This was 1 year, 5 months, 22 days ago

finally, finding a space to type in this interstitial space.

what is there to say? I coil up an experience and hold them in my body, I pray, willing it to ooze out of my fingertips, eventually. experiences I have no words for, cannot describe. I felt the soles of my feet against the ground, I tell to M, who looks at me, kind, eyes wide, holding space. I listen to D's story, open-mouthed grin, as I repeat, what the fuck, what the fuck in sheer joy and wonder. A, I see this lonely, sad person. you have to come back, I say, you have to come back. pushing A off into the world. telling H that this is it; that this is the stuff of things, projects and spreadsheets and plans and unforeseen problems, issues, struggles, trying to make it work, buying that trailer last minute, oh oh oh, and then I see this arch, the interdimensional portal, half-finished, and with a kind of glee I tell him that I think it's best as-is, that this is the point, isn't it? isn't it?

days later I visit and of course, it's finished, the arch, seams hidden, wiring done, screws fastened. that's the way it is. we strive, we try, we try to make it work; sometimes it doesn't. that's just the way it is, of course.

--

so many lessons, so many lessons fron the desert, from the playa this year. too many to pin down, too many. I have feared writing, almost, because I am hoping to hold them in my body. so these are instead referents, thin lines to a memory, calling them back into being and memory, and also knowing that if I do forget, then my body will know, my body will know.

what it means to walk away from a city, what it means to come back, what it means to be in my home, what it means to establish a temple

what it means to walk, to walk a diamond, to walk with directness, to walk with steadiness, sureness, firmness,

what it means to be prepared, to get ready, to get dressed, to tuck the elastic bands of my shoelaces, neatly in a loop-de-loop, to be prepared, to be dressed properly for the temple

what it means to circle a space, to move with firmness and anger, calling into being, protecting what's present.

what it means to feel heat rise inside of my body and inflate me, stop just outside of the edges of my skin, expand into my interior space

what it means like to stand with the soles of my feet, touching the ground, claiming a presence, neither learning in or out, neither hiding or demanding, speaking or listening, but firmly, even angrily, standing, letting myself be. here I am, I say. I dare you to witness me.

what it means to meet someone else's gaze with your eyes, see their eyes and your eyes, find knowledge, recognition, sorrow, in someone else's shining eyes. to stop for a moment. mutual recognition, for that moment.

what it means to enter, properly. what it means to leave, properly.

--

so, now what, we're here, present, thinking the unthinkable, a recalibration.

--

I think about what's at stake. what's at stake is simply the rest of our lives, the rest of my life. am I grounded? am I present, here, available? am I alive, am I not alive, am I not buzzing and vibrant? am I not afraid, desiring, joyful, hopeful, sad, reluctant, brilliant, tentative, embarrased, joyous, angry, passionate, disappointed, hopeful?

--

so much here, vibrating. remember, remember, remember, remember, remember, remember, remember.