Ashes and Dew

I am trying to take care of my own body before I ask people to take care of each other. I’m tending to my own space before I ask people to take care of the earth.

When I was with you, I didn’t tend toward entropy. The opposite. Everything came together.

I have chemical instincts from my evolutionary past. But it isn’t that way anymore; adopt the modern pills and technologies.

But what if we want to bring back some of what was wild? Not everything. What if I can be more complete without it? What if it’s the only way for me to feel any real meaning at all, anything beyond this?

With the roots trying to grow out of our bleached hair around the view of screens, through our synthetics. Everything alive that would make living a joy, and get rid of the need to put our minds in little blips on social media, because we’d be making wonders in the real full physical spiritual world.

It’s all ego: artifice, what is manmade = speaking and making from myself. Stop and listen, to what’s out there, to god.

Ego is the masculine trying to dominate the feminine, or maybe he’s just Trying more than she is. In an overwhelming way, in an inevitably connected way, in which the only way for her to speak, would be for him to stop and listen for a moment. Not to destroy anything, not to try to take back or to build or imitate her, not to try harder, but to turn to her and listen. Not to make a new technology to listen. To just stop and wait and listen. To obey? No, to be a partner, a friend. To care wtf is going on with her.

To apologize for dumping oil in the river, and to start to pull it out so that she may give him fresh water again. To listen, because she is responsive, and knows that trying to engage in the fight will cause death to them both. She has given him the other cheek until she is bruised and withered. He’s angry that she’s not doing his wishes, so he strips her more and more. She needs the hits to stop coming for long enough to regenerate and speak again; she is always there, waiting. She needs the patience that she has given him all his years.

Ok fine, I hear you, I’ll start meditating again.

Now i know what it’s like to feel like someone is magic. and it wasn’t who you’d think. It was in someone who loved me in practice, whether he tried to or not, whether he wanted me or not, who let me flourish. i was not attracted to him, and he became that way, and I found myself averting his eyes and then trying to look up and catch them as much as possible. I saw him and the world glowed. I couldn’t control my face, my smiling, when he was talking to me. Maybe it’s just too easy to fall in love.

I want that place where I can radiate creativity from. That body. That dwelling.

i am your house. i am your beautiful glowing light. and you are in me. i am chana, the gate protecting life in which you can thrive.

We each take a hero’s journey; the elements are just whatever we so happen to do. Whether it’s the books we read, the friends we had, the posts we saw online; it becomes the stuff of our personal meaning. Sometimes it ends up being beautiful to others as well. The best has happened when i’ve thrown myself, all-in, to adventures that have an element of exciting risk (not a gut fear risk, but an excited feeling with the thought of risk and giddiness in the stomach).

I feel like it’s asking too much for a therapist to help me recover from the deep my interest and confidence to go to school. Is it necessary? Do I have any gift to refine? I still have potential to learn

i can return to everything natural and slow and peaceful and lovely i wish. i may pour tea cups on lily pads to the birds coming through my blue window. i may wear my white dress and decorate my hair and smile. …This is a storybook, maybe someday it won’t be too dire, and beauty could enter life.

Ok, ok, i appreciate the value in all these things now. The How To Cut Carpeting video on reddit. All the things i used to think beneath me. i started to look up to them. May i go back to school now?

Maybe there is somewhere i can tell the truth and be accepted, and it is even better than the places that wouldn’t take it. Like how my friend said there are people who “get” us after all, and the people who end up getting us happen to be who we think are the coolest people. But to find it, I have to tell the truth, and risk losing the people who’d accept my false image.

Maybe I behave in an ugly way not because i feel alone, but because i feel like i don’t have true deep privacy. Like i’m still trying to get people and thoughts to go away who never do. I’m stressing myself out. Where’s the comfort and deep peace of that childhood self, who sank all the way into a beanbag chair with a book. Who shut herself in her room in a cardboard box imagining it was a spaceship. Who closed her eyes and fantasized about being wanted…Maybe it was all just escapism. I found peace on my feet with my eyes open in the rocky mountains.

And time keeps coming. I’ve started to find my cycle comforting. Like my only steady rhythm, a big clock rocking me to sleep even when my eyes are aglow on the screen and i’m not waking up to the cycle of the sun. I find the cycle of the moon is slower, i float in the dark river. The moonlight shines white and pink on the dark dark river. And i float on my back, fingers drifting in the water, and blink up lazily widely all around me, the dim warm glow. (Maybe that’s why i need to leave california; it’s too bright).

Be (your name here)! Remember who she is! Don’t settle for those little anxiety productions! Do the real thing
And help your friends remember who they are. Yeah time to come home.

When different style musicians collaborate, syncing up, complementary with the same magnitude of energy behind each, each being so themselves? Increasing the play between, finding harmonies shining new overtones? That’s what it would be like to play good music with someone.


*My job is not to try to make the body look like anything other than it wants to express itself as. Just to take care of it. Care to it. My job isn’t to control the body, it’s to take care of it and then let it do its thing, in an ever-going play between us.*

There is a hint of green in my eyes when i don’t have my contacts in, but you’ll never see because i can’t see without my contacts in.

And there is a deeper me, can i embody her now? Maybe i need to get physically doing what she would do, not contorted at a laptop; move myself and be in the stronger ways that she could inhabit. If the mind comes first, fine, these words are my mind. Just do the next thing.