floating

i am avoiding. i am avoiding. i am avoiding. a void. ing. thinking. writing. feeling. making sense. yet all the while hoping to sort out some clarity about the tangle i am in.

tangle. tang. sweet yet tart. tasty. lovely.
mangle. destroy. malign. disfigure.
tang+mangle=tangle.

yep, still avoiding while i'm also being random. or dramatic. take your pick.

so, nathania, what is the dilemma you are avoiding?

the same old story: i do not trust.









men.



well, i do and i don't. but tonight, i have found a lot more don't than do. and it's not so much that i don't trust because i have been hurt {because i have been hurt by people i love and trust so much it hurts in that good, stretchy sort of way} but because i have been hurt by folks {thinking of two specifically} who try to make it my fault for even asking for what, only moments ago, was so freely offered. it's the venom of dishonesty and lash outs that replaced eloquence and invitation and delight. it's the 2nd face i'm afraid of and i can't come out again despite how politely i've just been asked.


so there.

i'm in hiding a little. i guess. and that's okay.

but thanks too for asking so sweetly. if only for pointing out this confusion where the head, the heart and then other, significant bits are pointing in three different directions.





just don't ask me about the other, significant bits. i know where you stand so i'm trying not to tease. honest.

2 am

i've seen a lot of them come and go since early november.
at first i was talking a lot to someone
staying up late to the smell of two spirits, crushing against each other,
but now it's just a bad habit egged on by addictive books and adrenals too worn out to tell what's up and down these days.

so now that i am not getting enough sleep, it's easier to ignore dishes, slough off the assignments i have to do for the artist's way or take myself out on an artist's day, write a few long over due entries on my blog, balance my checkbook, get my expenses in order for taxes. paint. read plays. that sort of thing.

if i'm being harsh, i could judge myself under the umbrella words of avoiding, laziness and self-sabotage, or i can be a little fair and pull out gentler words like resting and hibernating. i need a day off not filled to the brim with family or work. better yet, i need my old two in a row.

and rather than whining about it more, i'm just going to deliver a few random thoughts before turning off the lights and praying for no more bad dreams {said addictive novels involve some scary-ish creatures}:

i used to be envious of my good friend ljl {and she knew about it because she's awesome and i could tell her}. she is lovely and sexy and feminine and as we would stroll down the isles of fremont pcc, i watched in awe as the wine stockers, deli workers and cashiers all fell under her charms. fell?...hmm...melted, actually because you had to douse them with cold water to be able to scrape them up off the floor in one chunk. like a messy puddle of wax.

i wanted men to be attracted to me. i wanted to be charming. and now i'm finding that i have a modest percentage of her capacity. enough to get me in trouble. lose friendships, or at the very least misplace them for an indefinite amount of time. current casualty count since october? 3 or 4 {depending on how you count}.

i am cautious.

the sound of trains at night opens a channel between my heart and the pit of my stomach and somehow my heart always feels a little smaller even after the sound fades and the channel closes.

my body is taxed but unfit to my liking.

i need to be asleep by 11:30pm sharp for the next three months.

i need to refuse any offer of milk-bearing food for the next two months.

i am tired.

i am sore.

i am frustrated and equal parts hopeful.

i am sad you can't meet me for coffee. {i refer to the above 4, no matter which way you count}

but i get to look forward to meeting you for coffee and not making the same mistakes i've made before.

now i must sleep.

merry christmas

a late day sun for you all.
the year is closing.
i have many thoughts ruminating in my head.
but i also have a train wreck of an apartment and a sink full of dishes.

more soon, my loves.

futile devices

oh sufjan, you're doing me well right now.
how do you manage such micro-bits of supreme beauty?
the first song off the new album is currently on repeat and it's only two minutes.

here are the video and lyrics:







lyrics:

it's been a long long time since i memorized your face
it's been four hours now since i wandered through your place
and when i sleep on your couch i feel very safe
and when you bring the blankets i cover up my face

i do
love you
i do
love you

and when you play guitar i listen to the strings plus
the metal vibrates underneath your fingers
and when you crochet i feel mesmerized and proud
and don't say 'i love you' without saying it out loud

it's hard, so i won't say it at all
and i won't stay very long
but you are the life i needed all along
i think of you as my brother although that sounds dumb
and words are futile devices.

at the picasso exhibit

"it took me four years to paint like raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child."

winter suns return

cloudy days broken by snippets of sun i keep forgetting to document for you all. today, success.

certifiably single

for the first time in nearly two years, i am completely and utterly single. no man is hovering on the horizon. no crushes are waking me up a little extra smiley and chipper in the morning. no nagging regrets about this or that relationship that should have could have worked out if only the stars were three degrees to the left.

nothing.



i



am




s
i
n
g
l
e.


and it's wonderful.
completely wonderful.

rewind

up until the weekend of my birthday party*, i had gained a lot of momentum with the artist's way. things were getting done. progress was a dear friend i spoke to every day. my home space was coming together and my artistic life was taking wing.

but a few things happened in the wake of that project. minor post-project depression {as opposed to it's evil twin, post-partum depression}. escapism. a relationship {of sorts}. and the artist's way stopped.



dead.



sure, i made paltry efforts, but i wasn't getting enough sleep, for some of it i was working 7 days a week 12+ hours a day, and since i wasn't being efficient in a lot of places it was the first thing to fall off. this isn't necessarily a surprising thing. week 8 is where people stop coming to groups, where suddenly it feels like a what's the point mentality takes over and generally where there is a huge hiccup in the process for most people.

but i wasn't completely wasting my time. quite the opposite. i was just diverted into personal growth, though while not directly about the act of creating work, still integral to my sense of self-worth, particularly as a sexual being {mainly, finally finding it in me to realize i do have worth there}, and those things have long been overdue in terms of needing attention and progress.

so here i am, rewinding the chapters back to 8 {the rest of the group is wrapping up chapter 12 at this point and tomorrow is our last meeting}. and i am re-greeted by the section on artistic losses. but with all things artistic, for me at least, the word can be swapped with personal and mean the exact same thing. personal losses are as vital for me to acknowledge as artistic losses when it comes to the safety and clarity of the creative space.


and here i am, ready to move forward in the wake of some personal and artistic losses all wrapped into one. and in the second page of chapter 8, i read:

the criticism that damages an artist {i would substitute person just as easily} is the criticism--well intentioned or ill--that contains no saving kernel of truth yet has a certain damning plausibility or an unassailable blanket judgment that cannot be rationally refuted...
...personal in nature, nebulous as to specifics, this criticism is like covert sexual harassment--a sullying yet hard to quantify experience. the student {person} emerges shamed, feeling like a bad artist, or worse, a fool to try.

i won't explain the specifics, but man, does this paragraph resonate on so many levels in my life currently. so here i am, mourning losses that are personal in nature and moving forward, with the glorious lessons they also taught me still firmly in hand. thank you.




*yes, i still owe you all a post.

spanish sahara

this is my day in a song.
thanks, matt, my second-night-of-thom-york-in-new-york-city friend.




so i walked into the haze
and a million dirty ways
now i see you lying there
like a lilo losing air air

black rocks and shoreline sand
still that summer i cannot bear
and i wipe the sand from my eyes
spanish sahara the place that you´d wanna
leave the horror here
forget the horror here
forget the horror here
leave it all down here
it's future rust and then it´s future dust
forget the horror here
forget the horror here
leave it all down here
it's future rust and then it´s future dust

now the waves they drag you down
carry you to broken ground
though i find you in the sand
wipe you clean with dirty hands

so god damn this boiling space
spanish sahara the place that you´d wanna
leave the horror here
forget the horror here forget the horror here
leave it all down here
it's future rust and then it´s future dust
i'm the fury in your head
i'm the fury in your bed
i'm the ghost in the back of your head

cause i am
i'm the fury in your head
i'm the fury in your bed
i'm the ghost in the back of your head

cause i am
i'm the fury in your head
i'm the fury in your bed
i'm the ghost in the back of your head
cause i am

forget the horror here
forget the horror here
leave it all down here
it's future rust and then it´s future dust
choir of furies in you head
choir of furies in your bed
i'm the ghost in the back of your head

cause i am
choir of furies in you head
choir of furies in your bed
i'm the ghost in the back of your head

cause i am
choir of furies in you head
choir of furies in your bed
i'm the ghost in the back of your head
cause i am

#1 thing i didn't want to learn today:

that the ugly corporation that just bought the gorgeous building {lovingly maintained since 1915} will be renovating it {destroying all its old world charm} and evicting us all under this thing called "just cause eviction." we found this out not because they have given us any notice, but because my neighbor happened to approach an apartment that has already been asked if they have 50 units available for us to start viewing now. they wouldn't be approaching other buildings if they didn't already have all the permits in line.

my heart is breaking.

my beautiful home....

a slice of humble pie

i need to rewind a bit.
essentially backwards two entries to "the letter i wish you had written."
it was out of line.
passive aggressive all wrapped up in pretty paper.

debating deleting it, but for now it'll stay.
painful proof i am not perfect
and still have growing up to do.

suns and silhouettes

much like life these days, the light and dark of things living and breathing side by side.

the letter i wish you had written

dearest nathania,

thank you so much for the time you have given me. it's been a gift, a delight, a light shining down on this turning point in my life that i made in the wake of meeting you. i have enjoyed every moment you've shared with me and all the ones in between.

yet here we are, at a parting of ways, and while i can't possibly explain to your satisfaction the reasons why i can't continue forward in the same direction as we have been going, know that in all the words yet to be spoken {or not}, all the spaces and silences to come, that i don't regret the paths we explored and the time we shared. you are a captivating creature, one that i love and am proud to call a friend.

you have breathed new life into quiet spaces and that has left me gratefully yours,

t.

now switch the names and know that i do find softness to share in hard places, but you don't seem to want it right now, so here it is. perhaps for you to find another time.

two weeks' worth of envelopes

two weeks ago i received the first of the international envelopes to return. yipee for flying across seas & spanning continents and find me. they hailed from ilz, austria and toronto, canada. thank you mom & dad {the latter of whom called and didn't leave a message at 4am austrian time time to ask a question about mixing color}. thank you, cam & princesses lauryn & erin.

the second week followed up much the same with envelopes from england, australia, a few local friends from washington state unable to make it to the party and then another from down under. thank you marcus, tara, martin {and lilian}, sunshine farm {guy, rachel, renae & not to baby jesse}, & sahra!

currently listening to: the mix at my current favorite coffee perch, roy street coffee in north capitol hill.

obstacles & illusions

{to be read as part 2. to the thank{s}taking post on 11.25.2010}

my brother-in-law told me something a few years ago i've never forgotten:

if one person says you're an asshole, they're having a bad day.
if two people say you're an asshole, then you're having a bad day.
if three people say you're an asshole, maybe you're an asshole.

i'm not sure what it is about that lucky number three that makes something stand apart and forces the lesson to be learned, but it's always the third one that seems to drive a point in.

for me, this lesson came in the form of the third man to step up this fall, and not only acknowledge his attraction to me as a woman, but his deep appreciation of.......who.......i.......am : the vivid bits of emotional intensity and color that i have always assumed to be too much for men to get. too much for them to see, too much to enjoy and always and forever too much to appreciate. and yet, here they are. ducks in a row. loving/appreciating me in whatever way they can and i am grateful for that.



because...



because........








because for pretty much my whole life up until about a week ago {almost exactly} i convinced myself that even if i somehow managed to have a scrap of physical attractiveness borrowed from the fine feathers of the moment or perhaps flattering lighting or whatever else i can attribute beyond the inherent physical quality of my body, that even then, my overwhelming beingness of nathania would be too much for men. they would turn away before blinded or drowned {pick your metaphor as long as it's negative}.

and that's how i've walked forward in my life. step by self-negating step. and as much as my confidence has grown and i have even lived into wonderful moments of true feminine boldness, the fundamental belief i had for myself was always as above.

but the first stepped forward in october, the second in november, and now, a week ago, toeing the line of december, a third man moved toward me, however briefly, to whisper my worth to him into my ear, reminding me one last time of something i should have already learned long ago:

that men are capable of seeing the full dimensions of my beauty
&
that mine is a beauty that lasts.

so here i am. marveling at this new self-perspective that i wear quite well on some days, and fold-up and put back on the shelf on others. but it's slowly incorporating itself into my being and i can be patient in the meantime.

and now the other similarity between these men: despite their ability to look at the full brilliance of me and smile into the warmth of my sun, there are things getting between us. the first, the obstacle is himself, the second, one timezone, two mountain ranges & more than a few states, and the third, simply the product of a misalignment of time and space that whispers a faint chorus of what if. but here we are. apart. and that's okay.

because:

i have also discovered i can be more patient about this than ever before, because for the first time i don't feel the threat that the apartness is somehow linked to my worth {or lack thereof} but rather to what i believe to be a complex network of chance and fate. and one day, there will be a one man and no obstacles and we will be brilliant, each on our own, and together.




currently listening to: any other name -- thomas newman

a return

it should come as no surprise that he came to me, but it was, even though i should know that he always returns when i do.*

............................................................
............................................................

last night, i flipped a bird to my dirty dishes i need to wash, my checkbook i need to balance, my bills i need to pay, my neat piles of laundry that need to be hand-washed, mended or ironed, and even the next chapter of the artist's way that i need to read; all insulted in order that i could paint. it's been a while since my creative self has been used. maxed out in the wake of creating and distributing a wide scale {for me} collaborative project {yes, i think just about everyone's received their envelope finally, so i'll announce the details soon}, i went dormant for a while. hibernating in extended phone calls and novel-length text messages to the friend i announced meeting on the same day the first envelope was returned {see here if you've forgotten}.

and what a lovely return it was. one that no matter how many times i make it, it never ceases to surprise me how effortless it is to be alive in creative spaces. and alive in a way that only today, i was able to articulate that is not possession of creativity, or my ability to create, but merely in a state of perpetual wardenship to this force that i present myself to and it passes through me, bypassing all conscious decision-making skills and dialoging only with a set of pre-verbal instincts that are crystal clear in their process from intention to manifestation, even if they don't let me in on the process. the painting last night happened and suddenly i'm ready to place the finishing touches on it and how did i even get there? it was thrilling.

and so, last night, as my reward, or rather as proof of reuniting me with my creative self, thom yorke paid a visit. it was backstage after a concert and somehow i was there slightly on the sly. i was hoping no one would notice and kick me out. he was taking care of post-show business including signing stacks of posters fans had put out for him to autograph. i had slipped a few into the stack and he asked me to help him pick out which ones to sign. i noticed he had already selected mine and somewhat flattered, i had gone through the stack picking out the most interesting looking posters {one from the bends, one from hail to the thief, etc. it was this quiet bonding time that was interrupted when others joined us. there was talk of future concerts and he invited another person present {randomly i think it was someone i knew from highschool} who had been helping him to come backstage the next time he was in seattle. my reaction of shock and awe was such that he turned to me and included me in the invitation. that somehow opened a door between us and suddenly we're talking about the spring tour, coachella, the magic of the 2nd new york city show and i saw that he got it. he got me. i wasn't shy or nervous, i just was, and he appreciated it. and when they asked him who he'd like to drive him back to the hotel, he gestured to me and said her and i realized he didn't even know my name yet, which was fine, he would.

there was more, and i woke up after and had the sudden mid-night-mid-morning-too-early urge to get up and write it all down, because this was the closest we have ever been and it was a relief.



*again, i feel i should repeat in case the reader forgets, i know that thom yorke in my dreams is not about the man, thom yorke, but the idea of the penultimate artist that he represents.

currently listening to: fog - radiohead

i'm behind

i owe you many stories. many words. many moments.

but tonight is mine and it's reserved for sufjan stevens and painting.






see you tomorrow? perhaps.

black trees and grey days

{thank{s}taking}

i had a hard time giving thanks tonight sitting in a bath grown cold despite the numerous refills of scalding water. i think i was hitting hour number 3.5 or 4 when my comfort read was done. my skin was cold when i moved against the water. but if i was immoble i didn't notice the lack in temperature and so i just sat. still. temporarily anesthetized but knowing that it's only while the words of someone else's story lingers. but they end. they always do. and i am left to think about how the universe seems to tell me to look closely and pay attention. but while i can see what it's saying i can't make out what it means.

in a one week span late this past summer i learned that three men of varying significance to me had "another woman" in their lives. a man from my past, a man from my present and a man i had hoped might stretch out a while into my future.

and now, the fall has cupped within it a similar story, through a different vein, and i am left to mourn the probable loss of not one, but two amazingly-incredible-resonating!!! friendships that toed the line of more, all the while pushed up against me with generous and full interest, only to flicker out again and dim abruptly, leaving the faint whiff of a dying fire and sincere words of kindness that only somehow make the burn go a little deeper.

so the bath gets colder, the books get their happy endings and even ophelia gets hamlet, despite the fact that the world kept them apart.

and i am left. here. not knowing what to make of the reoccurring themes and only wishing for myself that i could live in emotional abstinence for a while. not care, no matter how sweetly i am asked. not give, no matter how generous my heart feels. just sit a while and steep in solitude and knitting.

so tonight, universe, i give you thanks for the lovely house i have been able to create for myself, thanks for the lovely people who choose to stay in my life, year after year, despite {because of!} the vivid being i am, the fact that today, i gave some poor boy sitting on a cold, frozen cement sidewalk not just that first $1 bill but then a minute later, when driving past, a rolled down window and a line from a movie 'hey kid!' repeated until he turned, took the steps to my car, saw the measly $5 i then passed through the window and gave back at me the soft, surprised words of genuine gratitude and appreciation as though it were a $50. and i am blessed. blessed that i not only have the money to spare $6 but to buy the food i did today, as well as the growth in my spirit and bank account that i can spend $100 without using guilt somehow against myself. gratitude that in my heart, in the face of all my years of heartache and doubts, i know of a secret place i pretend not to believe in that truly knows in that deep internal trust sort of way that this whole wide world is capable of producing one fucking man capable of not being afraid of risking for me. for something. for anything. and eventually for a future. for the life we want to glean from this world and the kids we want to bring into this world. and that will be a scary place. and we will navigate it together. and it will be beautiful as only he and i can see now, apart, and one day we can envision together.

filling the form.

i don't know. i don't know. i don't know. i don't know. i don't know. i don't know.
what. what to do with restlessness. what to do with paralysis. fear. impatience. loss. anger. faithlessness. justice. hamlet. hamlet. hamlet. stirring up. his ability to finally speak his truth. truth shied away from, manipulated and rejected. i loved ophelia, forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum! and how he nailed it. after all those other moments he nailed. darragh kennan. well done. how i have an actor's crush on you. and at the same time, such tragic love, while i don't desire that, i do. ask. for. more. more than has been given to me. more than others have had the courage to offer.

so here i am. and where have i gotten myself? what am i doing? why does it always come to this? a fine-toothed examination of all the things i have not done. the people {person} i have not met. {effectively blasting past all the things and connections perhaps i deserve to give myself credit for?} michael caine didn't decide to act until he was 28, so i'm ahead of the game by his schedule. and yet, i am lodged in between fear and inertia and forgetting about this all entirely, jeweled up and jazzed by yet another space that cannot hold me. i am too big. i am too much. again. always. until i figure this thing out with myself and where i am going, i will always. be. too. much. and. yet. never. enough.

i go to hibernate. don't talk to me for a week.





not really.





but really.








and, in an effort to do more than just whine, let me write my list of things i must do in order to facilitate the possibility that i might do more than just shake my fists at the sky and wonder why i am not doing exactly what i want with my life. here are a few things that will help:

join tps.
ask freehold to facilitate a dialogue with tps about accepting meisner grads without two acting credits {perhaps i can scrape up two anyway} for general auditions.
contact annette for coaching
solidify your two monologues
go. to. a. fucking. audition.
practice yoga 3x a week
pray. pray. pray.
breathe.
make a 5 year plan
open a bank account to set aside money to move to new york city someday.

already i feel a little better.



currently listening to: samskeyti - sigur ros {which makes my heart restless and achy even when it already is}

snow silhouette sun sky

a week's worth of blue envelopes

i have been immersed in a few things {read: one} in my personal life and have not been documenting the sporadic delivery of my blue envelopes. they have, however, been a continuing delight, heightened by intermittent days of an empty mailbox that alternate with receiving up to four at a time.

this project is a wonderful source of joy and requires a bit of patience as i allow the responses to flow in at their own time.

so, for this week, thank you mike {again}, aunt rebecca, andrew, reid & kat, cris, lauren {who's envelope got a bit turned around when i wrote the address} & raelyn. don't think for a second that i enjoyed your contribution any less for not creating a post immediately.




currently listening to: white flash - modeselektor {featuring thom yorke} - on repeat {currently play count since last night: 45}

sustainability

sudden silence split seconds into syllables i can't translate.
moments get longer. add up. become ours.
sweet.
silken.
sexy.
serene.
sleep.
certainty. but not.
i am left with no context to understand
though my intuition is speaking while you are quiet.

this is...

bubble bath consolation combined with escapist reading, epsom salt and warm spiced cider. it's the first snow today. typical seattle-ite noncommittal fashion, but it calls me to draw in and hibernate.

saturday morning

this is...

messy hair still too tired to open my eyes despite sleeping in past 11 because i was up late last night living and breathing into new spaces.

only one today

but such a one as this.

i have opened all of my envelopes and crooned with delight, felt the singeing pang of distance and/or the honor of receiving long hours of planning, labor and craft.
but this is the first to be shaded by a sudden sting behind the eyes.

mike, my very first radiohead friend, thank you.



{sorry, no photo just yet. i was running out the door to a small vacation in lake chelan to give me a well-earned break from my cluttered headspace. r & r here i come.}

little lies

despite my best efforts at authentic living, even i find myself inside a lie on occasion, living an untruth that is easier to speak than what is really happening for me. but we've come so far together, spoken so much, you'd think i would be beyond that.

when you asked for the second time are you okay? i wish i had said no, and i don't want to think about why. but yes was easier. yes was "kinder." and yes was completely at odds with what i want for you and for me.

for once two was enough for me and we welcomed the stillness to come cradle us. but you broke into the silence with a new string of words ......one......two......three......that spoke through the okayness i had insisted upon, surprising me with my own grief. and the sad thing is, i have been here before. exactly here, though i still don't know how to honor myself without bruising you. so all i can do is accept those three words you gently handed me. all else aside, they are true and we are true within them.

i love you.

and for now that is enough.

5 today

today was another trip to the mailbox almost ending in disappointment, until i removed some junk mail and found not only one, gorgeous blue envelope, but one golden yellow ticket saying i had a package with the manager. the box i wasn't expecting had an address written in handwriting i would recognize anywhere and in the box there were not one, but FOUR of these lovely things i wait for daily. i had mailed out enough for a whole family of dear ones to participate in {yes, i am still being vague since there are still several folks who have not received theirs in various countries around the world}.










it made my day. again.


thanks, sheree, darling. and thanks michael, vivienne, maija & sofija.

warm winter suns

pizza!

today i outdid myself. what is normally a wonderfully fluffy and herb-filled crust somehow became a fantastically out of this world amazing crust. it rose beyond perfection, and then we ate it, which made it even better. our good friend, dune, is in town and he is the reason all the stops came out with tonight's dinner. pineapple. spinach. fresh basil. sun-dried tomatoes. cheese {some vegan too}. artichoke hearts. fresh made sauce {including balsamic to add tang}. pepperoni....

mmmm....tomorrow's leftovers.

anyone want me to make them a pizza? just come on over.

no mail today

which is sad. even though veterans day does mean more than just a bank and post office holiday {particularly after having spent almost a year working with veterans, helping them to tell their stories and finding my own as a sister of a veteran}. but right now, at this moment, it just means no blue envelopes for me to exclaim over. which is okay i guess, because yesterday i got another two and couldn't even contain my excitement long enough to photograph the front of the envelopes before i tore into them to find out what they contained.

well done, josh and sea-oh. way to make my day two days in a row since i'm currently re-living the beauty as i type.

4:16pm

and then there were two

another good day, but also somehow a little rough. various emotional hangovers. staying in bed until almost 1pm on gchat with my delightful new friend which provided a good reason to procrastinate further on the things that have been weighing me down. refer to emotional hangovers.

so, at 4pm i deliberately went down stairs hoping that there would be more replies while keeping the thought in the back of my mind that i shouldn't be disappointed if there aren't. but even from the outside of the box i could see not one but TWO. i let out a delighted laugh and said "yes! yes!" like a 5th grader that just hit a home run. but this is so much better.

thank you john & chris.

hell, yes!

1. i made a new friend today. and all the words i used in my previous entry {part #1 was regarding this friend} do not convey how much i've been bouncing around doing the new friend dance since the first email was received at 1:15pm. and when i say "friend" i don't just mean i met a cool person and we're going to hang out {which, sadly, in this case will be delayed since they live one time zone and several states over}, i mean i met another "soul sibling kindred spirit word pursuing truth 'i look forward to learning about the universe that is you, nathania'" sort of friend. so hell, yes.

and

2. i got the first envelope from my birthday project in the mail today. i knew i would. knew it all day. and when i finally got home at 11pm, i walked up to the box and had a short-lived moment of disappointment when it appeared nothing "pool" colored was in the box, but my spirit was rewarded when i reached in and pulled one out that had been hiding in the back. hell, yes.

it had a flower seal on the back and though i wouldn't let myself open it until i got to the sanctuary of my apartment, i did peer at the post mark and was able to make out st. louis, mo.

thanks, georgia.

p.s. i didn't say what was in the envelope nor its color because some of the recipients have not received theirs and i don't want to spoil it.

words pt 2 {or made and missed connections}

t.

i gave you my words yesterday
good and true
spirit-filled words
when all i knew was your name.

and then you gave me your words today
beyond expectation
beyond beautiful
and i am thrilled to find an openness and enthusiasm
i usually only see in the mirror.

and now i sit with hope for more words
written, spoken, and sung words
full of color and meaning

because this is just the beginning.

........................................................................................................

j.

you aren't giving me words right now
because you carry a story you can't share
and as i sat on the shore line
taking photos of joy
i knew your silence passed by me
less than a mile away.

words

e.

you gave me your words yesterday
finally
after a year and a half of silence.

and they are graceful, tender things
written on a yellowed page
from under the trees

i am grateful for them
and i am grateful for you
and your infinite spirit and generosity.

.......................................................................................................................................

j.

i couldn't give you my words today
the precious few i even allow myself to utter
they are gentle, hope-filled things
that are waiting for you to come back
in whatever way you can
to the door we both know you didn't close behind you.

.......................................................................................................................................

r.

you spoke words yesterday
quiet, disruptive words
when i had asked for silence.
they tripped me up and lessened me
my moment
and the space that i had asked for
because you aren't listening as much as you think you're trying
and i can't forgive you for it just yet.

.......................................................................................................................................

l.

i heard your words today.
broken, tearful words
shared across space and time zones.
and the gift of your presence warmed me
as i sat

still

and unmoving

with you


as the autumn slowly entered the car chilling the air.

.......................................................................................................................................

a.

you have no words right now
the inertia weighing you down
as i lean over and whisper for the annoying-th time
are you okay?
and i'll give you no more words
because you'd prefer to weather this in silence
but know my heart is with you
each grinding day.

tonight

of course i stayed up till 3am making everything as perfect as not-nearly-enough-time will allow, so it is as perfect as can be. which, for today, is what i am grateful for.

houses of hope

my hope has taken a little beating recently and has been a little slower to recover than i thought. i guess i am to blame because i keep stringing it along, far far far against my better judgment. but i also know that my hope is an optimistic organ and keeps looking up into the sky through its black and blue eyes.

two nights ago i was a little heavier in spirit {that weird black cloud of a day that came and went without much explanation} so i went to sleep mulling about hope and how to heal it. my thoughts were rewarded as i ended up having a wonderful dream, only a few seconds long, but one in which hope was this perfect new home i was being given.

all day yesterday i mused on the idea of this new house, somehow both warmed yet feeling like i was betraying the home i currently live in that is only just emerging in its full colors. and last night's dream relayed that split: i was offered a spot in a house with three housemates. one of them was my older brother and two other good friends {one of whom is an ex from several years ago}--all were old housemates. but there was this sense of going backwards and the space itself was ugly, carpeted, dark, poorly furnished, much like the house we all lived in together. despite the fact that it made sense financially, my heart was hurting as i made preparations to move in. but at the last minute, i canceled my move out and stayed in my current place and the relief i felt in the dream carried over into waking life as i woke up shortly afterward and was more than relieved to see that i was still in my own darling beautiful home.

between the two nights i am reassured. i am on the right path and the new space for hope that i am being given is the one i am creating a little bit more every day.

yesterday the new and infinitely superior earring holder was finished {thanks to az and his power tools--though i must say i was doing most of the drilling}, today a canvas was hung and the books were further rearranged. tomorrow is the first thorough housecleaning and saturday the second gathering of folks since i moved in.

yes, the two of us are a pretty content pair for now and i have so much gratitude for my ability to afford to live alone and in such a lovely environment. thank you, universe, for your abundant gifts. i welcome the hope that i find here.

singing lessons

okay, so because i think singing is the *last* art i could ever participate in, i am going to deliberately walk into my fears and take some singing lessons.

this is terrifying.

and because i have been taking myself too seriously lately, i thought i would put myself out there a little more and record myself singing and then SHARE it. i spent over an hour trying to get the perfect clip of me singing a sunday smile, but i think i like this one because of how imperfect it is and how much i need to stretch into and own myself in imperfect spaces.

so i am working on being okay with an unflattering angle on my face, shy run-on jabber, a hiccup in the first measure or two that forced me to restart AND, most preciously, a hilarious ending that could never be faked. so, enjoy.

bird play

they did three wide circles before they landed. i guess we aren't the only ones enjoying the great weather today.

indian summer returns

in the 60s and my heart is gentler as well today. thanks for throwing me a bone, universe.

a long overdue airing out

i've been followed around by a cloud today. a little black one that just hovers over my right shoulder tripping me up and keeping me down. i have good days and bad days all the time, but this was weird because it felt like a black day. dark and paralyzing. waiting to get into a car accident or for bad news to be delivered and feeling the pressure of my own hand holding me down. this is my doing, i just don't know how. or why.

strangely it's coming at the heels of yesterday which was was a big day but a good day. i finally got into the mail a project that i have been working on voraciously for the past week straight {if not more}. a good, life and color breathing project that i was proud to send off into the world, anxious and hopeful for what i might get back. and it was a rare moment of daring. of so clearly laying out my desire to connect to a good many special people in my life and perhaps it's just a scary thing to be sitting in this purgatory of silence. silence because they haven't arrived yet.

anyway, there has been a little fall in the spirits today. a little crash after such a peak. perhaps i can discount it as that.

or not.

this seems a little darker.

hmm....{digging deeper}

all last night i was aware that i was avoided posting about how the artist's way meeting went for me so maybe it's that?

sigh. i guess i'll go into it...

last artist's way session was a rough one in that one of the activities we did specifically addressed the moment i described in my "chapter 7" post regarding the painful silence i experienced after the meisner showcase. after performing a rather risky part in front of so many important people in my life, all i received in return was silence. no words of encouragement or even honoring how far i'd come since the last piece of mine many of them had seen. the piece could have {did?} suck but there was still room for "wow, that was a risky part playing a whore who's been molested by her father. way to be daring." or "congrats on all the hard work." or SOMETHING besides silence. {fuck. here we go again. ugh.}

so the questions were along the lines of: name an artistic scar. how did the experience impact me? what did the experience tell me? what else could have been the truth about it? what do i say about it now?

and then we were asked to share if we wanted. which i did. because it's one thing to write about it here, in this space, behind the veil of technology, or even free-write about it in the room with others off in their space and another thing entirely to put to voice the shame, the thick, viscous shame that welled up in me in the telling. failure it taunted. failure.

it was incredible to tell the story and not be met with more silence {i've mentioned it a few times to those attending and only received a huh. in reply} but with champions who validated my experience, who stood up for the right i had to hear something, anything, even gentle constructive criticism or at least the best spin on a bad situation like "wow, that was a risky role" or "that was much heavier subject matter than i expected." or just something that acknowledged the role of witness to my presentation.

and the heart ached and the tears came. finally. a year and a half later. and i guess perhaps today was just about clearing out some of that baggage i've been holding on to for that long. the paralyzing humiliation of failure.

i liked the last two questions: what else could have been the truth about it? and what do i say about it now?

the first is a hard one. i don't want to accept any other truth beyond failure. nor do i find in myself the strength to look the silent ones in the eye and ask how was it? but at least a voice is given to the small possibility that the silence was just a product of thoughtfulness, or even just out of respect to the vulnerability of the piece {much like many readers here have confessed in person that they feel any comments intrudes upon my space here}. i don't know. i am still at the stage where i'm bullying out any positive thoughts about the situation more effectively than the mean kid in sixth grade.

but the second question is a bit easier and one i do have enough perspective on: what do i say about it now? whether or not the piece and presentation was a failure, it was simply a stepping stone. it was one act at the end of an enormous amount of personal growth and in no way is burdened with the responsibility to reflect that growth NOR does it reflect whether or not i have any talent or ability as an actor. we were not directed for the sake of presentation, we were guided by a teacher toward authenticity. this was just one moment in time. one step.

now let me take the next one, whatever that is. even a small one.

and in the meantime, let it no longer matter that the one person who did comment might be too emotional or sappy or whatever i want to use to cut her down to get at myself and that all that matters is her truth which was that i made her cry. and that's something, even as begrudgingly as i'll believe it at this moment.




currently listening to: burial -- forgive on repeat.

$50 luxuries

what a difference an innocuous little zero makes...
it's killing me that my favorite boutique has a location in my neighborhood, but not so much that i don't keep going in and finding these lovely bits of handmade earringness that simply must be taken home.

off to the post office

yesterday's sun

chapter 7

the question "what is in the way of pursuing acting/performing as a way of life" has been rattling around in my head all week, and this is the rather painfully simple answer:

i am a perfectionist. wholly and completely.

coincidentally this week in the artist's way is one where julia writes a considerable amount on the topic of perfectionism and for the first time, i am not merely underlining the points {some of which are reproduced on the right, below} that stand out to me, but i'm writing copious amounts of notes in the margins {on the left, below}.

all the logical...................... the perfectionist has married the logic side of the brain...
reasons i can't be the actor
i want to be:
too old
not thin enough
not pretty enough
not talented enough
too tall
not driven enough
can't afford to take time
off for a project

it's also fear that...................... to the perfectionist, there is always room for improvement. the
if it's not perfect it.....................perfectionist calls this humility. in reality, it is egotism. it is pride
won't have ANY...................... .that makes us want to write a perfect script, paint a perfect
value...................... ...................painting, perform a perfect audition monologue.

...................... ...................... ......the perfectionist is never satisfied.

what do i need to...................... ...but at a certain point you let go and call it done. that is a
let go of in acting?...................... part of creativity--letting go.
being awful???

perfectionism is a paralyzing mentality and one i have maintained throughout my entire life of self-examination and emotional evolution and at some point i have to let it go. interestingly enough, az watched eddie izzard's biography online earlier this week and mentioned the fact that this world famous and brilliant {in my opinion} comedian made years of crap work before he found the rhythm of his voice and natural hilarity. and, i guess that's the key. i am terrified of the years ahead of me of bad work and am uncovering the fact that i am a little scarred from the bad work i've already done.

let me go back in time for a moment.

a year and a half ago i finished the 9 month acting intensive based off of meisner's teachings {the label meisner has a whole slew of postings on the topic that you might recall.} regardless, the culmination of all that growth and hard work was a presentation held for friends and family. the audience ended up packing the space, many of whom were people i knew to varying degrees: acting acquaintances i'd worked with in the past to dear friends, mentors and family that i had invited specifically. and the scene was performed and the class ended. and the thing that kills me to this very day is that only one person gave me any kind of feedback about the performance. my work. my hester. that moment in time of my incarnation as an actor and it there is this big black void of non-response completely engulfing the experience. and while i've been coached to take a performance in from my own perspective and to not rely on the audience, in this case the complete and utter silence reeks of failure.

i haven't been able to go back. not even audition for one thing since or even seriously consider auditioning. i haven't even joined tps so i can see the audition listings. a painful estrangement to an art form i have had so much longing for all my life.

and this brings me to the next section of julia's writing discussing risk.

--------.......................................the sucess of a creative recovery hinges on our ability to move
--------.......................................out of our head and into action. this brings us squarely to risk.
RISK...................... ..................most of us are practiced at talking ourselves out of risk.
-------...................... .................we are skilled spectators on the probable pain of self-exposure.
--------
{yes, there really are................in order to risk, we must jettison our accepted limits. we must
squiggles surrounding.............break through "i can't because..."
the word risk i wrote.............. usually, when we say we can't do something, what we mean is that
in the margins}...................... we won't do something unless we can guarantee that we'll do it
...................... ...................... .. perfectly.


and let me tell you, her words have hit home. hit. me. home. because i see myself as a risk taker. i know i am bold and daring and i live authentically in a place where i am vulnerable and risk hurt for the sake of living fully. but that's only in a space where i feel confident, connected and in touch with myself and my strengths: in relationship with others. i have spent my life inside my head, examining each thing i do, how others react to it and how that in turn comes back to me. this obsession with emotional minutiae has gifted me with a lot of insight and clarity into myself and others. i am able to quickly recognize and act on my emotions as i process things quickly and decisively. taking risks comes easily to me here.

but not in my acting. this is wrapped up so tightly in a ball of hopes and fears that all i can do is continually wish that i had started earlier, auditioned as a child, given up sports in high school in order to be in a school play, studied it in college, anything, anything, ANYTHING but starting from scratch {or near enough} as i flirt with my 30's.

but, as julia says earlier in the book {i'm paraphrasing}: how old will i be until i finally get any good at it? as old as you are if you don't even try.

on a slightly tangential note {it circles back, i promise}, last week in the artist's way meeting we spent 20-25 minutes going around the room to different stations and doing an activity posted on the wall. activities were:

play the WORST song on the piano possible. loudly. sing if you want, but only badly.
do the WORST mime ever.
play the WORST air guitar ever.
draw the WORST self portrait ever.
make the WORST painting ever.
do the WORST modern dance.

you get the point.

it was hard. i mean REALLY hard for me to do the first one. i ended up at the piano and when the facilitators said go i literally could not get my hands to play the piano badly. i couldn't even touch the keys. it was like that repellent force that magnets of the same polarity have that is elastic and buoyant. i literally had to psyche myself out to start pounding like a two year old on mountain dew. and despite the fact that we were all shouting things at the top of my lungs and i went through the wringer with robin on this particular meisner class, i still couldn't let go. i'm out of practice at being that free. i need to learn to let go again. i need to learn to risk in the acting space.

{my eyebrows pull together in certain humiliation and disappointment at the thought of what that entails}.

i wrote in a previous post that the journey to the lifelong relationship i envision and the journey to the artist career i envision is along a similar path, so let me borrow some of the relationship daring, certainty and risk and bring it over the to the art side for a bit.

stay tuned.

$5 luxuries

from the capitol hill farmers market.

my heart sings today in red, yellow and orange.

no where to put things

i forget that it's not just healthy babies that are born into this world. or, it's not that i forget, but i am luckily allowed to know it only from the words NICU* written next to a family's name, or the success stories as they are being discharged a month or three later. healthier. or at least healthy enough.

and i've been very lucky, as much as i am ready and willing to step up, in that i have never yet been asked to photograph a fetal demise.

so it came as a surprise to me how hard it hit when there was a code blue emergency and a nurse tore out of a room with a baby in her arms saying not again! not again! the grandma trailing worriedly after, pacing the halls as another nurse ran into the room looking for the baby and then back again out to the nursery. dad in the doorway. disappear into the room. more running.

i stood in our office door trying not to gawk. helpless. wanting to walk up to the grandma and rub her back or hold her hand. wanting to know what was happening but also knowing that's not my place.

the baby ended up in NICU under the careful care upstairs and the floor eventually calmed down. but i found myself feeling lost and weepy at unexpected moments throughout the day. the image of the little bundle held away from the nurse's body as she looked down and ran surprising me as i went about my business and walked the halls.

just another reminder of life's fragility left to linger some where in my body.



*neonatal intensive care unit

more dreams

my life came to an important moment of self-questioning last night and that question is: what part of me is getting in the way of me pursuing acting as a way of life?

i had just read week 7's chapter in the artist's way {which deserves an entry in itself} and as little as i've been working on this specific aspect of my artistic blockage, this entire chapter pointed to my un-aired desire to create and tell stories with my body, my spirit, my voice, my presence. not objects that i create, not even words, but myself. here. there. now. and tomorrow and tomorrow. as wonderfully and tragically flawed as i am at every given moment.

so last night i put down my to-do list, and even put down the never-ending work projects that i can't even seem to successfully chip away at, and i drew up a bath, lit one candle and soaked.

and as i rested there in the heat and dark, i drew into my body these questions i've been pushing away for years, or looking at aggressivly and saying not just yet. or there's not enough. or i'm not enough. and i voiced the question again and again: what part of me is getting in the way of my pursuit of acting?

i went to sleep an hour or so later, the question still on repeat in my head. and this is what i saw:

thom yorke* was touring and the tour was coming up. looming. soon. i felt it. expected it. anticipated it. but the dates hadn't been announced, preparations were still being made. and that was it. my anticipation and this awareness of a vast machine of details coming together in the distance. all the things to be organized, decided, all the people in motion to bring his work to us and to me.

and for the first time i am in touch with a feeling of hope that is starting to eclipse my feeling of failure and paralysis that has kept me here for years. decades even. right inside the scary brink of even venturing out and risking.



*i repeat here again how thom, the lead singer from radiohead, and by far my favorite artist appears in dreams as a symbol for the art i dream to make. the authenticity. the intensity. the honesty about the whole heartbreakingly beautiful spectrum of human existence and beyond. and interestingly enough, i see the path i have to travel to make the art i want to put forth into this world as running parallel, if not superimposed on the path i travel to be in the life-long relation/partnership i envision for myself. it's the same confidence, the same groundedness in spirit and body that is required to enter both authentically. and, the relevance between this belief and this post is that recently i've worked through both themes with dreams about concerts. but distinctly thom and not-thom concerts. the mind is a wonderous thing, no?

in progress {painting}

the sky is emerging, the wave is forming
and the only thing that is missing is the beach, and you.
i wish i had brought my suit that day not knowing
that was our one chance to swim.
yet i can still feel you at the far end of the beach
chest exposed
but heart hidden
and wearing those sunshine yellow swim trunks
i never got to see in real life.

thank you!!!

to each and every person who sent me a birthday wish.

starting with my brother and sister on the 24th, continuing with my parents and their phone call as they spoke back at me from my birthday in austrian time to me on the 25th, pacific time, and on with gchats, an 18 part text message spelling out h-a-p-p-y-b-i-r-t-h-d-a-y-n-a-t-!-smileyface that made me laugh out of sheer delight and the facebook messages, youtube videos, emails and everything in between. oh my!

thank you. it warmed me down to my toes, which is quite a long way.

here i am, heading out to umi as promised, the menu varying only by a caterpillar roll substituted for the avocado roll and continuing on with a few bites of whole foods' cookie which is all my less than sweet tooth {for the first time in my life} could handle.

and here we are, az and i, with az as the stand-in for all the birthday love sent my way yesterday {well, technically two days ago, but i haven't gone to sleep yet, so it's still the 27th in my mind}.

and, a collaborative birthday project yet to come. stay tuned and make sure i have your snail mail address. :}

28

the birthday celebrations have begun.
today it was small, just the two siblings {in town}, some thai food and vegan cupcakes.

tuesday, the day, is umi with az. edamame, chicken yakitori, blackberry lemonade, avocado rolls. yes.

and early in november comes the actual celebration. the invitation of color and flight into my life as i {slightly unwillingly} leave my mid-twenties and welcome the next year of my life in its unfolding.

----------------
----------------

another milestone to make note of: my blog turned 600 posts old last week. here we are. you and me and the words make three. thank you for marking with me in my ritual of self-reflection and preservation.

shasta & aslan

i was in the middle of rearranging the furniture to take in all the new finds of the day when, in the middle of sweeping, i was caught red-handed with a thought i knew i to be impossible to fulfill: the desire i find rustling around in me to understand someone else's story. almost immediately this passage was called to mind and since i have referenced it once before on this post, i thought i would put it here in full. for me and perhaps for you.

so here you are, my sweeping stopped mid-stroke to give you a portion of a horse and his boy by c.s. lewis:

and being very tired and having nothing inside him, he felt so sorry for himself that the tears rolled down his cheeks.

what put a stop to all this was a sudden fright. shasta discovered that someone or somebody was walking beside him. it was pitch dark and he could see nothing. and the Thing (or Person) was going so quietly that he could hardly hear any footfalls. what he could hear was breathing. his invisible companion seemed to breathe on a very large scale, and shasta got the impression that it was a very large creature. and he had come to notice this breathing so gradually that he had really no idea how long it had been there. it was a horrible shock.

it darted into his mind that he had heard long ago that there were giants in these northern countries. he bit his lip in terror. but now that he really had something to cry about, he stopped crying.

the Thing (unless it was a Person) went on beside him so very quietly that shasta began to hope he had only imagined it. but just as he was becoming quite sure of it, there suddenly came a deep, rich sigh out of the darkness beside him. that couldn't be imagination! anyway, he had felt the hot breath of that sigh on his chilly left hand.

if the horse had been any good--or if he had known how to get any good out of the horse--he would have risked everything on a break away and a wild gallop. but he knew he couldn't make that horse gallop. so he went on at a walking pace and the unseen companion walked and breathed beside him. at last he could bear it no longer.

"who are you?" he said, scarcely above a whisper.

"one who has waited long for you to speak," said the Thing. its voice was not loud, but very large and deep.

"are you a giant?" asked shasta.

"you might call me a giant," said the Large Voice. "but i am not like the creatures you call giants."

"i can't see you at all," said shasta, after staring very hard. then (for an even more terrible idea had come into his head) he said, almost in a scream, "you're not--not something dead, are you? oh please--please do go away. what harm have i ever done you? oh, i am the unluckiest person in the world."

once more he felt the warm breath of the Thing on his hand and face. "there," it said, "that is not the breath of a ghost. tell me your sorrows."

shasta was a little reassured by the breath: so he told how he had never known his real father or mother and had been brought up sternly by the fisherman. and then he told the story of his escape and how they were chased by lions and forced to swim for their lives; and of all their dangers in tashbaan and about his night among the tombs and how the beasts howled at him out of the desert. and he told about the heat and thirst of their desert journey and how they were almost at their goal when another lion chased them and wounded aravis. and also, how very long it was since he had had anything to eat.

"i do not call you unfortunate," said the Large Voice.

"don't you think it was bad luck to meet so many lions?" said shasta.

"there was only one lion," said the Voice.

"what on earth do you mean? i've just told you there were at least two the first night, and--"

"there was only one: but he was swift of foot."

"how do you know?"

"i was the lion." and as shasta gaped with open mouth and said nothing, the Voice continued. "i was the lion who forced you to join with aravis. i was the cat who comforted you among the houses of the dead. i was the lion who drove the jackals from you while you slept. i was the lion who gave the horses the new strength of fear for the last mile so that you should reach king lune in time. and i was the lion you do not remember who pushed the boat in which you lay, a child near death, so that it came to shore where a man sat, wakeful at midnight, to receive you."

"then it was you who wounded aravis?"

"it was i."

"but what for?"

"child," said the Voice, "i am telling you your story, not hers. i tell no-one any story but his own."

"who are you?" asked shasta.

"myself," said the Voice, very deep and low so that the earth shook: and again "myself," loud and clear and gay: and then the third time "myself," whispered so softly you could hardly hear it, and yet it seemed to come from all round you as if the leaves rustled with it.

the nightmares

it's becoming a habit of mine to wake up between the hours of six and seven in the morning. i can almost set my clock by it. the dreams have been vivid. restless and fleeting. flirting with the line of nightmares. usually just a flash or two of disturbing imagery. a feeling or a face.

this morning was no exception except the dreams i am shaking crossed well into the territory of nightmare and were more than a little heavy handed in the symbolism.

i was at a concert. outside. unspecific band {most, perhaps even all concert dreams are about thom or radiohead}. it was a single male performer, but someone newer, not as familiar though still a favorite. we were waiting for him to take stage when a band of musicians came up that had bullied their way in to the full venue. they were reckless, dissonant to the mood and willfully abusing their celebrity status.

their hair was wild. their faces pierced, shadowed and aggressive as they mocked the crowd for even showing up. what fools we were their bodies said and here i had been so happily in my place by the bar. right at the front. just where i like to be. peacefully and expectantly waiting for him to show up.

the four guys then rustled through the us striking outnd scattering the crowd on to the beach we were near. i was part of the group they started herding down the length of the beach pushing us forward with their anger and words. it was terrifying. and the worst part was that eventually our singer did appear. off in the distance i saw him at the far end of the beach both hazy in the distance and also somehow close and a part of the group that was looming over us with their threats of violence. but i could easily distinguish him by the cut of his bare chest, the line of his torso and the sunshine yellow swim shorts he was wearing. so radiant yet blurry with distance. i kept on peering down the length of beach, wondering when he would stop the violence. this was his place of power. his stage. his art. only he had the ability to change the situation and yet he stayed away.

the next section of the dream was a little more obscure and yet the connections still so clear in my head.

i was working on becoming a nanny for this family. we were somehow old friends from the past and there was this expectation that this should have been a safe and welcome place, except that it wasn't. the doorway was rigged to a contraption that only made sense in the dream but served to almost drop me on my bum while entering. the family was chaotic and in a state of disarray and my place within it somehow confusing.

then we sat down to dinner. and my spot at the table was was moved and i was given the worst seat where an additional table stored under the large one we were sitting at threatened to jab at my legs. more discomfort. more confusion.

and then the men from the last dream showed up and this time the whole family was complicit to their presence. the lead man, the tallest and darkest and by far the scariest started selecting out a goat from the herd that was in this pen visible to the whole family {the pen being conveniently attached to the dining room in that way of dreams}. he took this 10 foot long pole and pointed it at the smallest of the herd and just bullied it right out in to the center of this pen. the family rustled their acceptance, even if silently unwilling and somehow i knew that whatever was coming up next would be too horrible to sit through.

i got up from the table and started to flee but not before the beating began. i had to pass the staging area to leave and the man had already begun tearing into the goat. i both feared getting hit by the long arc of his swings and even more the damage to the little, stiff-legged with fear, goat. the look in its face as it had been selected still kills me.

as i neared the edge of the area, away from the threat of the sweeping pole, the beating accelerated and the final blow was made. without looking i felt that soft little body being broken, it's blood spilled and i sank to my knees and let out the most grief stricken wail i have ever heard. grief. powerlessness. grief. and more grief.

the tearing sound as it escaped my throat was still tangible in my mind when i woke up thirty nine minutes ago, shaken, near tears and certain it was between six and seven in the morning.

for now.

words are not coming tonight. caught up in a paradox that tastes too similar to so many i have known. am i too much. i am not enough. i am too much. i am not enough. and whether or not i am enough of either to overcome someone else's challenges, well, that's not up for me to decide. so i'll go back to pretending i want to learn caution because life is a hell of a lot safer that way.

but a little less colorful.

and let the record reflect, i liked your colors. including the murkier ones and the ones you barely let me see.

now i'll have to ask you to disappear completely. walk away and take with you all those things you put out into the space before me. not that you were cruel, but only that hope is a scary thing too and i was willing to risk it in the face of what i now should start expecting to be almost certain disappointment.

reckoner morning

you can't take it with you.

indian summers make me lonesome

how to reappear completely

while still working on all the details of your reappearance all i can say is i'm so grateful. so gently and peacefully grateful. grateful you defied the pattern. grateful you stepped up and showed up into the space where so many haven't. grateful you are you which includes delighting in me being me and vice versa.

so there you are and here i am and that's all we need to know.

good morning

this is one for the good days