transformation has reminded me of. I can’t speak of magick and mysticism and play by the rules which don’t allow for them, so, all that matters, is the love. All of this, whatever it is, is an utter gift, and difficult as fuck, but more beautiful than difficult, and all that matters is the love.
There is likely no cohesion here but I won’t be re-reading again because I’ll end up editing and fucking it up. And as my muse was silent for a few week, and then I silenced her, accidentally, for a couple after that, I feel like I have to push publish, just to get the writing happening again. Not to say this is all I’ve written. There is never just one and never just here. But this is the rehearsal space, so here is important.
And as I sit on my couch, in my living room, all I can think, all I keep feeling is; I want to come home. …