Taking no prisoners. Including herself.

I keep composing in my head and then I sit down to write and I realize I have more gunk in my mind and fingers so I have to run the faucet. Freewrite. It’s taken me a really long time to settle in, sink down, come back. My god, I just don’t know how I’m going to be able to keep living the way I have. I think that’s what’s so troubling about coming into myself – I realize things. And some of those things that I realize, is that I can’t keep living the way I have been. I don’t want to Prioritize. I want to NoMind. I don’t want to go back into the fray. I just can’t do it. I don’t want to go back into the Bay. My body revolts. I have to quit. What I do in its wake, I know not. Walking the edge of WhoKnows.


This damn place loves me so much. And back to it love I return. My feet crunch the Earth and I feel the bottom of my foot, pressure, earth and foot kissing. Kissing, foot and earth. Earth to foot, kiss. Each step, crunch, sage, crunch, step, dirt, kiss.

Even walking was too fast. When I slowed down my vision the only room left was for light. There’s so much ambition in the world, who needs a thimble full more of mine? No one. I suffer for it. Ambition! An addiction. I am fear to not desire it, but in my heart I don’t desire it. In my center, where the world is still and my gut is the earth, all I have time for is eternity. All I have time for is touching the sage. And kissing a rock.

I don’t desire anything, Lord! I want to cry out. But it isn’t true. It isn’t programmed to be true. I’m here and me and not the televised yogi channel. For christ’s sake(yes?) I am nothing but this little bipolar gremlin that stalks beauty and hopes to feel something, dammit. But she’s soft and so, so delicate, and when she’s fragile I have to place her away on a shelf so the shelf can rest into the wood and the wood can melt into the land. Deep, slow breathing. Stepping nowhere.

I actually kissed a rock today. Regina Spector said I should try it. So I did. Hiking out along the driest of dry paths of Western Ridge Trail with an hour left till the sun’s final death for Tuesday Dec 4, 2012, I scampered to the edge of the gorge, gorging on the light. The light! And I knew what was real. And Regina said “why don’t you take your shoes off and play in the rain? Or maybe kiss a rock? You’re going to die someday and maybe you never lived.” Well, it’s the middle of a drought in New Mexico, so…

So I bent down, and kissed.

I chose a smooth one. Blackish, onyx, but not Onyx. Crystalline and deep. Ancient and winking. It knew it was the one, I knew it was the one, and I bent, and kissed.

It left a dainty stain, darkening the dark. So dry was it out there in the desert path that even a simple act of love could be seen so sharply.

I’m running to catch myself but I’ve already missed the trail. Please, just let me sit down awhile. I don’t want to perform, go anywhere, or sing. I’d just like to sit here, and look at stones.


§1277 · December 4, 2012 · Freewrites, New Mexico Magic · · [Print]

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