"I’ll be here when you’re ready."

 I have such a hard time communicating openly and vulnerably these days. So many parts of life trigger the vortex of chaos which has not grieved yet. 

I thought I had the answers that I needed when it came to love. I don't think I'll ever have that answer. An evolving thing is impossible to identify in a permanent way. But words add structure to the patterns in the brain, the way we store and retrieve information... And I am storing a new piece of information about the ever-evolving concept of Love. 

Love isn't just a longing to be there when you cannot be. 

Love isn't just the feeling of extending only when able. 

Love isn't just feelings of hope from a place of lack. 

It also is action, from a place of sustenance. 

From a place of actually having enough to offer stability. 

Some of the most secure words I've received came today, unexpectedly, straight to the wounded part of me after confessing my state of inner chaos and instability. And it did not come from the person I thought they would have. They were simple, and honest. Real and tangible. Not flighty, promising, and unfulfilling. 

Stability in community perhaps. 

A network larger than a unit of two, saying "I'll be here when you're ready." Saying, 'I'm not running away. This doesn't scare me. You can have emotions. I'm secure enough in myself to trust I'll still be here when you emerge. You can trust my trust in myself. I trust you to trust yourself enough to know when to reach out to me. I trust your process.'

All of that is packed in there. 

And I'm so grateful. 

My eyes leaked again, and this time it wasn't pain leaking out. It was something else. 

Relief. 

I lost a day to alcohol

 I accidentally drank too much. The sudden need to vomit into the toilet took me by surprise. 

Apparently I was not very lucid. What I thought took 15 minutes between stumbling to the bathroom, vomiting three times and then crashing into bed actually lasted several hours, I was told in the morning. Time warps differently when plastered. 

I don't think I've been that drunk before. I can only half see why people do it. The first part was pleasant, but the aftermath stole a whole day from me. Throbbing headache and nausea all day are the rewards for sipping far too much mixed brandy the night before. Oops. 

I've concluded its not really my thing. So easy to get too tipsy and feel miserable for a long while. 

I think this shall become a new rule. Mostly because at least at the moment, even the idea of alcohol turns my stomach. A rule written by my body rather than my mind. 

I can't imagine doing it again. 

An interesting experiment, but I'm thrilled there won't be a repeat. 

Depression and Hope

 I think Depression is a gateway to Surrender. 

And I think Surrender is a gateway to Change.

And Change is a gateway to Evolving Upward. 

May you find a gate which leads you to that which calls to your soul.

And may you shed all that no longer serves you. 

And may you hold true to the hopeful blossoms of tomorrow, even in the darkness where it's impossible to see them. 

Mid-life-sample

I've got the pieces put together finally. Not much left to do other than make it more detailed. This should be fun.

I love having time and space in the attic. I made myself room. I made room for myself. That sentence is huge. If you know me at all, you'd know that's massive. This is what I've needed for a long time. I'm finally starting to feel a little human again. Life is happening. LIFE is happening. What a relief! 

But does the longing ever go away? 

Magic music

The old demons sit around the fire telling stories, laughing at all the best parts, how I used to struggle more when they held me. I don't know if it's maturity or stupidity to think maybe I've outgrown them this time. Finally able to listen to their stories like a bystander rather than the main character. Perspective changes everything.

I see them now a little different. Almost hollow shells of what they used to be. A little boring or bland even. Struggled so long with these familiar hells that it's almost funny to look in the mirror. Oh, are we still playing these games? Sigh... Ok, let's do it again I suppose. What used  to whiplash me into tornado like trauma is now only a blur of quick blinding pain, almost habitually responded to with an old shrug and a deep breath... Moving the energy like a memorized yoga routine...

We know each other well now, these dark shadows. The fountain of youth is closer to truth than lies. The lies will be the death of us. Disconnected pieces because the truth is too painful. Keeping things separate because it feels like shit to force the sides to talk. But they have to. One way or another the two halves must reconcile. If they don't, we die. Simple as that. If we cannot speak, we will not heal. 

Perhaps art is the way to do it. Perhaps music. Maybe they will hear the same song and realize they aren't so different. Maybe they have something in common after all. Somewhere deep down, we share something precious in our souls. Something almost magical. Depending on your view of it.

I hope I'm right. I beg the sky to let me be right. Let there be mending. Let there be hope. Let there be listening. Let there be shared experiences again. 

Forgive me.

I didn't know better. 

Last day for taxes

Not to scare you but here in Canada, we've got taxes due. 

The likelihood you're reading this after today it is high, so I'll say the date has probably come and gone, but for me right now, and for maybe the one or two of you who seem to actually read these words fairly soon after I post into the void of the internet - you might also feel some kind of urgency to do your taxes today or if you've already done it, good on ya and you can relax I suppose. 👌🏼

But it's funny how much looking at receipts brings up whole sections of memory. Years even. Especially if you've been disorganized at some point in your life like I have. Maybe you feel that way now. Maybe not. I like to imagine there are people who really do have systems in their work spaces that hold the details they need to be held. Like last year's receipt for a business purchase you're going to add to your tax deductions. It has taken years to get a reliable system together just for where I find scissors at any given time I need. That's a big deal in my world of paper making and graphic designing. My world shifts around so often, it's now a skill. 

Only my waywanderer friends will understand how good a warm drink is first thing on a crisp morning.

Nonetheless, I digress. I am looking at my life in the form of receipts, a rainbow of dates spread across the floor - and I am trying my best to not get sucked in, but it's like looking at photos or journal entries of major changes and choices, junctures of my life. Big stuff. Big emotion. 

I'm realizing it's not what I think it is. Doing taxes is a little bit sacred. A bit of a reckoning I suppose. A bit of a telling. A bit of a confession. A bit of a promise. Strange to think of it like this. It's a bit of a ritual. It's a good thing perhaps... 

Not how I've thought of it before. 

But I can see it and it makes me smile. 

I think I'll lean into it. For now.

Something treasured even. That would be amazing. Wow. I like this train of thought. 

Haha..... Ok. I guess I'll leave it there. 

Be well, ye strangers of the void. Eyes I never see. Till we meet again next. I hope you get your taxes done 😜✌🏼

I'm now 33

 Strange. Still alive. Wasn't expecting that one.

And what a weird life! I thought I had it in the bag on some level. Back when I was younger and believed in a fantasy version of reality. I had no idea how vastly different it really was.

And yet, I've also come to realize life is not as vastly different as what I grew up believing. It still comes down to being like a child, full of wonder and curiosity, love and empathy for vulnerable things. I didn't understand what I had. I think I value it with more maturity now, even though the framework is no longer valid for my life path. I still see religion as a brilliant way to essentially pass along a book of memes, a common language shared by believers, and as such, it is a powerful way of being which offers vast value to the next generations, so long as they can still think and act for themselves, adapting to the new life we have and not repeating the same pathologies of our foreparents.

I read my book of mormon the other day, when I was in deep despair, and found comfort in the words of a man who became a legend to his people. A myth more than anything. Joseph Smith was not particularly educated and yet he had a gift in the way he presented the world to his followers. I don't entirely think his ideas were bogus. I wish I could forget the truth I know now though and just follow a script, but I can't go back. I see his empire with its full truth now and not just the fantasy.

I am surprised to have lived to see 33. Every year past 20 has been a shock. I believed his words about the end of days. I see it much differently now. He wasn't entirely wrong. But Jesus and the second coming weren't as literal or dangerous. Much more nuanced and internal. An individual sense of Christ and a second coming inside each human, embracing their own truth and compass of compassion. 

So here's to the best year I've ever had the fortune of living.... Having been raised from the dead by my own bloody hands, I am made new in the knowledge that my old life is gone and I have a chance to start over, trusting only in the step in front of me and the guidance I feel when I lean into the bigger picture.

I thought I knew shit before. 

Maybe I don't need to.

Maybe I'm enough, just as I am.