i know it’s august, but stay with me. let me set the stage.
to do list:
it’s july so i hold the weeping back and let it wash over me in glimpses, in the noticing, in the teary eyes of old poems and strawberries and creme freshe , and the familiarity of marly floors and a good teacher. it’s july so look at the water. watch it move. take long walks and sweat until the dog wants to go nowhere but home. remember you have choices. it’s july so eat espresso beans covered in dark chocolate, wear a gold thread, and red. let it all be messy. slow it down. life is but a labrynth. just listen. infuse a drink. research a question. it’s july, lie still. settle and listen to the teachers who loved and left you with the air drenched in cicada song. stay. archive a shadow. linger in light.
read:
angel of the get through by andrea gibson
and then:
i spend much of my time glancing at the cloud doused sky waiting for sunlight to sear through, shifting blue paper to white. i tried to get high and instead felt clear. worked on documenting shadows only to be smothered in cloud.
truth is, i haven’t read anything profound in a long ass time and i’m not sure if it’s because nothing i’ve touched is or if my brain has already been closed/expanded past the plate offered to me. i’m the kind of person who finds profound divinity in simplicity so this shouldn’t be that hard of an assignment. i don’t know. i’ve started calling myself an extrovert because i crave connection, and staying put and enjoying my rent makes the anxiety rise up, like ants in an old house, and my house is very old. the walls have been crumbling, and the sound of grit in the vacuum cleaner rattles my memory. something in me is starving for depth, or an answer, or a good question, or, at least, a little bit of light to contrast the shadow.
here’s the thing. it comes in flashes— truth— but settles slow and dense and carefully like fog. my therapist can say it comes in my own time, but my memory paces me. though that’s the whole point of some roaring mysteries— if memories served us like a keyboard then we wouldn't be entrenched in this mess of wondering, this cavern of the unknown, and even when the message is clear to everyone else’s, or eases up and shovels reality into your lap all at once, there we still are, left to parse through whether this thing needs a babysitter or sheer comfort or a knife to its thighs or what. that’s the thing about trauma, about ~bad things~ even death is but a question. a singular hope, a jumpstart perhaps. a crouch at the edge of whatever. a next thing. as long as it’s different from this, as if today wasn’t different from five years ago too. the next thing is here, and ah fuck. it shifts as slowly as clouds. it sharpens and dulls the image, but the days drift us in and out of focus.
i have to pause to check my shadow archive. the sun is out. it sharpens the paling blue. i have printed portals. i have stopped to breathe.
july 21:
things that help 🦢 marley floor, forever home. dogs, always always always. andrea gibson and our hearts splayed open. red adidas / vintage cowboy boots. compression sleeves on crackling knees. hot and icey (roll on edition). commiseration. gallons of water. sparrows. hearing what i am told. keeping it real. banjos. staying in bed. getting out of bed. doses. dance. dance. dance. dance classes. hair oil. hair supplements. growing hair (omg). collagen masks. owning a milk frother. local music. electrolytes (i’m sorry to say it!). candles in the kitchen. grocery shopping as a nourishment practice. any podcast with ross gay. tiny doses of every day magic. enjoying my rent. finally putting my prints in frames on the wall. red light at night. app blockers. meeting your friend’s love who you’ve heard so much about. watermelon juice. removing dead leaves. getting my period and accepting it. uncovering feelings in memories. moving through. light through wound. catharsis embedded in movement. leg extensions and v squats. swapping out a hand towel. sound canceling headphones in ikea. looking for what to worship. when the crickets are so so so very loud. feeling a bruise move through its healing. flexing the boundaries of my agency within my small realm of impact. the way hugs go from awkward to confidently loving over time. sweatpants with a sports bra. stretching your hamstrings. finally saying hello to the person you see every day in the park and learning the sound of their voice. writing poems. compassion. the sound of laughter through walls. free palestine. housed community members. i love you.
