i can feel summer on its way out. slow ebb and flow.
this time of year there's a particular smell in the air. it smells of things ending and starting again, of melancholy, of a kind of gathering, energy, excitement. this time of year I might be getting ready to go into a desert, gathering things up, packing, thinking, planning. this time of year I am mobilizing and moving around so that I might be able to think about what it means to be home with myself. to be home.
this has been a wild year, and a wild few months. I don't know if I've changed as rapidly and strongly as I have in this time, like when a bird takes a a sideways dive and swoop, a strong hook, and then all of a sudden I'm going faster in a different direction. but it's good. it's okay. it's where I am. it's even amazing.
suddenly I feel myself nostalgic for home, for family, for parents. I think I am reaching the age where parents start to resonate, where family starts to become more and more important, where the angry independence of my 20s and the slow deep capacity of my 30s will gradually transition to familial power, like tides. this care, this power of care, is powerful, I can tell, like the tide rising, gentle and insistent and magical. and if I want it to I can ride with it.
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what do I want to do? there is the idea of building spaces and houses. yeah. this stuff is interesting.
but underneath it all there is something that tickles my gut and my penis and my heart and my stomach and my belly, a fire that roars that wants to CARE, that wants to hold and heal and guide together, and then to laugh in pure delight about the things we've been through and the sense of perspective and deep sorrow and acceptance that can accompany us when we face our fears and traumas. I really like this. I crave this. and when I pass into, through, with these things, I feel whole. ready. real. present. ideal.
in the next few days and weeks it will become fall. we will feel it. we will talk about melancholy. we will settle. we will think about our lives. we will wonder what we are living, what life means, what is important to all of us. we will love the people that we love. hold them dearly and carefully. and miss the people that are gone from our lives, or are distant, whether through death or through... time, pain, knots.
how to hold this energy.
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I want to become a teacher, a guide, a listener. a servant leader? when I'm 40 I want to be supporting and guiding, leading people through their own journeys. I want to be a hiking guide, write trail guides, be supportive. I want to share and provide spaces where we can go inwards and cry cry cry cry cry so deeply. I want to be a space for a temple.
I want to make things, and hold care in the making of things, and to share and learn acceptance through the process of making and being.
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an calm adult with an angry kid inside. at some point I became one, soothing that kid. turns out it's important to be an angry adult and a calm kid sometimes too, and we are in the process of sharing that energy, of moving it around.
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this deep inner shadow work / integration / inner child work / somatic movement work is. deep. am slowly moving with love. a tide like love. learning to love myself and others in new ways, in ways that I didn't know were possible or ever real.
it's a nice feeling to be in groups and to be able to notice. to gently offer up a possibility that knits a group together, if everyone wishes to. to see excited energy and to then be able to guide it, help channel it into a form that the group wants to.
I can feel how good and experienced I am in this, and also how much more I have to learn about other styles that are important. of more ambient contexts. creating a container and letting go, no driving. the walls of the trash fence are enough. everything held in the magic of the container
and in this I am exhilarated and so so so curious about what lies around the corner. I can't wait to get older. to be rooted in the earth.