The perfect swell of the upper left hip of the fire goddess

It's been a while. I've done a lot. Much has changed. Much has grown. And now back in fairfield, I feel the familiar pull, back below water. Back to drowning. Falling into routine. It feels like death, or more accurately, it feels like not living. Like I've been covered in plastic, like our grandparents couches. Preserved for ever, enjoyed never. When I play it safe, I get to be safe, but I don't get to experience things. It's more energy to try to live deeply, but it is worth the investment.

Right now, it is difficult to get in touch with my desires. They are confused. I think maybe some of my desires are hiding because they are afraid, if they express themselves, if they try and get fulfilled, something bad will happen. So they're so suppressed I can't even find them.

that's my big homework for now: get in touch with my desire-body.

It's difficult. I'm in a dark, cold cave. deep, silent pools of water and a steady rhythmic dropping of water from stalactites punctuates the silence, tapping out the hundred thousand year old duet of water and stone shaping each other. I'm wandering through these dark tunnels alone, searching for another person there she is, pale and fiery, reflection from the pool she's at the edge of doubling her. There is the hint of warmth from here, but there is still the large, cold pool to cross, and her light and heat are diminished by this cold place and her long solitude. Somehow I must help her go from the only lukewarm body in a world of cool, into a burning inferno of a goddess that has the earth erupting above us and the cave filled with bubbling pools and steam. I am completely unsure of what my next step must be, but I begin swimming across the pool of water towards her.

List

It's been a while.

Things in my Brown Shopping Bag:

-A note pad (blank)

-Miniature laptop

-Worn notebook full of passionate, childish judgments and demands

-Skull/forest spirit mask made of paper, twigs and leaves

-Herbal pills for acid reflux (not mine)

-Organic vanilla extract (all mine)

-A condolence card about my friends death, with words cut and crossed out

-The miniature laptop's power cable

-A bottle of cloves

-A small piece of paper with notes about how my desire's are like Dumbo.

-Black hair clip

-Electric toothbrush charger.

-Smooth rounded, slightly pitted stone, still sticky from sea salt, which fits perfectly in my palm

-Dandelion root tea

-A single black wool sock

-Pepper and salt grinders

-Half broken mettle button for one of my pant's flys

-Almost empty bottle of conditioner

-Bread baking pan

-Heavy duty electric beard and hair trimmer

-Small plastic container, open and empty

what I'm dealing with right now, what I'm healing, my current theme, is huge, and challenging, and very, very important. And I can't tell anyone what it is. So, not so much, in the way of blogging lately.

Her beauty poisons my soul

Her beauty poisons my soul.

Her art impregnates me and now I'm giving birth.

something in me is ripped. Not broken, but torn and hanging askew. It has to to do with women. It has to do with me.

Hatred born of impotence, the kind that drives people to arson.

Despair born of failure and more failure at an age that was too young to realize anything else was possible. Continued into the future by the holding in of emotion, untasted, building pressure, killing me.

I am sad, and tired, but my jaw is set. The dead bodies of shattered hopes bleed around me and I step over them on my path forward. I do not believe in lasting peace. Not with my heart, because it has only known the kind which was quickly fleeting. But my mind understands: it is possible. Perhaps likely.

And both head and heart understand that there is no real option aside from forward.

I am in a desert: I may not make it out before I die, but its more likely than if I just sit, or go in circules.

Half the reason for my single minded determination is my hatred for all that wants to slow me down. The darkness, ignorance, addictions, distractions, doubt, depression. I'm too pissed off at them to let them win. I'd rather die trying to kick there asses.

fuckers.

I'm very sad these days. Grieving something. Something I've lost, something that's been taken and I don't even know what it is yet because part of the loss was the loss of awareness of what it was.

It feels good to be that sad. Like it feels good to be pissed off. That bile that's built up inside of me, not allowed to release. A stuck pressure valve, finally exploding, gushing, gradually returning to normal as the pressure equalizes.

I am hopeful for the future. The 90 year old man in me sees what is happening and nods approvingly. He understands what is happening, he recognizes healing when it is happening, and he is unafraid of strong emotions, of other peoples opinions.

He knows he is right.

But the boy in me is sad scared frustrated and despairing. He cannot see any possibility of escape from his loneliness and self loathing.

And the warrior marches on.

krought

I'm going to sleep right soon.

also, I just started my first batch of sourkrought from the purple cabbages I've been growing in my garden. They exploded all over the table-cloth covered bookshelf that belongs to the center, and I had to spend over an hour cleaning it up and transferring the jars to a safer location. There was much loud swearing when the leak was discovered. And still more work is required, to make sure things go well. Sourkrought is supposed to be simple, damn it! You take some vegetables, you smash 'em, you pour salt on them and put it in a jar for a while. Not that complicated.

Well, next time, it will be much simpler, having learned from my mistakes.

friends

I love my friends.

my real friends.

and wouldn't you like to know who those are.

though you may, if you are one.

I love them and am thankful for them, more than most people ever are. Because they are so important to me. Because they are the brightest part of my life.

and now try to understand that deep down, I don't trust any of them to stick with me to the bitter end. Not that I don't trust or love them. But I am honest. With myself and with others. And truth states that I can rely on some of them a lot, but none of them absolutely. There is no guarantee they will be there tomorrow. People move, loose interest, get a girlfriend/boyfriend and stop making the effort, get offended, change, and die.

I never expect anyone to save me, change me, heal me, care about me love me. Because it hurts way to much to expect any of that and then be let down. But that leaves me very lonely sometimes.

So much of human nature is self-serving and fickle. The more I am aware of my own processes, the more I'm aware of others.

I suppose the only thing to do, as always is be that which I wish to see. And let my feeling being uncared for serve a good purpose in motivating me to care for others.

I will make use of my friends as I can, as they are available, to share and play with, but I only have one person who I know will never leave me, and that is who I must develop my main friendship with.

I don't know how, yet. I'm working on it.

on an apparently opposite note, I'm making a distinct effort to spend more time with friends, and it is paying off in my general happiness and energy levels. As I believe I've said before, I have refused to accept my unhappiness, my depression and emptiness, and I won't stand for any excuses or obstacles in the way. I'm also getting in touch with my anger and rage and frustration, which is an interesting experience. It's very satisfying to have a private place to scream and swear and beat on pillows as I vent my rage and indignation that's been pent up for so long. It scares me a bit, but it is a healing process. I just need to be careful I don't accidentally let it out on people.

giving my worry away

lieing in my bed, worried, attached.

I do not know if it is possible for me to live a live where my base state is full of joy. I think it is a possibility. And I'm working towards it.

Again? Yes, again. With a little more wisdom, and a little more practicality. I gave up before, in bitter disgust, time and time again, only to be shown a ray of hope at the last minute. And so I keep going.

Last night, lying in bed, I just gave up. Gave up my worrying, my constant tensing in anxiety, wondering if I'm doing enough, or even the right thing. It's a movement, not an event, and it is conscious. I gave it up to the benevolent intelligence that runs things, and I gave it up for my favorit representation and personality I use to connect with it on a personal level.

It felt really, really good. It's kind of tricky to do. Perhaps I'll practice.