Taking no prisoners. Including herself.

Wahoo! I am alive and this whole blog has become a burial ground for freewrites. Oh, my dearest Not Keeping Score, how faithful you have been with your gleaming pixels and pages. We’ve been through a lot, haven’t we? Writing until 3am in the Tenderloin, prancing around San Francisco like some lithe pixie, meditational word-dumps in Vietnam, Turkey summers, Israeli adventures, New Mexico madness and Sonoma County Splendor. Oakland rebirths and all the floundering and findings in between. Lift me up! Oh, NKS, my faithful opponent, my creative vessel, my temple to the Word God, my expressive hearth and Companion–thanks for 5.5ish years! (First post: 11/16/2005).

Perhaps it is strange to be adoring and praising and thanking a blog. It is just so (Hari Aum Tat Sat, “and so it is”). I am grateful for the structure it has given me. It feels like a friend.

Oh, words, you beautiful bombshells! Flying down gravel-laden and making me colorblind. I itch to speak you, write you, pop you out like marshmallows from my mind. Ah, ok, the green tea is kicking in.

I’ll be 30 soon. And I think I really love this. I’m sitting right now in one of my most adored of all places, JV’s desk in Taos, NM, looking at the mountain wide-eyed and heart-fanned with the sage devotedly there, squat and true, and I’m in love and reflecting on all the things that have passed by my window of eyes. Oh! To reflect on what has passed by in 30. And this is only 30! Do people actually do this thrice over? Do people actually do this? Live again? Live more? Live longer? Oh, my-my, how long and short life is. Chock full and nothing but a blip. I have so much silent gratitude compressed like lava in my veins that it bores its way through my stomach and becomes sound.

Dear World: you break me.

This morning is the first time where I really love that life includes loss. Not just tolerant of it, not just acquiescing to the knowledge that it must be so, but really actively loving the presence of loss in my life. Of ending. Of limited life, of death, of impermanence, of sadness and despair–of the ache and sorrow of being here. I actually can love you, oh Suffering. You are just as beautiful as Joy.

So! New things afoot! And the flooding in of possibility. I feel this often, but today I want to learn to be with this influx and exodus of all things everywhere always forever. That is to say: every moment the whole world dies, and every moment the Everything is reborn. Such madness, You! Why have you created it so? I have no fucking clue, but I’m so, so excited you have.

You, is you. And You is me. It feels really nice to be Everyone, don’t you think? I feel closer to you, Dear Reader, already.

I’m ready to be quiet again.

§1211 · March 20, 2011 · Freewrites, New Mexico Magic · · [Print]

Leave a Reply