Işıl
I feel so full of life sometimes I can hardly move.
Do you ever feel this way?
It is a sort of insanity.
To be so rich and infused by one's surroundings.
I feel the flowers waving in the breeze on my skin, although they are at the end of the street, and I am sitting on the windowsill.
I taste the dirt where their stalks stand upright. It is dry and needs water. It is not writhing with bugs as it should be. There are no worms. Where are they?
I can hear the swallows though I cannot sense their location. They sing somewhere, and the sound is in my bones. I am swaying gently with it. I have become that red flower. I am the breeze.
The pattern of shadow on the wall is telling me to be patient. Wait, it says. It is speaking as Mariko's voice. There are things that appear to me from odd spaces, and instead of dismissing them, I will listen. My voice is not only inside me; it rebounds in the world outside of me because of how I hold my throat open. Things slip out and land like a raw egg that's been dropped.
I once heard a skull crack on the asphalt, and that idea has been with me for a decade. The impression of fragility. I would rather be mud than the ceramic cup that holds my coffee. Stories hold that humans were made from clay, churned by the hands of the Goddess from the Earth.
The mud is wet and malleable. The pottery is too delicate. I will bend backward before I am broken. I will be dirty and disheveled before I submit to an appearance informed by someone else decorum! I will be the mud, and you can be the pretty piece of dirt painted just so.
I have too much fire in my body to be fully dry; I need a little wet to soften and subdue the edges. If I were a shape, it would be a little pointed and in need of brushing. Stroked lightly as a cat's back. Go in one direction because the other is upsetting.
One day I'll have a book, and I hope someone reads it and goes, yes, I understand; I feel this way too.
I have heard the patterns on the walls speak. I have brushed a cat backward to hear it scream. I have avoided painting my nails just to be different, even though this is the norm and not the other way around.
It all depends on the context; whoever has the strongest will inform the room. Ceiling or not!
Hope has no roof, so I can climb out of whatever box I've been put inside with this information! HA! Today will be devastatingly hot, so I will not go to the dance studio until the sun goes down. I will return the keys to the red flashlight fob and say goodbye with my eyes. I never say it with my mouth. It's too permanent that way, and people do not know what to do with it.
So many words that are spoken are meaningless. The beautiful man at the yoga studio blinks at me, and we are energetically linked in a way that nothing or a person can touch. He feels it, too; I can tell by how he blinks at me to say hello. Not quite a nod, not exactly a wink. It is a blink. Our private agreement. Hello, it says, nice to see you. I smile. He does not smile on the outside. His friends are too cliquey, and it would give far too much away. He would lose his tribe.
For a smile, I think it's worth it.
But then, I have no tribe.
I do not belong to any one place; for this, I am punished by some, so I never say goodbye with words. I let people feel it if they are focused on sensation. Otherwise, they don't understand, and I wouldn't want them in my close circle anyway.
So much of what I thought he understood was a projection of myself through him. I am too clever sometimes. Too in my head. I need this practice to keep me grounded in sensation, my intuitive body, where the truth resides.
Mariko's voice on the walls: your muscles are gripping.
My stomach meridian is no longer blocked, and I know this because of how many beans, eggplants, and buns I consume when it's dark out. I cannot eat in the daytime hours. A fugitive, I buy small parcels and eat them at the home by the dimmed lights.
A dimmer switch is one of my absolute favorite things to discover in a home! Lighting is essential to mood, and my temperament is always a bit off when the lights are fluorescent. I'd rather be in the dark.
Anything too sharp upsets my stomach. I never knew how sensitive I was until I went off alone. I did not understand myself. I did not know how to attune to my being; I was too focused on what others were feeling, saying, and doing.
Going inside and feeling yourself is more painful than following the focus of someone else.
Art is a way of freeing the pain. I am mostly mad, and this practice of sitting down to write is the only thing that keeps me from cutting off all of my hair most mornings.
If I had a partner or a child, that would be the main focus of my efforts. But I don't. I have chosen not to so I could go deeper within and dredge up whatever lurks in my heart's quiet recesses.
It is always changing, as things do. So the practice never ends. It is ongoing.
My greatest fear is never finding a partner. I do not want to be alone when I die, yet that is the one truth I must face. And live with.
We are born alone, and we die alone.
Regardless of the narrative of being part of a greater nexus of energy and connected to Vibration/God/Goddess, I entered this body, and I will exit this body as a sole entity.
And this makes me feel very mixed: I am sad, excited, delighted, and furious by the contrast! I am so full of life right now, realizing it will end.
I want to be with someone at the end because it will validate my experience. You did good, the gaze says, because I am here with you.
What a silly sentiment- and who planted it here?
I get annoyed by the women who dress themselves up in such a way because it is a privilege to mirror back the things other people desire to see. A lure, a program, a decision to follow and not define your own way because it is too painful to pave a new path in solitude.
And here it is, the reason for my insanity, and I would not have it any other way. I have chosen this and am choosing to release my fear of being mateless.
Because life is so textured and nuanced and scented and sensual!
Validation is the thing that appears when I am not rooted in what is true for me - I look outward instead of inward.
Honesty is not the easiest way though it is absolutely necessary to guarantee that death will be sweet.
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