Of Dirt and Heaven

Neuropathways

Electrical firing

Levels of energy

The palace of the soul

biomedical model

The model isn't less

But isn't all

Of dirt

Of heaven

Our place in the garden

Spiders

Wonders

Schemes

Projections

Money to make

Tickets to sell

Stories to tell 

Children's stories

Voices in the dark

This place

This time

Our limited linear perspective

Distractions

Projects

So many things

To do

Oh what to do?

My narratives

It can be better

I can be better

Dream

Oh dreams

Vicious fantasies

Anger at the dissonance

A chord so wrong it's right

Harmony

Chaos

The beauty of attention

The curving river shines bright

The forest for the trees

Turbulence

Love

Returning

Ocean's waves crashing into shore

How to stay here?

How to stay now?

One can not freeze a wave

The river flows

It is here

A moving thing

Falling down

Rising with the dawn

The light

The dark

The spaces between

The time

Passing

Flowing

The day repeats

Feeling like Xena on groundhog day

Snoozing Joxer 

I'm rising but i refuse to shine

As a mother

You see your children

Through glass

Colors bright

Changing with the sun

You see them through you

Oh Jesus 

I see you in bumper stickers

Flags

Hope 

fear 

Attached and tugging at the strings

And I'm strangely unsettled

Patterns repeating

Lessons unlearned

The other path

The other hand

The balance between

Oh please no theocracy

Yes please none of that

A friend explores ideas

In ink

On skin

What is it to be a man?

What is it to be a woman?

Wholly holy

Cover the arms

Cover the skin

In ink

Or cloth

What does it mean to be human?

What is right?

How goes the left?

I think God must delight in variety. Seems strange to me that so many notions of God seem to define and restrict. Why make humans and this world in complexity, in endless variation. Why make humans so beautifully peculiar, then force sameness? That doesn't seem God like to me. That seems human. That seems like the lowest tendencies of humans. To define. To decide. To judge and shun. Those ideas made God a dirty word to me. One that even now feels strange and remote. 

Love is where God lives to me. In the imperfect smile. In darkness. In histories with secret seeming mysteries. In the stories of women. What they saw from the cheap seats invaluable.

 Women's traditional arts don't much outlive them. Usually don't have names attached to them. I think there is something beautiful about that. The impermanence of a quilt. It's warmth and tactile function in the moment. Almost a living thing. Like the body.  A stain on a well worn shirt. A stitch in time. Not for all time. Just for now.  Not great at these things. Still very much learning basics. But I really love playing with pretty string. Letting the thoughts run and writing the little bits that flow past. 

I don't know what I believe. There are very few things I know with certainty. I feel like I've been searching for belonging. But I always seem to have an arched eyebrow and a foot out the door. I've always been drawn to belief. Trying to make sense of it. Mostly it don't make no damn sense to me. Except that everything is in connection with everything else. Love is beautiful. It defies all rules. All explanations. Like life, it's complicated. It's the only thing that can contend with the darkness of this human existence. It's perfect in imperfection. It's an understanding and a mercy. 

As I continue my adventures through the looking glass to the land of infinite woo woo I practice curiosity. I practice gratitude. I practice loving compassion. I needs a lot of practice! Because I get down, sad and pissed off plenty. I always seem to sink into my old ways. I practice cause I kinda suck at it. But that's okay too. We can get better. I can too without kicking myself for where I'm at.

Right now I'm doing a deep dive on Mormonism and Utah history. Considering the past and how it flows into the future. I've spent a lot of time deconstructing religion. My whole life it seems. Around campfires and in garages at parties. While I don't claim any religion I can't deny that it's shaped me in many ways. It's interesting to research pioneer women. The stories. The loneliness. The strength. But so much silence. So much denial. They deserve better then to be forgotten. They existed. In life with good, bad, and let's be real the real fucking ugly sometimes.

My thoughts run out like webs. There is always interconnections. There are strengths in this way of thinking. But it is difficult getting through the practicalities of life. It's hard to live a life of substance when your thoughts are constantly scattered everywhere. To keep working through the inevitable tedious parts when your brain is like a child's constantly wondering around looking for shiny objects. 

How to focus on what's important? Right here. Right now. Well I'm going to play with Silas for a bit. I've been off in my lala for too long. Then off to therapy I go. For more deconstructing. To clear the fluff out of my head and try and be present for my babies. For the day in front of me. For the people I love. Because I don't want to miss this. I want to be here. Here in the complex mess. 

Well much love. Off I go..weeeeeeee