The grey sky looks blue when you’re yellow.
I hope the rain cradles you
And makes you new.
The grey sky looks blue when you’re yellow.
I hope the rain cradles you
And makes you new.
I don’t know what there is to gain from all this. The Sun is low, hiding behind some drab cloud. The river seems to be moving at a stand still. I am back in this place where all I have is time. Time on my hands. Time to write. To think. And read. Surely there is some contemplative nugget, a gleam of wisdom waiting for me in the woods, if only I am willing to ask for it. My mind returns unceasingly to love, or the lack thereof. It returns to her. Why after all this time I do not know. It is not as if I have done nothing to extinguish the flame. It is not as if I have remained inside, kneeling at some altar. No. I have lived. And yet still the image conjures itself before me.
What does it mean to break free of it? To release myself from its muzzled grip? To wander in these woods without the thought of a ‘once was’. Without the possibility of losing myself in some old reverie; a reverie which ultimately whisks me from reality into a land of dream and vision where anything is possible. And yet, here, here in this place and time, things remain as they are. They do not magically transform to my whims. They set upon me delicately. They offer themselves to me but without the mystical air I yearn for.
The horizon is dull. Hills sloping like wavelengths. River water muddy and green. The woods wait for me to step outside. To embrace them. To gaze fully upon their fresh colors. The violet pinks. The cranberry reds. The whip-whoo of pileated woodpeckers. The long vowel sound of the Earth discovering me.
I sit at my desk as though nothing has changed. As though a month has not gone by since my leave. The leaves outside my window still flutter. Most of them are still hanging on. The dust still collects on my keyboard.
And something within me wants to knock itself loose.
Something within me wants to be released, to find its way back to source.
She was a tender angel with a pouty lip. A little cutie baby with a name she didn’t know yet. And that name was Zoey….
Something feels different today. A shift has occurred.
I feel lighter. I feel intent on my purpose.
I feel beautiful. And cute. And kind. And open to growing and learning from my mistakes.
I feel love from within and without.
I ran through the woods with the doggies, dodging from tree to tree as fast as I could.
I felt like a child. Like a beautiful, whimsical child. Something beautiful is happening to me.
I can feel this little girl inside of me blossoming into a young, self-assured woman. And I just can’t begin to describe how that feels.
Tonight, the sky was a purple ribbon. I pulled it down and tied a neat bow in my curls. I am one with the Moon. I am one with the Sea. I am one with all things.
I am really happy. And maybe it’s because I have reached a new level of depth and beauty in my personality. Maybe it’s because I sense that I’m growing, becoming whole.
I was on a walk today and I felt something creep in: a touch of magic, a taste of the divine, the world grew larger in my eyes and I felt my skin expand to new lengths; lengths that engulf all things around me: dogs, shrubs, oaks, moss, lichen, birds. Everything.
There are books in my future; financial security; and good good love. And boy am I excited to leave the past behind; always honoring the wounded girl from whom I have evolved.
She deserves so much love. So much care and celebration. What an incredible girl she is. So creative. So cute. So caring and kind. Such a big heart. My mother’s heart. She has my mother’s heart. And my father’s bravery. She is as big as the Moon, and bright as the Sun. She is the well from which I drink. The spring from which I spring. The source from which I leap into the cosmos, into my place in the Tapestry of Life.
I’m not going to cry because it honestly feels so good. But listen you guys. I have strived so hard to get to this place. I have sacrificed so much. Let go of so much. Allowed so much psychic pain to flood through me. And now here I am. Alive. Beautiful. Confident.
On the precipice of my great girlish dreams; the ones that filled my heart and imagination as a child, as a young girl who didn’t even know she was a girl; a girl who had accepted all that the world placed upon her small shoulders. But what a cutie. What a big lover. What a poet and a dreamer. What a whimsical little lady. What eyes she has for this world.
And I am her, and she is me. And the Child and the Adult have, after so long, become one.
Tonight I danced in the wind. I laughed to myself. And told the doggies I loved them. I am growing into a strong young woman of trans and queer experience.
And here’s another kicker: I HAVE THE GREATEST COMMUNITY AROUND ME.
My friends are all lovers. Lovers all friends. It manifests differently in each relationship. But the consistent force is an undying love that refuses to remain static, a love that grows from itself, that remains open and flowing. A love capable of smashing all barriers and engulfing all the shadows. A love that extends outward in all directions. From me to you.
And here is the simple answer to the modern problem of differentiation, resolved after so long spent searching: love yourself so deeply you are willing to go far into discomfort, into the darkness, into all the places inside of you that go bump in the night, all the places you have refused to explore. Love yourself so deeply that you are willing to be completely transformed by the sheer force, the sheer breadth, the sheer magic, and the sheer terror of the world. Allow yourself to learn and grow and change. Give yourself the gift of taking things slow. Of not rushing. See your beauty as it exists beyond the realm of productivity and finance. Be willing to speak your truth. AND EVEN MORE IMPORTANT, BE WILLING TO QUIET DOWN AND RECEIVE OTHERS’. This will transform your life. This will bridge the gaps of difference. This will enable you to see the Divine in all beings and to evolve your state of mind until it is pregnant with as much understanding as one brain can possibly handle.
Self-love is not easy. For it begins in the realm of uncertainty. It begins with acknowledging that you’re not quite sure how to do it. You’re not quite sure what it means. And if you are, oh my GOD I am SO proud of and happy for you, because there is no greater blessing than to know you are capable of growing, of humbling yourself, and feeling real, visceral love inside your own body.
I am a woman. I am trans. I am queer. I am non-binary. I am androgynous. I am spiritual. I am revolutionary. I am ME.
And oh my gosh, my loves, it feels so effing good. Like, what the heck! WHAT. THE. HECK!
I would not be here now saying this without so many (too many to count) people inspiring me, informing me, impressing me, influencing me, giving of themselves and their genius to me, showing me the way forward simply by the virtue of being fearlessly their own people. WOW. WOWIE. WOWIE. WOW.
I am so blessed. So fortunate. And I am privileged (I do not so much celebrate this privilege as I do seek to understand it as it relates to the world, as it relates to those who do not have the same privileges. And insofar as I see my privileges and am willing to use them to help others, I believe it is important to recognize what I have received in this life; and there is no shortage of them, I recognize that. And I also recognize that every day those without these same privileges struggle to reach the same clarity because they literally don’t have time or space or social resources; they have families, and bills, and so many forces bearing down upon them and it is for them that I write; that I seek to become better). I am privileged in my skin color. I am privileged in my physical attractiveness. I am privileged in my ability to pass as cisgender. I am privileged for having been raised in the third wealthiest county in America. I am privileged for receiving a high-quality, top-notch private education. I am privileged for graduating high school and being able to afford University [and for the financial support I received from my family]. I am privileged for my intellect. And my ability to communicate. I am privileged in my strength. I am privileged in my familial support (BOY AM I PRIVILEGED THERE! Thank you so much to my family for supporting me. You may not understand me. You may look at my life and think, gosh do I not have the slightest clue what she’s doing but I know she is pursuing her happiness and evolution and that makes me happy. I cannot ask you to understand what you have never experienced, but I can thank you for a. trying and b. for accepting me regardless.) I am privileged in too many ways to count. But I will try to count them. And I will try to use each of my privileges in ways that build the bright world I have dreamt of since my earliest youth. I will use every bit of what I have been given to help manifest that utopia. I believe it is possible. Sure, Earth is a big place. But I believe that every human being, given the right circumstances, can find happiness and community. Sure, sure. Maybe there are exceptions (psychopaths, people with Antisocial Personality Disorder, i.e. people who are literally incapable of knowing their pure baby hearts.) But with the right circumstances, anyone can find their way to the path of love. It is only a matter of creating those circumstances (assuming you have the space to do so, and if you don’t, fight nonetheless; KNOW YOU ARE WORTHY OF IT); it is a matter of extending your platform to those whose voices need to be raised higher than yours. It is a matter of knowing you are just one small part in a much larger machine, a beautiful, beautiful, and slightly terrifying machine.
Now. This is a revelation. I feel beautiful. I feel creative. I feel held. I feel celebrated. I feel loved. I feel anxious to meet my future. But! There is a turning point in my life that involves the acceptance and dissolution of self-doubt; a turning point that involves me trusting what it is that I am capable of, what it is that I am connected to. And guess what?
There is a whole world waiting on the other side of that. There is a whole world of learning, and listening, and growing, and growing, and growing, and helping. This is all I want for the world. And for myself.
Something feels different today. Something has shifted. Something new is creeping in, enlarging my heart (not literally thank god, but spiritually, emotionally.) Something powerful, something I have been seeking tenaciously for so so long, is crystallizing inside of me, emerging from the murky muck and the cold depths, rearing its gorgeous head, shouting into the void:
I AM WHOLE. I AM WHOLE. BY FUCKING GOD, BY FUCKING GODDESS, I AM WHOLE.
And insofar as I am whole, I am healthy, I am hallowed, I am holy, I am home. Thank the Beautiful Divine.
I am Home.
There, in the dreaming house,
The wasps played against the window.
To the chicken coop,
To warm eggs fresh from the cloaca.
To coffee on the deck,
When the river was soundless
And the dogs were pancakes against the wood.
We took a walk in the forest,
And bounced on beds of moss.
Does existence precede essence?
Among rocks splattered with lichen
Like old dentures drenched in spearmint.
We watched cows pee standing up,
As they are wont to do.
And when the Sun fell down,
I left a note for you
Hidden along the pasture’s edge.
Last I heard it was lost in the bonfire.
Today was a nice day. Simple as that. Very little Sun but warm nonetheless. I did most of my writing on the deck, overlooking the river. The unseasonable weather brought a chipmunk from its winter hiding place, finches whippoorwilling, birdsongs rang out from invisible fowl through this bowl of land we call the OAC.
I overate (but it was worth it); tended to my full stomach with ginger and lemon tea. I made ramen–not the cheap kind; I’m experimenting with my own broths. It’s become quite a small joy.
I finished Tom Robbins’ eighth and final novel, Villa Incognito–which I’ll honestly say was among his very best. And, spurred on by the good read and the spiritous day, I wrote some lovely and lively passages in my novel. I believe I’m now on the verge of a breakthrough–hoping the river flows smoothly from here.
The research is going well too. I’m learning a lot about Hawaii–even though the more I learn, the more I yearn to go there. It’s been percolating in my mind for years now. I’m learning a lot, too, about the advent of the Atlantic Slave Trade; how whole communities were decimated by colonial powers and African intervention. I’m learning about rebellions. About music. About the Earth.
The ideas are coming together now; congealing into something altogether mystical. Finally I feel, after ten months of hard work, the Cosmic Quartet is crystallizing. Oh! And I also met with Jessie, the other girl on residency here. She writes magical realism–very well, I might add. I met with her to discuss co-hosting a women writer’s retreat at the OAC, a conference with the main goal of examining intersectionality as it relates to the progression of literature in America. We plan to accept writers of every medium–poets, fabulists, ethnographers, sociologists, playwrights. The hope is that we can attract lecturers for each day of the retreat. I want to build here. And we have the resources and the support to do so.
I’m starting to dream bigger. I’m starting to envision a larger life, more deeply connected to my greater communities, using my resources, power, and privilege to create real and lasting change. That’s what I want for this life of mine–to uplift the arts, to empower the marginalized and raise their voices, to build communities whose values and legacies will last far into the future.
I can feel my life changing out here. Whatever lies on the horizon, I welcome it with open arms and wide eyes. I’m excited for what’s to come.
Tomorrow I’m going with Mark, the Exec Director, to his weekly Intender’s Circle–a group of people who get together in a collective setting to put energy toward manifesting their dreams, both practical and long term. It will be good since Jessie and Alyce the Ceramicist and I began an Intender’s Circle of our own last Wednesday (we kicked it off with a three-person dance party at the Arts Center in town). There was wine and cheese and Alyce made potatoes. And we discussed our visions over held hands and sporadic giggles. To finish, we intoned harmoniously with each other. Brought some real juju into the space; some real magic. The air was alight with a supernal tingle.
Everything here is, really. I’m going to spend the spring here, I think. Allow myself to finish the Quartet. It deserves my full attention. After all, this is my passion, my purpose, my vision, and my mission we’re talking about. This is serious. A laughing matter.
It deserves belly laughs, intense focus, pushing the envelope out where it belongs. And in the process I intend to transform my life to more closely resemble my dreams. They are not far off; they are right here, in the palm of my hand. The only question is, what does it look like?
Today I feel an anxious compression pushing against me; filling my gut with some unnamed pressure. I woke up angry.
And anger really means sadness.
So what is the sadness?
I feel this strange opposition, hidden just beyond view. Something’s pushing its way out of me.
Last night I was sitting at the island in the kitchen, while a pipe of cannabis sat half-smoked on the counter. Mark sat opposite me. We were talking about love. I was talking about love. And I started to cry. Right as I began to cry, Fleetwood Mac’s Landslide came on Pandora.
I’ve been afraid of changing. Cause I’ve built my life around you.
Sometimes I hate synchronicity.
I never thought I’d see the day; the Universe is telling me to let go.
Mirror in the sky… What is love? Can the child in my heart rise above?
She’s here too–the child. She doesn’t want to let go. She doesn’t want to rise above. It worries me.
I can feel myself resisting things right now. 2017 was supposed to begin with this sense of newness–a novelty–a fresh start.
But you know how it started? With the old cycle. And I let it happen. I let it back in. I chose to start this year from a place of clinging.
So now I’m paying the price. And it’s creeping up, creeping in. Pushing against me. Making me anxious. Finicky. Distracted. Needy. All these old habits that tire me so. And yet I cling to them. The energy persists. The cycle of running and chasing goes on just the same. And through it all…
Can I sail through the changing ocean tide? Can I handle the seasons of my life.
She just won’t let go. And neither will I.
But it’s time. And this anxious compression… it’s telling me just the same.
Okay let’s take a break from our regularly scheduled programming to peak at a passage in Anna’s journal. It’s just sitting there, on her bed. And she’s headed off to the city and won’t get back for at least a more few hours. Come on. What she won’t know won’t hurt her:
April 14, 2016 ~
Content Warning: my pants are off, I’ve got a bottle of wine, and there’s an angry mourning dove pecking at my window. The time is 2:31 pm.
What do you do when you’re not inspired and suddenly you feel the subtle anxiety of what-ifs brewing in you, those familiar ones, the ones that say, “You don’t know how to construct a good plot. You’ll never be as good as Mark Twain, let alone Sam Clemens. You’re a hack. They’ll know it. They’ll see right through you. They’ll tear you to shreds with a little red pen and laugh you all the way to… to… see you can’t even come up with a clever end to this sentence, so you’re resorting to meta-observation of yourself. You can’t even seem to shake the creeping suspicion that the voice is true, that there is no coherence to your words and getting drunk isn’t going to help you get there.” These are momentary confessions, a necklace of non sequiturs, a string of graying pearls, pearls that came from the only kind of clam in the universe this author will eat: and it doesn’t swim in the ocean. It swims in victoria’s secret lace panties. It swims between thighs that touch tenderly on the order of limestone bluffs. It bleeds against the light of the Moon. And renders the World a possibility.
Matthew Mconaughey was my favorite ninja turtle until I turned eleven and I discovered that he wasn’t a ninja turtle.
My likes include lying down beneath trees that do not provide enough shade because they grow atop million year old mountains, amidst million year old dry air, amidst a 300 day Sun that refuses to hit the showers, include writing in ornate journals bought from Barnes and Noble, include talking to animals, include ball caps, and jogger pants, include sneakers and human connection, not that the two have any True correlation except that the author felt like giving the Oxford Comma a breather. Hey, here’s a fun fact: I’ve never seen a tornado in real life. Isn’t that a shame?
Here’s another fun fact: the tongue of a full-grown giraffe is approximately seventy-six inches smaller than the penis of a full-grown Blue Whale.
Another: In a fifteen-mile long race between a honeybee and a Segway, the honeybee would win.
Okay, that’s it for fun facts. Now it’s time for the weather with Tom Weddleman. Tom.
Hey everyone, it’s me. Tom Weddleman, with the weather. Today instead of a cold front the entire western hemisphere is experiencing what many are calling apocalyptic meteorological conditions. But not to worry, as long as you’re prepared to live comfortably in your basement for the next seventy years, inbreeding your family into oblivion, then you should be just fine. Otherwise I’d suggest going outside and doing something stupid.
I said I’ve never seen a tornado in my life, but I’m thinking now’s my chance, Tom.
-That was the last thing I ever said.
I’m writing this from the comfort of a room on a melon shaped planet in the Taurus constellation called Mudri. And my chair is made of the finest light strands one can acquire in this star system. On our planet, light can be bent and manipulated in such a way that we can build entire houses out of it, thread lavish blouses, and glowing shower curtains. But then again, on our planet everything is vibrating so fast it’s as if we’re not really here. I remember when I lived on Earth and I couldn’t see a damned thing worth seeing. No wait. That’s not true. That’s not true at all. I think what I miss most about Earth are the sunsets. Oh my god those sunsets. Have you ever seen the sky blush orange and purple? Have you ever seen the Heavens unfold like Hawaiian hibiscus over champagne seas? Have you ever seen the Sun dip his toes against the erect nipple of ancient mountaintops? I have. And gosh damn was it the cat’s pajamas!