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March 6^{th  2:30am}
As I was drifting off, a thought made me sit up and utter a rather loud ‘what the actual fuck’ to no one.

I fucking forgot to pay rent.

I have lived on my own since I was 15 years old. I’ve avoided paying rent sure, but forgotten?
Not like this. Especially not for 7 days.

The fuck is wrong with me?

My girl is coming over after a week of continued unheeded reminders to get my car on the road. She is now just doing the things I cannot, taking me by the hand and taking me to the Ministry. My adultier adult.

Granted, I took in a foster puppy for 2 weeks so I had an excuse to be on lockdown. But she has been eating on her own for a week now, and putting herself to bed, so that excuse ran thinny a while ago. Plus she left yesterday.

My Sunrise took me out for brunch and belly laughs today. I told her what I had done/not done and she said I got caught in a Leap Day vortex of sorts. I have been known to bend time on occasions, but this isn’t bent, it is broken. I am lost and nothing is linear. Getting warmer.

It’s supposed to get really nice out tomorrow and stay that way. No longer sweater weather.

I was thinking ‘okay, time to catch up with my life. Do one big thing a day. Make lists and adult that shit.’

Laying some groundwork this evening, cleaning, sorting laundry…

Seemingly innocent task, kinda Zen, necessary.

Nope.

Suddenly I am Indiana Jones and dirty clothes turned into an archaeological dig and I unearthed the outfit I wore the last time I was with the Giant.

I crumbled.

Cried so hard I couldn’t breathe.

My kid had to pull me out of a pile of laundry like Short Round on some rescue mission in a collapsed diamond mine cursed by a mummy or some shit.

I remember posting to Facebook “Sub-Zero wins, I am wearing a sweater on date night.”

Glad I did, he chose the coldest night of the year to make me charcoal barbequed steaks.

I asked him to stay with me and he said he would.

He didn’t.

It was the last supper.

Why can’t I stop?

I am a crier admittedly.

I am this guy’s wife, with amendments and additions.
If I even think about Schindler’s List and or the Notebook fuckin’ fuggedaboutit, I am done.

Any of my friends? You cry I cry, that is a given, I am an empath.

Certain tones, smells, songs, make me weepy.

But this is soul sobbing. Over a sweater and a boy I knew a month.

I don’t know why this is happening, I know it isn’t normal even for me, the girl who cries, and I don’t know how to stop it. Even I’m getting sick of my own shit.

I made it 3 days.

Lie detector determines that is a lie. I cried at brunch, I was laughing that hard.

Oh ya, being lied to makes this awful bell ring in my ribcage and the reverberation shakes the tears outta me.

I used to cry like that when I knew ex-hubby was lying, but it was different, there was a rage behind it.

When the Poet went dark I fell in a hole. That first night was the worst, Nika held vigil from afar. But that was 2 years in and 2 days out.

Gelfling, I saw a dead doe on the road and just knew we were done. I felt like something got torn away, not a limb or anything more like a tether. 2 days and I wasn’t happy per say but I functioned and moved forward. Even when he came back and reopened the wound, I was fine in a day. Practice.

I thought I lost Drogo, lost a night there. Was fine by morning. And then we talked it out over nachos and chuckled at my silliness.

When Wolfling ghosted I was just like ‘what the fuck’. 2 tears maybe 3.

High School Sweetheart was more of a long coming catharsis. That first night was hard but in an afraid of the unknown kinda way, then I was relieved. 26 years, I was pretty used to him being gone.

Our Sara of Lords said “Tell me why you’re so focused on Giant.”

Deep breath.

I miss his energy.
I feel naked and cold without it. Like I’m lost.
Like something bad is happening all the time.
I feel like what he is doing is wrong/bad for him.
And I miss him constantly.

Leah said “If he was that important he’d be with you.” She has a maddening point that sounds like truth.

I posted the laundry incident to Facebook and one of my other girls said “It sounds like you are in love.” She also has a point that sound like the truth.

Both points are currently pointless.

I am scouring the internet for some magical meme that can make this stop.
So far, this…

Music is having an adverse effect.

I’ve been paying attention to what girl is next on stage so I can leave before a song knocks me on my ass and back into the changeroom, my mascara costs about 60 bucks a tube. I cannot keep doing this.

Sara is helping…
“I’m wondering if it’s his, only his energy you miss. Or the combination of that list you just made.  My friend Monika the writer just wrote about the void.  And you said the word.  I’m sending it to you. Not saying you don’t miss him.  But something feels different.  You feel desperate. You don’t do desperate. I worry.”

She sent me this.

Solar Eclipse in Pisces: Goddess Rising – Earth Shifts.

PORTAL that is the word I was looking for, I fell in one and I have no idea when I am.

The blessed double eclipses are coming and the space between is sublime, blissful, magic.

I showed up early.

Sara says

“…you lost an unknown. I know it’s far more complicated. I know your heart is hurting.
He is with her. Release. Fill the Void. We even do best in Chaos. And then Create.”

The first eclipse on a new moon falls on Yugadi, New Year. Kali. Time to destroy and start anew. Ohm Nayam Shivaya.

Bud White: The Night Owl made you. You sure you want to tear all this down?
Ed Exley: With a wrecking ball, want to help me swing it?
(L.A. Confidential)

There is another side to this wormhole/portal/vortex and I will see you there.

https://www.facebook.com/poemstogo/photos/a.685137224946220.1073741834.681205055339437/868929426566998/?type=3&theater

My magic came back so hard and fast I am reeling from it.
Punch drunk, trying to sort through it and stay upright.

I am putting my babbling incoherency to paper to see if it makes sense.

Maybe my Omega can figure this out. Matthew?

I feel like I’m getting handed puzzle pieces. I don’t have the box so I am not sure what the big picture is. Half the pieces are upside down. A few of them are already nestled together, I have a few corners and edges and I am slowly piecing this together.

I am having trouble switching tenses. Is, was, will be all getting tangled in time somehow.

The heart has reasons which reason knows nothing of. Blaise Pascal

There is no logic in this place. Sad Cat Diary

I never stop questioning why.

Not the poor, poor pitiful cajoling of ‘why me’ punctuated with pouty face. That is as pointless and redundant as the word redundant sound, so very.

I never asked god ‘why me’ when the good stuff was happening… Studio 60

I just smile. Sometimes with a Cheshire cat grin that is my most grateful, mystic, playful face.
Sometimes wistfully with teary eyes and an ‘oh well, what next then’ and I wait for divine intervention.

Oh look, here it is.

My karma seems to be instant.

I’m writing this in bed, in the green binder. Pulled some seemingly blank pages, I swear they were empty. Then they weren’t.

Two things

1. Tabula Rasa, the director’s cut.

List of days I can begin again.

And this…

She still cares for you. After I am gone I hope you find your way back to each other. True Blood

Fuck.

2. The owls are not what they seem. Twin Peaks

That’s all, just those words on the top of a page

“Then there was the owl. I was driving home the day before fetching him from the airport and I had the weirdest thought, I have a thousand million thoughts a day, some louder than others. It’s easy to lose them in the crowd. Except when, right at that very moment this really loud thought comes roaring over all the others, an owl flies into your car window. The thought was this “you are going to tell him you love him and then you are going to have to kick him out of your house, it is the only way this will work.” Two days later, that exact thing happened, exactly the way I had watched it happen in my head.”

The owl happened on March 15^th 2015. Window was open, I was smoking, halfway down my sideroad almost home. Singing Mumford and Sons at the top of my lungs

Hold me fast ‘Cause I’m a hopeless wanderer And hold me fast, Hold me faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack

I have seen 3 owls in this life. This one didn’t fly into my car exactly, he flew parallel to the window, wings outstretched the tip of one just inches from my face. I stopped the car. I had to. He swooped low over the hood, then up and landed on a telephone pole. I just sat there staring at him trying to process everything. He was staring back. When I finally got composed I eased the car forward and the owl took flight again and led me home.

Nothing goes away until it teaches us what we need to know.

That very same owl came back and told me “If you have to choose between me and her. Pick her.”

I have been “her” both ways.

This road goes two ways. (How FrankenKyle says I love you. AHS)

There is more.

Rob Brezsny strikes again.

The last time he interfered a penguin threw up.

Penguins nurture their offspring by chewing food—mixing it up with all God’s enzymes—and then vomiting it into the mouths of the penguin babies. Perhaps you weren’t the butt of a cosmic joke or some Linda Blair-esque bad review, but in fact the recipient of a very precious gift of love. Who knows?

https://www.facebook.com/poemstogo/photos/a.685137224946220.1073741834.681205055339437/868929426566998/?type=3&theater

I spilled my guts and heart out on the internet, left my feelings out for him and the world to see. But he wasn’t looking.

It took me a month and that owl for me to say it to his face. It was already too late.
He said it back, right before he moved away.
Spoke to him the other day. Still love the fucker, he is a good man and an amazing friend. I asked him if I had remedied the situation with the ‘others’ and he hadn’t had to move if he would have given me a second chance, he said he believed he would. That is enough.

Today I got this

Love is the most difficult and dangerous form of courage. Courage is the most desperate, admirable, and noble kind of love. Delmore Schwartz

This is feeling like some serious déjà vu.

Pieces of the Hulk and pictures of Jesus.

Y’all remember Jesus right?

Once he thought he wanted her. But he kept coming back to me.
I hadn’t shaken my narcissistic inner toddler that would constantly rant ‘mine’. So I ended up the mistress. Took what I could get, which was him, more often than I should have had him considering he belonged to someone else. He came back to me 3 years later and reminded me I had said I was going to show up at his wedding in a red dress and object. He looked for me that day, and for quite some time after.

I write to leave pieces of me everywhere, like cake crumbs on the forest floor, so I can both find myself and be found.

I’m currently lost.

12/3/42 and black 19. I don’t understand, numbers vex me. Someone explain?

The other thing I found in the binder full of magicks?

“When single shines the triple sun, what was sundered and undone shall be whole, the two made one.” Dark Crystal.

There is an eclipse coming, on a new moon.

Open your eyes and look at me.
Heaven.

Another day the walls between the worlds are thinny, another wishing day.
And I have a date with 88?
Huh? That doesn’t seem right.

Stop just in time.

You heard my voice
I came out of the woods by choice
Shelter also gave their shade
But in the dark I have no name
So leave that click in my head
And I will remember the words that you said
Left a clouded mind and a heavy heart
But I was sure we could see a new start.

Tabula rasa

I’m realizing I left myself clues too. The puzzle? I have seen this before.

This is what love looks like.

I feel like Dikembe Mutombo.

No no no, not in my house.
(slaps the boy away)

Every prophet in her house.

Jesus fucking Christ I am getting hit on with alarming regularity this week and I am not even ovulating. If this keeps up I will need a guard dog next week.

Oh shit, I let them all go. Metaphorically. I put my poor undersexed girl through torture. Sent her faces to go with the nicknames and we both deleted them one by one as I said goodbye. My posse was a bit much for the last one. Sacrifices.

I had never looked at them all at the same time, it was a little overwhelming, the amount of beauty made my eyes water a bit. They were something to behold. But I had to let them go.

“I’ve named them all the same thing and there is terrible confusion.” Buffy the Vampire Slayer

To be fair Drusilla was looking at the ceiling just imagining stars.

Stay down.

Whack-a-boy.

One of the Plastics from work, actually THE Plastic asked me to go out for a smoke with her, so I did.
Asked her if she needed a cigarette or a light, she didn’t (weird) she just wanted to talk to me (weirder). So I waited for it.

She has an assignment for school about ethics. She needs to write a paper on her personal code of ethics. No one at school knows what she does and the inner workings of stripper etiquette would really be lost on the masses I think. “So, if a girl leaves a bandana on a chair it’s like a bookmark to hold her place?” Territorial pissings with bum towels. What’s a bum towel? And so it would go…  See what I mean.

Ironically, two weeks ago she literally put herself in between me and a customer I was speaking to when she saw the massive wad of cash he had in his hand. So maybe even if there was a dancer code of ethics to be written, she might not be the best one to ask.

But I digress.

What I said was this…

I am the sister to all women and I fucking hate it lately.
Went out with a cute boy, had an amazing date and towards the end I realized I had heard his stories before, from a different perspective. He is my best-friend’s ex. So I can’t go out with him even though he has gone from scratching at my door to downright kicking it in.
I met another really cute boy, he asked me to hang out and it popped into my head right before I gave him my number to ask if he had a girlfriend, he did, so I walked away without a word.
The Giant that I am still smitten as fuck with is dating someone so I can’t go near him even though I really want to.

Neither my road nor my horse are high.
I’ve been here before, walked a low road before, kicking dead horses and whatnot. Spent my 20’s with no morals, no compass, no rules.
Mine Mine Mine.
24 = I lost a really good friend way back when by fucking her ex.
26 = Jesus had a girlfriend, I knew it, tracked him down anyways, told him where I worked and proceeded to dance for him once a week for a month until we made the leap and I took him home once a week for the next 2 years, the mistress.
29 = I scooped ex-husband out from under his now wifey while they were on a date and we know how that went.

I cannae.

As if to illustrate my point, last night a tall drink of water came up to me at the bar and asked for dances. I had an accidental psychic-no-filter blurt and said “this is going to end badly.” Danced for him for a good long while, he wasn’t bad at all, we got along. I heard my name being called for stage and I asked him what kind of music he liked ‘art rock’ he said. “What the fuck is art rock” I replied. He said “you know, like Explosions in the Sky*.” I almost broke my hello my name is Sarah, it’s been 3 days since I cried at work streak. Held it together. Danced to the Weeknd, Rihanna and some other catchy garbage without triggers. ‘Lemme see you work work work work work.’ It worked.

He left, came back, found me again and asked for more dances.
I was reeling from the déjà vu all over again and the drinks I poured on it, but I managed.

Shift was over but I was making stupid good money so I pushed myself to stay until I couldn’t. In the middle of goodbye he asked for my number and in an attempt to deflect, that question arose, ‘do you have a girlfriend?’
Of course he does.
It ended badly, just like I said it would.

As far as my guard dogs go. I seem to have let my guard down, or called the old one(s) back to life by saying goodbye. Some indestructible goat-spider silken thread that cannae be severed and I accidentally tugged it whilst trying to cut it. ‘Come find me’ he says.

Fuck.

Oh sinnerman where you gonna run to? Nina Simone

Run to Me. thenewno.2

*See also Siren’s Song and Lyrically Speaking (a band I had never heard of before a month ago, now a giant fucking deal)

I love funny.

Not ha-ha funny.

Just strange.

Like me.

I forgive, it is my religion.

I learn, it is my religion.

I remember, it is my religion.

I love, it is what I am.

It’s just what the fuck I do.

Me and Forrest Gump, not the smartest bunnies in the drawer but we know what love is.

I do.

I have loved. Been loved.

I don’t like using it as a verb. And my tenses are always tricksy.
Active? Sometimes.
Passive? Ya, that too.
Past tense, nope. If it was ever there it still exists.
So my love is a noun?

Am love.

She fucked her brother, what does she know of love? About as much as Jon Snow. Absolutely nothing (say it again)

She has a point though. Love is supposed to be sacred and mine is all here and I look a scattered mess.

I also asked who the fuck was going to love me with my guts spilled all over the internet.

That’s the million dollar question. If we could answer that and the other, we would have 2 million dollars, unless the answer is the same and then it would feel exactly like winning the lottery.

Yup. And I burn everything to the ground.
I’m sifting through the ash.

Warmth can only come from a burning, and love always comes due in blood. Stephen King

Ever since I woke up and took control over my life, started being honest about who and what I am I have never been wrong about genuinely loving someone. They all needed/deserved it and had some role to play in my life, all of them continue to be in it. Passively.

“The dog has to be put to sleep my boy. Do you understand why? Mark said, You’re not putting him to sleep you are putting him to death, aren’t you? The vet said yes. Mark told him to go ahead, but he had kissed Chopper first. He felt sorry but he hadn’t cried and tears had never been close to the surface. His mother had cried but three days later Chopper was in the dim past to her, and he would never be in the dim past for Mark. That was the value in not crying. Crying was like pissing everything out on the ground.” Stephen King

But I cry, oceans. I am a girl, this is a thing I do.
I need an arc.

So how do I keep from pissing everything on the ground?
(Those who sow in tears shall reap in joy ~ Blake)

How do I hold memories sacred?

Archives (I am) archangel, archbishop. All these things wrapped up in one girl.
An arch is a curved structure that spans a space and may or may not support weight above it.
Arch may be synonymous with vault.

Welcome to the vault.

If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die. (Unknown)

My immortals.

I see something in them worth preserving. Doesn’t mean I want to keep them or fuck them. I just like knowing they exist. I need to show them, and everyone reading, their worth. Because I want someone to show me mine. Or find me worthy of keeping, celebrating, loving.

“That is my super power, the girl who says nice things and means them” (conversations with Drogo the other day) I told him I could see his soul and it is golden and warm. It is. Being near him makes my soul happy. Do I love him? Yes and it is pleasant and calm. Am I in love with him? Nope. Passive.

I do believe in love at first sight. I have felt it, been in it.

I was 13 years old and I still love the fucker. Passive.

I have loved since, been in it, am in it. Active.

I used to think that I was not in possession of my whole heart and therefore could not give it to anyone without it being tainted, tattered, torn. That used to be true. I tried to love my ex-husband but I didn’t know how.

I didn’t understand what it meant.

Now I know that I am a mother, daughter, sister, friend, lover. The love I have for my sisters is different than the love I have for my child, the love I have for my old lovers is as different as they are. Different than how I feel about this one. There are as many different kinds of love as there are people there ever was or will be, as there are snowflakes in an avalanche as there are angels dancing on the head of a pin or drops of water in the ocean. As with everything I just listed, love is not something to be measured or metered out in controlled doses.

I may be scattered, battered, tattered but I am not torn.

Love is not finite or fixed, we can’t ever run out. The more love I emit, the better I feel.

My heart is a stubborn thing, once she gets fixed on someone, everyone else falls away.
Perhaps another reason I need to be the keeper, archive everyone else so they still feel loved when my body stops wanting to be touched by anyone but him.

https://www.facebook.com/Jmstormquotes/photos/a.1586930328210390.1073741827.1586920178211405/1755927234644031/?type=3&theater

“Think I’ll go for a walk now, feel a little unsteady, don’t want nobody to follow me, except maybe you. I could make you happy if you weren’t already, I can do a lot of things, and I do.” Ani Difranco

The first rule of empath sex is we should talk about empath sex.

The second rule of empath sex is seriously, talk about it.

The third rule of empath sex is if you are an empath and you haven’t tried it.
You have to fuck another of your kind.

It’s spectacular.

After the flood all the colors came out.
U2
Beautiful Day

It wasn’t colors, not even sure if it’s the truth.

I do know there was a flood and I have been drowning.

I wish I could stay mad at him but I cannot.
Covenant of the Cougar being what it is (they know not what they do so just let it happen)
And him being what he is.
Fucking Scorpio.
Doing that thing with his tongue, and where was I again?

So here is what happened.

Young Un the first and I were both trying to relationship at the same time, with others.
We have spoken of this before and admitted that neither of us are very good at it.
I was scared of the boy I liked and I used Young Un to learn from and as a vessel to hold all of my feelings, instead of telling the one I had feelings for. He was my example of ‘where I went wrong before’.

He was the wrong one to lean on for advice. I can see that now. Chosen for his age and not the outcome.

Young Un found a girl who was amazing except that one thing. They weren’t sexually compatible.

I probably wasn’t the right one for him to lean on either considering we’re sparky.

Neither one of our others worked out, so he is coming over tonight.

We are both sex-eaters and empaths.

We are both starving. I have been crying for the better part of 2 weeks now and I am running on empty.

I have been masturbating as much as humanly possible and it feels like eating tofu. I am craving steak.

As beings who are open to the emotions of others to the point of tripping around in their feelings and getting them tangled up in our own, when are we more open to each other than when we are quite literally, physically tethered to someone else?

Never.

Took a year I think before I realized the nervousness I felt when I was with Young Un the first wasn’t my own. We talked about it from a safe distance, he found me intimidating and I internalized it as my own.
Thinking back, it wasn’t a bad thing at all really. His youth and nervous energy was really good food. Like static electricity. What shorted everything out was when I was sending back what I thought was mine instead of what I usually emit, which is calm and pink and unconditional. Compassion with some passion on top.

I am still learning.
Michelangelo

He sparked the article Blowing and Glowing. Wait, not just him. There was a perfect storm.

“We cannot and should not fuck outside of our kind.

This is now my divine law and I have followers. I need to make t-shirts and write it in the sky.

There is a spark that exists inside of some of us. If we open ourselves up sexually to ‘the others’ (aka the spark-less) ours dims.
If they are the void kind of humanoid we can literally get sick from it, sad, lost and weakened. They steal our light.

The equal and opposite is therefore true, if you can find someone whose fire and lightning feeds your own that is how stars are born.”

Young Un the first was lacking lightning with his girl. He was lacking and lost.

I was not. I tasted something new, more than I am used to. I was full and found.

It took me forever to figure out why sex with some people was just better. Like mindbogglingly better.

I have come to realize, sex is an energetic exchange.

For me/us/we end up telepathically transferring our higher emotions through touch.
Like speaking in tongues, channeling something bigger than us, godlike.
There is French slang for orgasm petite morte translates to ‘little death’.
And like death in the tarot it isn’t a finite ending, it signifies change.
It’s a conduit that takes me closer to the divine. But only when it’s divine.

If someone is void we end up pouring ourselves into nothing and being drained. There has to be a back and forth.

“Honey, you are young, you don’t have to settle down right now and you don’t have to settle at all.”

I don’t like his exes. They are mean to him and I cannot wrap my head around it.
He isn’t fond of mine either. “Fuck that guy, you deserve better. Anyone who has the privilege of your company is fortunate indeed.”

When I get that feeling, I need sexual healing.
Marvin Gaye

If I could go back, I would do things differently.
He was giving me the best advice he could from his perspective and doing what I asked, which was just keeping me grounded.
There is no conspiracy here.
Just two people who have an empathic connection wandering around lost, hurt, hungry.

I haven’t fed him in 2 years and he still raves about how I cook (and taste).

I’m making steak tacos.

I love words.

The pen is mightier than the sword.

I feel things on an energetic level and sometimes words are not enough.

I speak in gestures, body language and more often in tones.

There are the perfect storms when lyrics and harmonies collide and express everything.

“All the things that we both might say” Peter Gabriel

There exists a condition called synaesthesia; from the Ancient Greek σύν syn, “together”, and αἴσθησις aisthēsis, “sensation”. It’s a neurological phenomenon in which stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway.*

Union of the senses.

I read through the variations and did not find mine, the one that matches auditory experiences to feelings and emotions that I cannot begin to eloquently express. But I will try, here and now.

There is no word/diagnosis for how certain tones reverberate through my core and transport me elsewhere and sometimes bring me home.

I went to a strange therapist. The one I call the Obelisk. She told me I was a lioness, it fits.
I hunt, I protect, I provide, and I love lounging in the sun with my sisters.
But as we were making the journey through my subconscious I realized, a lot of the notes that hit me feel like they are being heard underwater. I imagined a sea turtle, compelled to return to the same beach over and over and just as driven to wander the vast ocean in between.

Thankfully the tides ebb and flow, hurricanes form and make landfall depositing flotsam and creating new landscapes to explore.

“Back to you, it always comes around, back to you.” John Mayer

Music for a Found Harmonium (Penguin Café Orchestra) is my heart when she is happy. I have said before she exists in that state just post toddler. A little-pixie-wisp-of-a-thing that babbles and coos in that secret, soothing high speech of children that know there is magic in the world.

You’re So Cool (Hans Zimmer) is how it sounds when I escape the world for a minute or two. Completely content in whatever is happening in that moment. A delicious bite of food, the sun on my skin, those few seconds when I wake from a good dream and it still feels real. Belly laughs and warm beds.

Dorval (Julia Kent) one woman, one cello and a reverb pedal. The cadence reminds me of foreplay, tentative touches and tastes. Fingertips on skin building to caresses. Pulling back and prolonging the moment, shifting bodies. Little uncontrolled undulations brought on by feeling like a marionette, tied to and reacting to the slightest movement of the other.

Panoramic (Atticus Ross) this one is not easy. It’s my heart again. When she is lost, or has lost. It’s a whalesong reaching out across the universe. But as with everything, hidden in the wails there are moments of light and optimism. Please come home.

Parabola (Vitamin String Quartet) is what his absence feels like. Hollow, empty, haunting echoes.

Host of the Seraphim (Dead Can Dance) is the sound of surrender. What is done is done. This is catharsis with intermittent high notes and dulcet tones that say ‘this too shall pass’.

With or Without You (More Strings) strip the title and the lyrics and what we are left with is the same transportation I experience every single time I smell hyacinths. I get to be 4 years old, its spring. I can smell the earth after its been sleeping. The sun is warming everything, coaxing it awake. Robins and red winged blackbirds. Buds on trees, life forces awakening everywhere. It sounds like spring and hope.

Any Other Name (Thomas Newman) is the soundtrack to dreaming. Imagining wonderful places and times where everything is light and good and strange like me. Slow languid wanderings through worlds that haven’t happened yet, but they are coming. I have seen them.

Ocean (John Butler Trio) is an adventure. It’s a summer drive with the windows down and no agenda. A full tank of gas and two cups of really good coffee. It’s driving through the countryside and the beauty in old barns. Stopping at yard sales and finding treasure. It’s a cooler in the back seat full of sandwiches and cold water. Picnic blankets and beach towels. It’s one of those days where the world falls away and its just us.

Acoustic #1 (Pearl Jam) is the inarticulate murmurations of my teenage years. It is the beginning of me. It is a mashed up, flashback to when I was unapologetically myself, becoming. It is where I had to get back to after the world told me what I should be doing. I should be me, I am irreplaceable and full of promise.

Six Feet Under Theme (Thomas Newman) is my musical reminder that death isn’t the end. It signifies letting go of the old ways to make room for change, hope for renewal and the lightness of letting go and the space it creates to thrive.

Postcard from 1952 (Explosions in the Sky) until recently Dorval used to be my musical equivalent to how sex feels to me. That changed. Everything changed. It has become this. Zero to sixty and everything in between. Summer storm clouds coming across the lake, the sky changing colours, lightning flashes illuminating everything, burning perfect pictures into my memory, thunder heads roiling, caught up in the most refreshing downpour, dancing in it, that calm in the center followed by more baptisms falling from the sky and the sun coming out after.

Stalafur (Sigur Ros) is the feeling of calm acceptance. It is not thinking or hoping everything is as it should be, it is believing it with everything I am. It is the realization that although I may not understand the words the lesson itself is beautiful.

Run to Me (Ben Harper & Leila Moss) is what sated feels like. Absolute contentment. Those moments when everything is still and clear. Like a lake so clean you can see the bottom. Enveloped in that feeling of floating weightless and safe in water. It’s as pure as my soul gets. It’s the sensation of being held by something or someone bigger than myself. And the laugh at the end. Happiness.

Idumea (Sacred Harp Singers) is the sound of strength. Its my convictions, my loyalty. It’s the rousing chorus of all the people I used to be working together to move forward. It’s the weight keeping my optimism from floating away.

There are pieces of me in here that defy language, that have to be heard and felt to be understood.

Listen.

“The way she tells me I’m hers and she’s mine.” Hozier

(*Wikipedia)

There was never any more inception than there is now, 
Nor any more youth or age than there is now;
And will never be any more perfection than there is now,
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.
Walt Whitman

Today is Leap Day.

I am smiling. Fittingly occurring on my 42nd run around the sun.

I tried to recall what magic and dreams I weaved on the last one.

I’m guessing the answer to be a quiet, mousey “None”.

I think I was still a mess, mired in the land of ‘should’.

Fairly unaware of the universe, it’s energy and my place in it. I knew nothing of entangled particles, star dust, supernovas.
My ability to divine and create the future yet untapped. Kind of like maple trees, the sap was almost running, but not yet.

I believe that was the year everything started to get better.
If I wait 10 minutes Facebook will tell me.

(Cue the ellipses)

…

I waited, the answer was not exactly. I said it was a magical day and then proceeded to post like a non-magical asshole, all tangled up in humanness, drama and bullshit.

Said something about ‘every time you lie to me an angel shits her pants’. I can only guess who was lying at the time.

Feels like another life, another world, a different me.

Probably because it was.

I am not that girl any more.

I have survived several apocalypses, old veils being lifted so I could see.

I have survived waiting and wanting and made a covenant with the universe to always receive my desires in their totality.

I promise to keep learning and smiling back at the gods for the gifts they send me.

Please may I have some more.

Now is blessed, the rest remembered.

I am not sure if it matters exactly when I woke up, it only matters that I did.

Now IS blessed.

Today is the grandest of all wishing days. We are all invited to dream as big as we can, then a little bigger and the universe is listening, waiting and willing to set our wildest desires into motion.

Never under-estimate the power of blind faith. It manifests in ways that bend the laws of physics or breaks them entirely. True Blood

The hard part is keeping the faith.

I got this.

This perfect moment is brought to you by those pine trees whose seeds are so tightly compacted within their protective covering that only the intense heat of a forest fire can free them and allow them to sprout. (Rob Brezsney)

I have walked the fire before, experienced the burning, and was born and warm from it.

The trick is to keep walking.
Keep looking and watching for signs. They will come.
I always come out the other side into something better.
Sometimes things need to go away to be appreciated.

I concede and concur.

The first step to better times is to imagine them. (Unknown)

and

Everything you can imagine is real. Picasso

I know what my wishes are for this strangest of days, the clearest reception for our telephones to god.

The girl I was 4 years ago would have never dared dream them, but now I can see it, crystal clear.

Publishing contracts, word recognition, comfort, a tiny house of my own, a room to write in and love.

Love like I do.

The last time the stars aligned on a blood moon eclipse I created a Frankenstein monster, beautiful pieces of what I knew was possible stitched together with good intentions. And he was better than I had dared imagine. The gods read my mind as well as my words, and here I thank them for it.

I knew what I had to do and I shed all the suitcases that only held one or two of my favorite things.

I feel weightless.

My Oracle told me he has to walk the desert for 19 days. Black 19.

His own personal retrograde where the mercurial magic he tasted is absent.

At least I made him playlists for the trip.

He said they are taking over and he loves them.

There are pieces of me in there.

On the blood moon eclipse I also sent a fiery paper lantern into the sky with the following words inscribed…

I can imagine the moment, breaking out through the silence, all the things that we both might say, and the heart it cannot be denied, til we’re both on the same damn side, all the barriers blown away. Peter Gabriel

So it is written.

I missed hitting publish at 11:11 like I wanted to, s’okay, my gods don’t wear watches.

Windows 10 tricked me into updating and this article I was working on for a few days now got stripped back to the bare bones. Art is imitating life again. Or mayhap dictating it. The latter sounds correct.

I did the thing I try so hard not to do, I let the past colour the present.

I built it, he came.

I forgot the next message from the Field of Dreams voice. Go the distance. I was too busy holding my ground.

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.
Einstein

At some point I will stop.

Self-preservation will kick in. But not today. Definitely not tomorrow either. Maybe next Tuesday.

My D.J said, as I walked off stage eyes already shimmering with salt water,
“Sweetheart, I have never seen you this messed up over a boy before.”

In all fairness Mr. Brightside had played and I got a bad loop in my head.

Now they’re going to bed and my stomach is sick and it’s all in my head but she’s touching his chest now, he takes off her dress now let me go

(I don’t want to let go.)

I feel like a newborn, kicking and screaming.
Filter

When you were here before,
I couldn’t look you in the eye,
You’re just like and angel,
Your skin makes me cry.
Radiohead

Fuck, everything is making me cry, song lyrics like painful slivers of truth working their way to the surface.

I listed what I liked about the Giant. Took me a good part of 5 minutes but still.

“Me neither honey, especially not this fast.”

I searched through the filing cabinet labeled “experience” in my mind for anything similar in hopes of reminding myself how to deal.

Quickly, something familiar.
The Tragically Hip

I have been re-reading the blog. Because I know the Giant is.

I tried to hide it from him, I know I look a mess. Always going back and forth about what I am and what I want. I post epiphanies in real time. Stumbling and fumbling and clumsy as fuck.

I wrote in Lost and Found Boys that I wasn’t getting what I wanted because I didn’t know what that was.

He was already standing right in front of me, and he was HUGE…how did I miss it?

I was looking back at the old. I let the past taint the present.

I stuck to the covenant of the cougar, I felt like a whim and made him feel that way too.

11:11 A Wish for My Pet Monster.

Oh shit.

I wished for him.

He was my Christmas gift from the Gods.

Things I held sacred that I dropped.
Audioslave

I didn’t treat him as sacred, I rearranged the consonants and was scared instead.

He was the culmination of them all walking around in one beautiful body.

Magic and mysticism of Gelfling.

Passion and playfulness of Wolflng.

Acceptance and adultiness of Sunday.

Chivalry and compassion like The Hulk.

Ease of conversations and dirty, nerdy compatibility of Drogo.

The eagerness to explore my experiences and make new ones like Home.

Youth and beauty like Young Un.

Musings and motivation to write that trump the Poet.

Unlike all of them, he was corporeal and communicative on a level that suited me perfectly.

Add to that the massive musical compatibility and the slightest touch making purple lightning under my skin.
Sex like fireworks and thunderstorms.
And he looked at me like I was magic.

I called him Nephilim behind his back. Been looking for one of those ever since Sara said the word Fallen. Rare as rainstorms in February and hurricanes named after us, but it happened. Should have said it to his face but I held my tongue.

I wrote in Parallel Paradigms regarding these new ones I meet “We are building foundations for worlds that haven’t happened yet. The stardust coursing through my veins is magnetically compelled to pull them in. Touch them, learn them, exchange energies so when we meet again we will know each other.”

Unlike the others we have built a solid foundation in this world, it just isn’t time yet. Fear has been replaced with familiarity.

He saw this and asked about it, lyrics framed and on my wall.

So shed your skin and let’s get started.
Hunters & Collectors

Fresh start it is.

https://www.facebook.com/MICHAELXAVIERAUTHOR/photos/pb.113476372020447.-2207520000.1456341091./1095893453778729/?type=3&theater

I stuttered as a child.

I had to take special classes pre-kindergarten.

My speech therapist told my folks “her vocabulary is more than her tongue can physically handle, her mouth has to catch up to her mind.”

Nothing changes.

My current speech impediment is overthinking before I speak.

It is amazing how I channel for everyone else unfiltered, just let it flow. Yet, when it comes to me, it’s all second guessing and insecurity.

In addition to my stutter I had a mousy brown bowl cut, glasses, small stature and a crooked little smile.
I was a strange little girl inside and out. Still am. Still insecure too.

She thrusts her fists against the posts and still insists she sees the ghosts.*

I have ghosts. I speak of them and to them with alarming regularity.

Communion with the dead. Wafers and wine included.

Last suppers that haven’t ever really been the last.

Corporeal/imaginary friends and lovers. Arm’s length, mostly.

Ghostlings and Changelings and Angels oh my. Must be a day that ends in Y.

On my never ending quest to glean the why, I think I figured something out.

The man I call Home sent me this.

I am haunted because, to others, I too am a ghost.

The man I call ex-husband published this.

I had vanished, he wanted me homeward bound instead. Bound being the operative word. I went back to him numerous times after this. Even spoke to him in the summer. It ended just as badly every time. So I buried him, unceremoniously. With a clove of garlic in his mouth just to be safe. Salted the earth and haven’t looked back.

I have one foot in the underworld and the other is only hovering in the present.

I am so messed up about how I used to be that I seek validation from the time called “before”.
Giving it more weight than what is happening here and now.

“I miss you” and “I still love you after all this time”.
Like choirs of seraphim singing, I didn’t hear it at first but they are warbling way off key.

A man from 1992 came to me years ago and told me he regretted letting me go, that I was his one.

On my 40^th birthday, 2 men from high school spoke up. One said he dumped me because he didn’t feel worthy, it was preemptive. Ran before I could hurt him. The other recalled what I was wearing the first time he saw me, said I looked like an angel, he never spoke more than a dozen words to me back then, I actually thought he hated me.

Months prior I had High School Sweetheart speaking to me in ways he ought not to, told me he loves me too, more than his wife. At the same time Golden Boy exhumed the past to show me what he did whilst apologizing for it. I had buried all of it.

I admit, I rejoiced in the resurrections. I felt vindicated.

But all of this is an abomination against the Lord.

“There’s no way around grief and loss: You can dodge all you want, but sooner or later you just have to go into it, through it and, hopefully, come out the other side. The world you find there will never be the same as the world you left.” Johnny Cash

Something happened as I was falling for the Giant recently.

And behold, the veil of the temple was torn into two from top to bottom. And the earth was shaken, and the rocks were split. And the tombs were opened, and many bodies of the saints having fallen asleep arose. And coming out of the tombs after His resurrection they entered the holy city. Matthew 27:51-53

Gelfling rose like Lazarus. I looked the other way.

Wolfling attempted to trespass against us and I didn’t forgive him.

Sunday delivered his weekly sermon. I did not sit and I most certainly didn’t kneel.

The Poet wrote and called me.
My head spun around and I puked him out.
Blessed purging.

I was using Young Un for parables. I squandered my own gifts to lean on the past for advice. Forgive me. He was no Angel of the Lord in this. He said ‘be afraid’ instead. And I was and it was bad, amen.

Then Jesus asked him, “What is your name?”
“My name is Legion,” he replied, “for we are many.” Mark 5:9

Deliver us from evil.

Wait…

Buddha is chiming in, bless him.

“…nothing ever goes away until it has taught us what we need to know. If we run a hundred miles an hour to the other end of the continent in order to get away from the obstacle, we find the very same problem waiting for us when we arrive. it just keeps returning with new names, forms, manifestations until we learn whatever it has to teach us about where we are separating ourselves from reality, how we are pulling back instead of opening up, closing down instead of allowing ourselves to experience fully whatever we encounter, without hesitating or retreating into ourselves.” Pema Chödrön

The Giant/Goliath/Nephilim?

He hasn’t become an apparition just yet, but he would rather miss me than be with me.

I cannot process this. I’m trying.

I asked the Hulk/my other Giant this morning, if I’d untangled myself from my supposed safety nets in a timely manner, would the situation have been reversible.
Him: Hard question to answer at this point. But I believe I would have.
Me: Please know that I’m beyond happy you are happy. I care about you a lot, as a friend.
Him: I don’t think to a mature mind the damage would be permanent
Me: I feel extra stupid because I should’ve already learned this lesson.

I think I am done regrouping now. I layeth down in green pastures and shit for almost a week now. Time to get up and walk through the valley, with both feet this time.

I will listen to both the men in black, Johnny and the Gunslinger “go now, there are other worlds than these.”

The Lord works in mysterious ways, and my gods are even more tricksy.

No choice but to let go and let god, all my Gods.

The football player was in purgatory. I dreamt I was going to see him again after my baptism in the ocean, I denied the second coming.
I cannot fight what is so written apparently.

I might yet find my glory glory hallelujah, forever and ever amen.

But for now, football season cometh.

Hail Mary passes et al.

(*the one thing I remember from speech therapy)