there is less and less to hold onto in this new skin, as the old dies and the wounded surrender the battle. i’ve layed the sword in the corner, thanked it for its service toward survival. what is left is wet down feathers and fire on the hip. what is left are the white beads around my wrist, the ginger on my tongue, and the cayenne on my cheek.

what is left, in this moment, is a slippery blue vein, a breath held just long enough, and a faith that questions if the vapor really exists.

photo: sugan, my teacher. ajmer, india. 2009. see sugan’s story here.

it is impossible not to feel the wave of revolution that is happening in the middle east. i follow mona, unabashed freedom fighter whom i was fortunate to meet and share curry with in amsterdam last october, and i am in awe of her reports of the magnitude of bravery and willingness in streets of egypt, bahrain, and libya. people are standing. fighting for revolution. willing to face the Resistance, the baton, the tear gas, the intimidation, all in the name of overthrowing the Dictator–that which stands in the way of freedom.

i’ve said before that i do not view myself as one to speak to the specifics of activism. i do not view my work as to tell you how you should respond and what you should do. i look to mona and marianne for that information, among others.

what i feel empowered to speak to is the suggestion that we can all reference that same unified connection and calling that is being experienced in the people of the middle east–in our own inner worlds. i suggest that we can each look inside and plant our feet in our own young, proud, unbroken and fearless willingness to thrive. i am aware that there exists a split in me between the righteous dictator and the hungry, powerful, way of freedom. i am aware that a revolution is is happening inside of me. that the forces of heart and mind are battling in my own town square, and that it is right time to overthrow the brutality and the confinement of my own old regime.

i am in no way suggesting that we compare our challenges to those dying in the streets in libya today. no more than i would venture to measure the continuum of suffering in the human condition across time, story, and geography. what i am suggesting is that one huge way that we can regard the kind of strength and inspiration being seen in the people of the middle east, the courage to challenge an old, tired and oppressive way, is by aligning ourselves with the spirit of that level of uprising. i choose to be connected in this way. and as the people continue to take to the streets, risking bullets of injustice, it seems the least of acts of solidarity i can engage in is to continue to hammer the locks on my own doorways to inner, and outer, freedom.

photo: collective prayers. bangle tree and altar. near jodhpur, india.

hunger, ache, churning–whatever it is, i am feeding the ravenous. i am passion unleashed and stagnant frustration rising to the surface. somewhere between a push and a free-fall. setting fire to the shoulds and the mantras from without. this is flesh and now and written from my fingertips. i am the one feeling the cold and pulling the shades up to let the sun come through the glass and burn my temples. i am the one screening through the chatter tracks. the pages of the atlas are rustling. begging to be visioned and made real. they say surrender, but this feels more like swimming naked to the bottom of it all, kicking off the silty bottom and splashing through the surface tension. it feels active. engaging. and more alive than i’ve felt in far too long. this is healing, irreverence, shedding. this is from the left ventricle, with the brightest red. this is cloak open and wind on the throat. this is sulfur and rain, masculine and feminine. this is what it is to be wildly human, engaged, owning, and bit.

bowing to it all. folding myself into the gifted medicine bundle that is wrapped in white deerskin. grateful, again, to be seen by one who knows.

no part of this moment is lost on me, but it seems there is still so much more to be found.

see what happens when you choose “wild abandon” for the theme of the year?

photo: pixie with sage and hawk wing. february 2011.

void of old story or new narrative, just here. with longing, lust, madness, and a deep peace. in all of my contradictions, i am still the one here, breathing life into this moment. watching the waves crash and listening to the poet speak–remembering and forgetting.

today, i will rest into love. my own, yours, ours. no past, no future. just the great unknown.

If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about
to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens that is better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.
-mary oliver

photo: nyc. september, 2010.