Letting things simmer and finding that all affects reduce eventually. It's a miracle that my softness is still somewhere inside. I am excited to share new kinds of slow pleasure this year. Reminding myself that it's okay to feel safe while praying/eating/fucking, whatever. Life is an open-ended voyage and me and my faggot friends are all sailing together through hell. Process-oriented comedie.
I am not incapable of want. When I start to want, a gossamer chrisom for my previous not-wanting floats down into my hands. Sounds gentle. But "chrisom," "chrisom child," - a child who died within a month of their baptism. Their cloth is a burial shroud.
Desire electrifies something perennial, a song bouncing around in a snow cave. Echos into the pit of me. I crave an ache that is in service to my loneliness.
I am ill? The somatics of a crush, synonyms for some of my other sicknesses. How protean and thrilling I am. Again, mycelial. Imagining the resonance of a kiss like a dendrite, ache shooting down into the nervous system, crystalline
Trying to relearn the architecture of my intrusive thoughts today
Sat down with it. Indiscernible feeling, dread, sleeping-alone taste, it's all a form of dropping into a story. I do this to fold forward and feed tension to my blueprints. Because I don't live on the promise of the future, sinking too far into things I've named takes me away from witness. I am not eternal, I want to participate in every part of my life.
When I say okay to my feelings, a root deep below me extends itself and makes contact with another root, previously unseen and untouchable. Far away things may as well be dead, I don't experience the breadth of love unless I loosen and say okay, yes, recovery, I'm still here. And then we're both trees, and we're sitting on a hill watching the sun or breathing heavy fog into the cold and heating up with nothing between, realizing we already believe in each other.
"Five holy wounds," Noraa texted me. I sent back an illustration of the four humors. Aquarius is a phlegm sign, I guess. My apathy pituitary, my calm mycelial.
The summer hasn't even found its height and I feel myself expanding... into the arms of those I want to know, find, hold close, be in love with. My wilder shores are only an undercurrent for now; the wilder material laps softly behind the arch. Sliding down the spillway only a couple times a week, continuing to arrive at the existing state of things regardless of how fast I go. It is, beyond all my paranoid predictions, fascinating to experience.
"Yes, so love begins / and though the road's end is out of sight / I do not think of the end / It's the loving that I love."
My energy is a resource to me, for if I wish to blossom into a marvel I must be allowed to have my moments but ultimately be well-rested. Smiling in bed as the lamp light undoes the moon light. The new moon and I have yet to outbid one another. We are machinery, working in tandem, latching and unlatching. I am hopeful.
Spending minimal time on my computer. My bones have been stricken by animals and Audre Lorde. It is delightful to commune and be so communed with. Metabolizing is safe. Prayer is safe. Mud all over my shoes.
An exploration, for me, is submitting to structure. Assuming the role of architect with a greater sense of discipline. It unfortunately makes me feel quite pure. I have a penchant for feeling more like soot, diffusive and smeared, always in a new place. Visualizing drives to Philly and upstate NY. Camping? Smoking? Music-making? The thought of brief departure, heady arrival, new encounter, makes me melt.
Walked deep into the woods today, on a newer trail. put my hand into the river stream, near the mouth of its waterfall. The chill encased my fingers, I nearly wept when the trees creaked, and then the turtles dove off their log and slipped into the pond.
What I "seek" is embodied awareness and experiencing the whole of the body as a unified field of sensation*, it doesn't matter if you're wearing clothes or not
Down the path of practice, I find aroma with no visible source
Slowness comes as a "great perhaps," a sky bristling with snow
* The Disembodied and Embodied State by Will Johnson
Part of creating a secure and visible door into the beautiful life that already exists for me is planting, mixing, stirring, supportive habits that will allow me to further weave messages and openings into the quilt of my body. I imagine my healed self to be someone who is continuously embalmed by her own wounds, rather than poisoned by them. I preserve me. I would like my shadow work to give me such a nectarous smell...
I think I've been an accidental mystic for too long, letting my passion be defined by seeking and finding. What my faith says is that I am already in communion, I've already found divinity <3 My earth movements are only just catching up to accepting that knowledge. I don't want to stay up into the night worrying about concepts... my nature is to become more me with everyday that passes, to fling myself into devotions and learn how to hold them while holding myself
Vaccine's got me bereft and feverish, accidentally ate way too many warming spices and gave myself a hot flash, would like to make some popsicles for this exact occasion, maybe fudge dipped in chocolate and nuts, strawberry matcha with coconut shavings, all with a blended frozen banana base... wonder if any of the herbs I have would suit a dessert? I don't like lavender treats