yes, it was still exactly as hard as i thought/felt/knew it would be.
if i need to fall apart, that’s okay. but i will do so, and reassemble, and i will not hate myself for being human.
i don’t have much for you today. you’ll be fine, those of you who do read the silly outpourings of Self i’ve left in utter disorganization around here. the one remarkable aspect of this day in particular is that i got a facial for the first time. i didn’t settle into the experience until it was decidedly underway (we’re still working on comprehension of things deserved) and from my vantage point it doesn’t seem to be an activity that demands inclusion into any sort of routine, but it was nice. so many of the trials and tribulations i’ve endured with my skin are in no small part caused by the frenetic quasi-ubiquitousness of emotional stress within which i flail more often than not.
my head is still throbbing, likely at the same notch on the metronome as my heart. we’re not going to talk about the increase in my resting heart rate that i’ve noticed—how could i not, guilty nervous dissectress of minutiae i have wholly proven myself to be?—over the past year. i’m working on it (which may be the problem).
i have yet to feel a single unmixed emotion today, and plunging myself into the tangle is just too much. none of them shrieks with enough adamance to warrant immediate processing. they all seem a little distant, a little muted. is emotional shellshock a thing?
ugh. i don’t blame the fifty-five of you who have, i am entirely sure, scrolled right on by, for having your attentions captured by posts of much greater import than this one. my corner is besieged by dust at glacial speed, and the accumulation will soon be cause for alarm. who knows where i’ll be by then? maybe Anxiety Girl waits already in the wings, poised and ready to rectify whatever This (expansive gesture) situation is.
in other news: first week of classes was lovely, really it was, but there’s so much to speak of that the lovely things have had no choice but to chug along behind. i see you, though, and you know i’m a little bit of a mess because i’ve been neglecting you, but i’m a grateful little bit of mess, at least.
Once you start to speak, people will yell at you. They will interrupt you, put you down and suggest it’s personal. And the world won’t end. And the speaking will get easier and easier. And you will find you have fallen in love with your own vision, which you may never have realized you had. And you will lose some friends and lovers, and realize you don’t miss them. And new ones will find you and cherish you. And you will still flirt and paint your nails, dress up and party, because, as I think Emma Goldman said, “If I can’t dance, I don’t want to be part of your revolution.” And at last you’ll know with surpassing certainty that only one thing is more frightening than speaking your truth. And that is not speaking.
should i be worried that i apparently don’t have enough of a handle on it to pin it down with verbs, glorify it with adjectives and Name it with Proper nouns? it’s not for lack of trying (though perhaps i ought to try to try less). i’m wearing the scarf my sister brought home for me from Prague, and i’m surprised by how attached i am to it, upon putting it on for the first time. it’s a pretty thing, a fitting thing, probably more raival than August the seventeenth calls for, but Sonoma County defies seasonal reason, so my following suit is, if anything, an homage to this strangest of climatic microcosms in which i find myself much of the time.
anyway. i’m off to pick blackberries in my own little patch of pastorality. they’ll be pies by nightfall, but you can expect arful pictures to commemorate their feral existence and ritualized inclusion into the human experience.
I am loved! Repeating. I. am loved.
Forgive yourself for not being at peace. The moment you completely accept your non-peace, your non-peace is transmuted into peace. Anything you accept fully will get you there, will take you into peace. This is the miracle of surrender.
Do not be concerned with others not appreciating you. Be concerned about you not appreciating others.
Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there. It doesn’t matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that’s like you after you take your hands away. The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching, he said. The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime.