dismal autumn

Ontario expresses itself cold and rainy, held to gravity, with everything moving down towards earth again.
I am depressed, again. Dismal and abyssmal, tears hover just below the lid line. It all rings hollow, my head tells me.
To put things into context, it is not so bad- not near so bad. I have a sweet home, money to spend, a supportive lover, ideas and resources.... and maybe that is what makes it so bad: that with all of this, I am still so upset, feeling empty and needing more.

I am in transition now. I have moved from a sweet home with amazing friends, to a less inspiring locale. I knew that this would challenge me, and it is. I knew that I would be challenged by my partners busy-ness, by having to sculpt my life with cleaner lines this time, by surviving myself through this. I feel left out. Invisible.
My childhood occured way out of town, in the woods, and developed in me a deep-seeded complex about being left out, outside of the world, outside of the swirlings of society and life. I felt invisible. In all the dreams I remembered I stood, still and silent, while the dreams took place around me. In all aspects of my life, I have held myself as though I was invisible. I did not realise this to really deal with it until the last few years. In doing a 10 sesion Hellerwork set with Lexi.... well, all of living on Cortes really... painting with Annie, the Linnaea garden program, etc, that it came to the light. So I am aware of this big button.
Still, I cultivate situations where I isolate myself for comfort, then crumble for feeling isolated and alone.
I know I am not alone in this. (ha ha.) And I know that I am connected and loved despite my own alienation. I know I am where I am meant to be at this time, and that with my self awareness I will pass through gracefully. Returning like a leaf to Earth, and no matter how far I blow, I am the organic matter which gives life to other roots.

great abyss. great a-bliss, not two.

a puddle that reflects the sun
a piece of paper with my name on it
(my name on it?!)

must my spine be aligned to sprout wings?

i write here because the words fall heavy and need a drain;
far from home. this page exists anywhere.
this is not polished writing, but a splashed journal entry from the ponds of my soul.

soul. karma.

there is still tension in my thigh,
and my jaw remains tight.
yes, to answer Kerry's question from years ago, I am anxious.
I continually hold myself in defense mode.

so i know these defenses of mine now, and where from they came,
the atmosphere of my childhood was continual anxiety, defense, and blame.

i know i chose my parents,
that i have lessons to learn through this lifetime.

and here i am now; looking around, all i see is perfection, safety, the undulations of life
with eyes open and hearts open: Love!: yes, here is wonderful, and i am grateful, feel blessed.

but still,
i have no confidence.
i am defensive. i judge, and project judgements from others onto myself.

Why do i write this?
why do i want to share this?
what good is airing my dirty laundry?
why do i want to write so? (and yet cannot ) ??

sigh.
tears well again.

i know i am working through it.
i realise too that while i distain my mother these days
my healing and her healing are entwined.

as rugged and common as a stone.
i am, and wish to be.
i like to look at flowers.
roses for confidence! to be boldly beautiful!
i like simple things, i can be simple,
as rugged and common as a stone.

there is much more to be said tonight:
rivers to run
knots to untie.
But the words have left me
into space,

i will walk home,
winding roads, windy, rainy, stormy night.
thinking of stories of women,
of nothing,

and there is something more -
audience, you, i can feel the reader...
there is something more i wish to add or leave space for for you -
please let me know if you know.

process witness integrity peace

"when you enter the sacred circle, you never know what is going to happen."
Jean said when we were talking about the ceremony.

i sit here grumpy grumpy shakey scowly, waiting for the school to clear.
but you know, this time i do not fight myself on being anti-social, this time; i am liberated to be so.
finally, beating on myself less.
I have found much peace in process painting, bodywork, love; in walking, in the process, letting go, movement;
integration, integrity, integral:
to bring it all together, to be consistant with beliefs, necessary.

i bounced into parallel structure there, and i am hoping that people can follow the little equations of words. it is hard to talk about everything without speaking in koans, and nonsense.

we are in process of getting married. we will be married in 12 days. people arrive in 10.
we are creating a sacred event, and inviting people to witness it.
it feels a bit strange, but more so, solid and true and sweet.
the whole process of it, it being the relationship...

(being the time we've spent together, what we have shared, our immediate progression towards marraige. the process is it. the journey to where we are. to talk about it as a noun is impossible, yet i do wish to sum it up somehow, put it in a sentence and honor it.)

... has been sweet and steady and true.
unjudgemental. sparce, lush, and colorful.
playful. tearful. present.
i moved through a lot of stuff this winter and it feels good.
Love is integral to that.
integral. integrated. integrity.

and Love, capitalized like that, makes me feel the estatic, sacred, worldwide Love,
what Rumi speaks of
that Love that is our greatest resource
and that is a force.

and that takes me back to witness.
is a force; it makes me think of when Kili and I went to Channel Rock after the Blue Quarter show in November.
it was the next day and i sat out on the seashore.
a vision came to me of a huge mushroom cloud of luminous-white Love-force columning up at the moment we consumated our vows. the radient fallout sparkled on the whole lower mainland, and made everything just a little bit healthier.
cheesy perhaps, but powerful.
i let it go right away, and i hold on to no expectations for it now,
but the idea that i am chosing faith, trust, devotion, surrender, to live In love,
i want to believe,
reverberates and makes the world a better place
.
two more people surrender to love; everybody soften a little bit more.

and bearing witness is asking people to get involved. allowing people to be involved.
you know,
i had some really clear thoughts on the importance of the witness,
but now they are nebulous again,
and i am drawn into integrity, integral and integration; witnesses, helping loving people, are integral to life and they exist every where, we are all witnesses to each other and that in itself is sacred. gorgeous.

it feels good to write.
it feels good to try and express these tanglings,
even though i now firmly doubt my abiltity to express myself.
well, no, but with writing i still have a lot of blocks.

and the process of writing a ceremony
has brought a lot of that up.
Kili and I challenge each other, gently.
an anvil to forge myself on.

oh, tired. i am tired tonight. and emotional, pissed off that i have to wait here and ....
momentarily
that wash of emotion, patience ebbs,

and back to being present here.
patient.
the night will go on,
all will unfold,

and i have confidence in my peace,
faith in our love to pull this ceremony off sacred and bright and true,
so all our witnesses can enjoy and leave richer, that we can maintain in grace,
and that somehow i will be able express myself, truely.

i am too fly not to fly

Blow by blow, slowly, the cheek of the heart,
Gets slapped clean.
Rumi

febuary on the island.
winter is breaking, it is cracked,
the lights floods in.
buds. spring.
shake off the crust of winter: scape the intestines, clean the windows

i look through my little book, to here collect all the fragments of thoughts
written to peg memory to.
i begin to remember that i can write,
that i too have painted the vast nothingness scarlett with my passion.

it is all about process i realize.
the continual moving through things.
things! the dishes, diet, standing tall, accepting silence:
money moving from one hand to another, leaves into the compost, dirt for the seed.
for some reason,
i am only now realizing that every step is a part of the process,
that it is all process.
and that every part of that is necessary, valuble and of use.
process. documentation. life.
all these realities existing concurrently.
and they are all valid.

i dont have to be anything.

but i will .
i am.

by leaving out puncuation, leaving out indicators of start and finish
i mean to draw that thoughts are not separate
but endlessly woven into each other.
playing with punctuation is playing with time

yes there is much to write out, to be fair,
if this blog acts as some method of communication
or some form of documentation.

there is a marraige of myself in a plump month to note,
the velvet satin cape i will make, the rumi laterns, our ceremony unwritten,
the rock, the lush posse of women that composes our families to attend;
the gardens i have to plant in, Kalayas, Rousseaus, possibly veggies in Destas,
and the crazy emotional journey that has been the last two months;
but time
ticks and i have focused communications to make.
may i draw myself out full.