Mea culpa!

Lo, though I am neglectful of the blogs and the Flickr, though I am moody and fragile, though I am tired and let my fear get the better of me some days.

But I am here.

I am showing up and putting one foot in front of the other. And looking back, I’ve made a long time friend in the road I’ve tread.

Solvitur ambulando.

Sometimes I snack on dry cereal when I’m in bed…

I got out of the shower the other morning to find the following note and ‘O’.

The note reads: woe is me, for I am lonely cheerio. left behind by my brethren, I have spent the night underneath a woman who knew not that I was here! what is my fate? I wonder.

Almost better than the love notes I usually get. <3

You are not an island, and you’re not supposed to be.

Love.

This curious thing I thought I once understood, once felt. And realize now I know nothing about. And probably will never piece together. What is attraction? Why does the way you smile melt me and the way your tears fall dissolve me?

Love is the ultimate oxymoron. It strengthens you by making you softer. It teaches you by unveiling your ignorance. It grows resolute in the moments closest to its failing.

I imagine I will never understand you love, but I’m sure glad you stopped by and I hope you stick around.

Did Alice know what she was in for when she opened the door?

I certainly didn’t.
Yet, underneath my panic, my ancient tears, my neuroses, lies a woman stilled by the fact that everything is perfect and the world is beautiful.

And the world is beautiful.

To this endless want
Rest, child.

Please.

You’re being ridiculous.

To the toughness I create that saws against the kindnesses of the day
Melt, child.

To the lies that pour forth from my lips when I am not looking
Breathe, child.

To thy heart that holds what is beautiful and crumbled in sorrow
Rest, child.

Today has come and done what it needed to do
Tomorrow you will start again.

Red as my love; wet and urgent.
Emerge from my womb; a cocoon;
this loneliness tomb.

See me in the rapture.
Barefoot goddess
braiding time into your beard
as you kiss my lips, part the ocean.
Ambrosia, my love.
Nectar.

You never question my heart, do you?

Take me for what I am, in this moment,
in the next.  I have fallen at your knees, blessed the green path
tread beneath your darling toes
and the softness of your caress, is that all?

Have you heard me cry in the night?
Howling at the ivory moon perched above the sill, resting
heavy on my conscience, she begs me, can you risk it,
dear owl-child, break the glass casing your heart holds still within
patient for the emergency that love becomes?

And suddenly I have no more questions,
answers only,
I reply,
yes.

He might hate it
but for the rusty nailed matriarchs of the land
and the howling wind.

And though I feel sideways to the flow of the river,
the highways, the culture’s stream, there are moments
where all that falls gently silent.

A deep belonging rises from the soil and dries the sweat
that built this town first,
and rebuilds it over and over again.

My connection to the land overrules my love of leaving.

The push is stronger
than my weakest memory.
You will get your way.
Though I will have to die.
Put my ashes in
an envelope postmarked
for the life you designed me.
Fold me up and seal
me in.
I have no form, no magnetic north, no sense of who I am.