- 3 Reasons Why Folks Who Don’t “Look” Non-Binary Can Still Be Non-Binary – Everyday Feminism
- Ursula K. Le Guin on Being a Man via Brain Pickings – although her writing pre-dates the latest wave of non-binary conversation it very neatly captures many of the ideas around the subject I’ve struggled with. That liminal place between gender roles that artists and thinkers frequently occupy.
- Noam Chomsky has a new documentary on Netflix called Requiem for the American Dream
- The Evolutionary Purpose of the Scorpio in Pluto Generation via Wake Up World
- Redefining Death by Geshe Michael Roach via Dr. Joos
The teacher is rarely the person at the front of the room. It is the person your heart connects with. Without a doubt you walk into the arms of their unknowingness & ask them to reveal their truth to you. The answer is always a surprise until hearing sounds too obvious.
I walked into a room surrounded by teachers to be revealed. My nails clawed across the chalkboard of my mind. Defiant pupil scared of her own short comings revealed in nothing but the awful sound. Hip flexors cried out in stubborn unyielding, unwilling to be yoked to the fate self same sought. Tears rippling internally against a frustration fuelled by the same tired complaint ‘Why am I here?’
Determination is so beautiful.
Suddenly a truth that can not be muted answers my disheartened mewing. This is where I belong. These are the teachers I have been searching for to the questions I dare not articulate. I am here & I am ready to be played a fool. Show me the reason for this hate & fear. Where for did it grow in my heart? Where for in my neighbours? A ring of candles glisten in the dark. I don’t have the answer, but I am waiting.
Waiting is a practice that can lead to yoga.
Or maybe that’s not what the teachers said, but I am barely listening over the inaudible din of my self studying. Turning the question over & over again. Why am I here? Why am I here? Why am I here?
I slept like a lamb new slaughtered. Blood on my hands I arrived on my mat ready to ply these butchers fingers. Awkwardly inflated, unfamiliar, groping through the dark in first morning light. I watch the shadows crawl across the wall. Somewhere in between breaths Mary started to glow. First dark like a shadow then bright golden light source unknown. Whose hand crafted such a sight? What hand supported me now?
Under pressure nerves cracked in newly familiar places. I’m crazy for love, but I’m not going on. How many years in devotion to the tower I built around myself? Who is the brick layer? Who stained the glass? What was here before I arrived? Who will stand here when I’m rubble in the sand? This moment passed unmarked from one song to the next. I crave oneness with one of it, so I pack light, travel alone, watch my own back as I walk away from myself on the ledge. Why so guarded on the mirrors edge?
A deer crosses the road & I am too empty to feel my heart beat in excitement. Saturday night pilgrims march towards fortunes neon glow, but Lady Luck slipped out the back while I unlocked the front door. Sweeping the floor well past closing time. I remark to no one in particular the parts of myself that I am afraid to name.
6:00 am comes easily when the purpose for rising is unclear. In the vast darkness my sneakers carry me through old haunts. Up empty streets to pick up berries in colours that remind me of secrets long forgot. The cashier gives me a knowing nod as I walk off into the sunrise. Silence slowly filling my ears as I walk down the street in the chord of D. Vibrations of kids laughing commune with the trees. This one cut down & that one planted. It will grow to be taller than I am in my lifetime. That door didn’t use to be red. These planks weren’t always so rugged. The sun didn’t look like this yesterday.
As we drive the day feels more welcoming. There is a thread in the day that keeps me tied to the window. There is something out there looking for me, but today I am tied to my mat like a life raft. A raft that is filled with humility at the things I’ve taken for granted in the blink of an eye. Here my feet are. Ten toes for balancing. Here my eyes are. Two for truth seeking. Here my heart is. One of everything.
I accept you into my heart as my sister, I promise to never speak ill of you, and I accept your love seeking only what is best for our collective highest good.
Your heart open to mine I feel naked in a way no skin can express. In that vulnerability you accept my sins for me & I yours. We are purified of imperfections because together we are whole. Together we can do no wrong. Greater than the collective sum of our hearts. Overwhelming gratitude electrified in your presence I stand alone with only my own wildness to answer for. I have a voice inside of me that knows what it wants. It knew then what I know now I’ve just forgot. There is a playfulness not to run from. There is a security that isn’t forced. A voice asks me to be whole in my knowing.
I am grounded in laughter, and surrounded by a sea of silence. 17 lighthouses blink in the distance. In my awkward steps I will climb the ladder rung by rung to watch the storm from your safe haven. Fingers clasped together asking for a way – Om.
A step together is a step forever.
In the quiet moments between lost & found you read to me my hidden texts. It is both a warning & an invitation to better understand this sanctity of expression. From my own silent utterance be true. Unshored it is soon forgotten. Sealed tightly it envelopes all mystery. My wholy unbroken.
A journey with no destination.
Together we have begun.
Grounded in uncertainty.
Unsure we stand united.
Pilgrimage of the heart.
Community of women.
Unknown maiden head birthed of sage wisdom.
Hi, I don’t know you, and I don’t even remember your name, but you changed me and my life for the better.
I want to give props where props are due and let you know that without meeting you I would not be able to trust again like I want to do. Your love poured through me and opened all my pores to intuite the divine in your rueful smile. I don’t know why I walked into your bar or why you hung around through my defensive disinterest but I’m glad you did.
The things you said to me about love and loss, art and life, and getting on. They were exactly the words my heart was hoping to hear but I didn’t know it yet. Phrased in a way that was just new and fresh enough they melted the whore frost clinging to my bones and rattled my heart beat into a new spring tune.
I hope you read Edna St. Vincent Millay and think of me.
I hope you find the falling star you are looking for.
I hope you become the supercharged black hole this humdrum universe has been crying out for.
I hope you know how much those couple of hours of conversation meant to me.
I will remember the gentle creases around your warm eyes, and the way you knew how to spin strangers into your card tricks, the way your heart stood open to the world full of mysteries.
Only your name seems to escape me.