Billy and Miranda
Proving ground
Proof that
I am
a respectable gentlemen
But feeling wide eyed
As Miranda
As waves beat
American shores
Doggie style
Splayed
Just like a bitch
Collar
With a medal round the neck
Forced labor
Oh mama!
Daddy's home
Times so surreal
Grounding
Over and again
This land
This place
This space
Cowboy, best of the west
Guess git going back
Must Manifest
A different destiny
fragile gentlemen
Obsolete
Not needed
Be Better
Be Wanted
To be wanted
Not needed
Beautifully interwoven
Faith in the fabric
Interdependence
Community
Abundance
Love
Straw man
Make simple
the complex
Construct a house of cards
One breeze
Nothing
Build more
Build better
Build true
Two bees
On my sleeve
Lifeless
Beatrice and Bernie
Rest
Flowers for friends
A sweet reprieve
Honeycomb discarded
A resting place under the tree
A dish of sugar
Love
Sorrow
So sorry
Tears for missed connection
A picture
Two coffee cups
A beautiful ocean scene
Safe
You are safe
Goodbye
Meet you there
One day
Maybe not goodbye
Just see you later
Someday meet you there
Circle, Circle
to gather
To draw
Now to ground
Dig, dig, dig
Plant
Build
Love my Circle
With a love so fierce
Build home
Familiar and unknown
Gather pieces
Glue together
Attention to love
Eyes on the now
In front
Watch your step
Walk with me
Now go
Now grow
Again back to attention. To the here now. Summerland. Back to the basics. Over and again. Put down, put away. Focus. Breathe. Meditate. Focus on community. Make plans. Less thoughts. More small actions. Less online. More right now. In the kitchen teaching Silas to say chocolate milk. Mom's songs. Teach your children well. Why, well you'd cry. Just look at them and sigh, and know they love you.
To the accountability for mistakes. Do better. Be here. Only can do and be so many things. Better to be good where I am then seeking more beyond my means. Love is boundless. Attention, focus, and resources are not. More there, means less here. It's a waste to hate, to fear. We are all just pieces, just parts.
A recurring daydream I have is somehow getting stranded. A survival story in the wilderness. I think the appeal for my brain is that the bear is real. Mountains. The focus is simple. No forms. No reels. No fake shit. Just me and the woods. Silence. Quiet. Death isn't some lurking thing. Anxiety or blood pressure. It's something tangible. It's hunger, cold, or injury. Real threat instead of abstract fears. Not that I actually want to get stranded in the woods. Just a reoccurring thought when things get stressful. The thought of tangible fights. Instead of threats that seem invisible, and insurmountable.
How to create more of needed things? How to create spaciousness in my thinking? How to get Less to get more? How to go into the now, go into a survival space while navigating Costco and playdates? Sometimes I get in this head space. My husband i think is sick of hearing it. The complaining. Well, okay then, what are you going to do about it? Go for it. Do it! Valid point. Okay then. To the to dos. Choose the path. Walk it.
One step. Another. Don't know where I'm going, I just know there are so many things I want to do. The scarcity of time. Is it all illusion? Make time. Carve it out of space. Make time for joy. For the dirt. For sleep. For music. Less ruminating. Less trying to fix. Just connect where it's simple. Do what I can. Hug my loved ones. Fix the sprinklers. Plant the seeds and plants. Eyes forward. Hands busy, or softly open.
Let it all go.
To the woods
Under the tree
To the air
To breath
To beauty
To stuggle
To people
To the sun
To the flowers
Let live
Over there
Not mine
Not to fix
Not to change
Just living
Over there
Wish you happiness
Over there
To townhall
To phone calls
To the sandbox
To the potty
To the snacks
To words
To work
To be
Just be here
Not there
Glimmering
Glittering
To confidence
To place
To belong
To bed with a sleepy head
To good fights
To Less nonsense
To more or less
Better or worse
This moment
Little hands in my big hands
My hands small in larger scene
To Less caring
To more loving
To home
I am home
Home is here
In these bones
It's where I am
Be home
The political is personal. They can't be unbound from each other. The same fiber. Spun together. Although these days the fabric seems to be fraying. What does it mean to be, to be you, be me, be anything in America today? A man? A women? Gender is construct. Fucking holy wars. Scarcity forcing the hand. All looking at impending disasters with different solutions. But we can all see the tornado right?
The meaning ever changing. Flowing like life. Like water. Trying to pin it down. Laughable notion. It's to kill it. But yes, you had the taxonomy right. In that time. In name and form for a moment. And then it is gone. Pin it down. A dead thing with a name.
Choas is a ladder. Keep the people divided and you can hold unimaginable power. Turn your enemy into a straw man, simple, and frail; it makes them into something for the fire. But I don't know a single person made of straw. To be human is to be a universe unto yourself. I see women and women's issues made simple. Rather than Occums Razor, rather it's more of Hictums Dictum, come all ye biological creatures with all the problems ye please.
The other day in the yard two bees landed on my arm and died. It felt so real. So sad. Like they were telling me something about giving up. Why didn't you plant your flowers? Why didn't you complete your tasks? Why did you throw it all in the trash and cry alone? Why is it always this instead of that? Why aren't you here, I mean really here?
Grief is a strange thing. We grieve all kinds of things. Instead of focusing on people, on what I can do practically I find myself projecting. Lost in the clouds. Love requires nurturing. Perhaps a lot of what I do is indeed a cautionary tale. What not to do. The political lens is so narrow. Instead of trying to fix it forever within a larger context it's forever back to the basics. Making plans. Happy plans. Because life although always has a political component is always more.
So tired. Feeling insecure. So I picked a fight with my husband. On our anniversary. Three years married and such a long time together. Perhaps he had a point. But maybe I did too. Perhaps it's what's going on. Feels like the walls are closing in. Maybe it's grief for those that have left way too soon. Maybe it's everything. But fuck, maybe its just fucking me.
I guess it can be all of it. Feeling stupid. Feeling ungrateful. Feeling like I'm missing happiness. Feeling all the feels and the feelings aren't helping. Just making me feel more like shit. More in the hole.
So to break through the thought loops. I guess I have to sit in them again. Then get up again and try again. Unplug. Focus. Small steps. Back to the gratitude journal. Practice, practice, practice. Round and back. Always novice.
Grateful for fights that lead to resolution. Grateful to have work that pays the bills. Grateful for my kiddos. My family. To have a bit of dirt to play with. Faith in the fact that I'm where and who I'm supposed to be. That I have what I need. So much love. I'm grateful for the many great loves in my life. Many wonderful teachers. Faith that it's all going to be okay even if it seems dark sometimes.
Emily's Audiofiles Recommendations:
Women's Work by Elizabeth Weyland Barber
Only Let the Red Flowers Bloom Emily Feng
How to win an information War by Peter Pomerantsev
Kingdom of Rage by Elizabeth Neumann
Blah blah blah.
To another blog post
Feeling like it's a disjointed ramble
But ain't that the way it is sometimes.
But it's beautiful and I'm feeling pretty present for it.
Loves and Hugs!
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