One day, my backpack will become too heavy and I’ll have to set my past down.
It seems like I should feel like my heart is pulling me in two directions but this is only one…
It seems like there is no space for me.
No mold to hold me.
No hands that can keep me.
An object in motion stays in motion until…
There is no force to oppose me.
There is no box to close me
I’ve tried to find the lines around me drawing and drawing and drawing but…
I can’t see a path before me, only art and this moment and this momentum
That’s speeding up and igniting the fuse again
The karoseen rises from the earth up through my feet
And I think that I might not run out, and maybe I’m not too much
And maybe nobody wants to touch me with my eyes ablaze when all I need is touch because they feel the same fire burning inside them and it…
Breaks every mold. Extends beyond the reaches of the mind and asks one to find a new vision, a new lease on life
This life is mine.
I’m not here to compromise I’m here to bring magic to the masses by doing this work, transforming my limits and hurt into freedom and reaching out in action.
A new way is being birthed through me and I breathe through every contraction
I can’t control much but I’m patient and I’m kind so I trust…
Below are the journal pages I created during this freestyle session
I dance between
Joy and Grief
Because every moment is dying.
Winter feels the same each year. This kind of suffocation – like, it pulls me so deeply into my own soul that I think I’m the only thing that exists and the walls of me are the walls of the whole universe.
I guess it’s a kind of lonliness.
It pulls me in and then it spits me right out again and – God, whomever that may be, must laugh because each year as I fall from the lips of winter and drop like a hard seed in the ground – I have the same look of astonishment on my face.
Each year I exclaim, “Wow! I thought it would go on forever!”
So I wonder, I’d this year I could try doing it differently. I think I know that winter won’t last forever- I look out and see buds forming on tree branches above me and snow melting to reveal mud slapped grass.
I know that I will emerge unchanged- at my core, that is- and completely rearranged. Reorganized on the inside.
All that time inside, it really puts things in place for me.
I consider moving to Hawaii for good but I’m confused about time and so the idea of having an 8 hour difference is so odd to me I don’t think I can stand it.
What’s next? Is there a way, in the future, to explore without traveling through giant metal carriers that disrupt the sky? I hope so.
I see beams of light. I see us folding our worlds into them and between them and telling stories across the lines from one to another so we all get the message at the same time.
I see our homes stacked high, encased in light tubes that take up no space but still exist in it.
I see what I would call a dimension, right next to our own, and it belongs to us just as much as this one does.
I’m not afraid to travel there, within there, and reach out and touch here.
It’s like a form of connection I can’t even imagine.
But I got a little vision last night- of a woman who was me but looked and felt so different but so similar and felt so me. I didn’t even recognize her, like, it felt like I’d never met her yet but yet I knew her and she was me.
She was beautiful and balanced and purple and green and brown.
I think I may be becoming her or maybe the part of me that is her is coming out.
I remember- in that state which I call “mediation” where I’m in that other dimension- that I can experience things and then pull them out to hold them here. Like, remembering a dream.
It was like an email but different because it was so far beyond that. It was between me and others who were from further places and I said “I want to receive more of this!” And I knew they got the message, all at once, all clear. It was like email but better. Instantaneous thoughtform travel.
I remember that the message also had form. It was like a little cake of pourus material- like a really, really sense, wet sponge. And there was the one I accessed and there were two more that I didn’t yet.
I think they are still “there” waiting for me to “open”.
I wonder how to do it.
I feel myself becoming more efficient at this – accessing information from seemingly outside sources.
How do they have so much information about me?
How are there other aspects of me that don’t exist here?
How can I access this information all the time, on demand, whatever I need, whatever I want, whatever I ask for, whatever will help.
Is that what’s already happening?
How does the information form into matter? Like, where does this reality spring from?
When I go back there I have everything I’m asking for here.
How do I open all of the channels? How do I let my life reflect that wholeness and safety and understanding and love?
I’ll keep going there- to that space I call meditation that is seeping into so many moments of my life when I’m doing so many different things that I believe I am almost permanently placed there.
Perhaps that’s what’s shifting- me. Into another time zone.
I got home at midnight.
The sky was red and
the whole world smelled like dog food.
Everything was melting. Water bubbled up from the puddles and the black trees concealed they’re knowledge of the coming spring in tightly wound buds that I couldn’t see but knew were there,
Because I’ve been through 26 springs.
And every one of them has come on time.
It makes a person consider their life.
If I’m not separate from the nature or the cycles… then how could I really ever fight the current that carries me?
And since I know its brilliance, won’t I be pleased?
And how could I ever think that a storm could last forever, that my whole life might be dark, when I know that spring comes every time?
I don’t know why the sky is red or why the whole world smells like dog food or why people, sometimes, will take their own lives
but I know with utmost certainty that I am a moving part of this strange and unending world
and that when I die I will become another part, continuing to move and grow.
When I think like this I find more time… more time to learn, to get it right, to understand, to flounder, to make mistakes, to fall and get back up, to wait out the storm.
If I have a million lives to learn guitar and create my family and love my siblings and carry on
then what makes this one special?
The sky is red and the whole world smells like dog food.
Before there was you there was we…
a central star,
a sun like any other but it was ours.
and you may not remember it as you pray to unknown Gods or tell stories of the past that you think frame you, box you, make you…
but one day you will melt back into the cosmic soup and the spirit that now calls order to your flesh will know it’s way home.
and this in every moment is the truth;
never did we forget you or leave you alone,
part of you rests here and when it is time for you to return we will call out your name by tone.
I’ve created worlds through it. You won’t convince me that it’s dirty.
I’ve heard my ancestors whisper through it, and scream through it and beckon me to walk through it.
I’ve melted into it.
I’ve become reborn through it.
I’ve come through it.
I listen to it.
I bleed through it.
I’m new through it.
I speak through it.
I pray to it.
I pray through it.
I am really hungry
just for something that makes sense.
When I look at our moon I see something that we all share
with every ancestor that’s ever walked, swam or squiggled this Earth.
I see our closest heavenly body
a reminder to take a look just outside the confines of what seems like, “all of it”.
I see the missing piece that creates our wholeness.
I think of every other body I must have had before this one and how they must have, with questions and love and pain, been in awe of her power just the same.
Tonight I walked outside six times to greet the moon, said hello to neighbors doing the same in below freezing weather, in my bathrobe and slippers, I set my bowl of crystals on the frozen earth before the feet of the only tree in our yard
I peered up at her blood red body and I didn’t ask our moon for anything, I just said, “thanks.”