michelle, butterfly beach. august 2010.

i find myself alone now more than ever before in my life. sometimes it is lonely. sometimes i want to rant and scream and call everyone i know at once. sometimes there just isn’t much to say. sometimes i have to force myself out the door. or to my altar. sometimes the time goes so quickly that i am shocked, like how the right conversation can carry on effortlessly through the sleep hours. i take long showers and i let the water scald my back as i watch the rivulets on the tile change directions with the touch of my fingertip. i follow the moth as it sacrifices life for the light, over and over again. i get lost in books and i think a lot. and then i try to move beyond the thoughts. once i even ran fast circles around my yard in the late starlight, tripping on oak roots as my bare feet became numb from the cold muddy grass. mostly, i just toss myself into the waves: the hot tears, the euphoria, the hollow expanses, the hummingbird flutters, the new, and the aged. there is accuracy in all of it. stillness, even. as if there is no place else to be.

i know which pillow is mine. the one with feathers and the tattered striped cover.
the one that is damp from my thick wet hair, from seawater, and smells of blood oranges and vanilla.
right now, i want to become one with that pillow and give it an extra dose of my weariness.
i am so tired.
tired from pacing the floor last night with a burning hot pain in my chest. habanero perhaps. and a new sensitivity.
tired from pacing years of my life around the fears and capacities of others.
i am tired enough to let the shopping cart run over my toe,
and to almost let the veterinarian make me feel bad that the dog has fleas.
i am too tired to sit and figure this out with you. to make it more than it is.
i need to go to sleep.
this kind of tired is a teacher who makes it easy to see the wisdom of my wanting.

i am so grateful that i know which pillow is mine.

self, with iphone.

they are hilarious. brilliant. astounding. they talk about things like life in other dimensions and whether we can travel through time and change the future. they want to see the world, swim in bluer waters and not miss a thing. they are not afraid to expect hugeness. she sings, is wicked smart, intuitive, and totally willing to be ridiculous. he is a magician, a musician, wise, honest, and feels everything. they are the best company. they bust out dance moves in candy stores. and after snorkling with them yesterday in lover’s cove, i am convinced they are part fish.

lucky? grateful? cracked open just a little bit more?

yes.

yesterday, i fell in love with stand-up paddleboarding. something about holding balance, feeling strong in my core, and rowing evenly on both sides to keep on a straight path. just me, the water, the focus. for a time, i forgot that everything is changing. i forgot about my plans, my thighs, my story. i relaxed.

i’m exhausted by metaphors. by trying to communicate experience in a way that speaks with clarity and respects privacy. my head hurts from it.

and so i defer to my heart. the heavy, cushioned place in the center of my chest that is cracked, sad, longing, and lonely. slightly terrified, hesitantly trusting, and  healing. i am thankful for the guides: the poets, the songwriters, the philosophers, the mystics, those who have come before–all having made strides to translate this shared thing. i am resolved to surrender in my ordinary human angst. in my moment of awakening that is so laughably common and yet still so crucial and mine.

it is my turn, my doorway. obvious and illusory. wide-open and waiting.  asking only that i enter.