a witness to a sky journey
Awoken, by the sound of wind-shrieking and bending the trees outside your window, you arise. Surprisingly calm and alert and naked, you stumble for the light. It is pitch black outside. You have to use the bathroom. So, you do, and then you grab your computer, because whenever you are woken up at strange times of the day and night, writing is always a good way to exercise your time.
It was 5:45AM when you started, and now it is nearing 6:24AM, and the Sun has still not shone itself. You have to admit to yourself that you were sort of hoping for the light to come streaming in, rather soon. Why are you afraid of the shrieking, dark wind outside? Does it remind you of some capacity in yourself? OR perhaps it is just the somatic response to sudden sound and storm.
You search the internet to find when the Sun is predicted to rise, and you find that it is 7:21AM! Wow! You knew that these are the longest nights of the year (dead winter), but the Sun and all that it brings (warmth, protection, clarity, hope) seems so far away. Perhaps you will be awake. But perhaps you will fall back asleep again.
You recall a dream you were having, as the wind started to wake up. Something about two of your friends having an Instagram altercation with your father (around queerness and gender?). What a strange dream. Your father doesn't even have an Instagram account, although he has been heavy in your field recently. Thank god for friends who can see things that are unseen and help you to clear them. At times it can feel like too much to do on your own.
Returning: here, in this way, feels good. It feels like at least something is moving. Things have been very still these days. You pulled the 0 card, FOOL, last night before bed. It gave you a quiet smile. Ginseng is the plant associated. You smile because you remember recommending Ginseng to a lover friend who asked for your advice in feeding their sexual practice, and how Ginseng had only ever been told to you as an herb for "male sexuality", but you are subverting that.
Subversion, contortion, and the spine is stiff. The spine wants to dance. The spine wants to be set free. The hips get involved now too, and they want something. Want you to fully embrace your fluidity and let go. Rain down your legs with all of your fluids. This will one day, come. Like a waterfall, with the right lover. Or with yourself when you can finally feel safe. You have the tender suspicion that this lover that you have longed for is actually, right now, your current lover. And then your whole body gets soft.
The sky is starting to turn. From an unutterable blackness, into now a deep blue. So much so, that the trees caught in windy chaos can be seen as silhouettes now against it. You ponder how things are always in relationship to each other, especially in image. A background in relationship with its foreground. The back of your body in relationship with the front. Once you learned from a book given to you spontaneously by a professor of a method to unite your back body with your front body. It is said this is a way to link up the unconscious mind with the conscious. It involves rubbing the perimeters of your hands around each other in a circular motion. You learned this from the author of this book, who is Marko Pogacnik, a Slovenian artist. You do this now and breathe slowly in the space all around you, watching as the night says goodbye to the sky as it becomes more and more blue.
It was 5:45AM when you started, and now it is nearing 6:24AM, and the Sun has still not shone itself. You have to admit to yourself that you were sort of hoping for the light to come streaming in, rather soon. Why are you afraid of the shrieking, dark wind outside? Does it remind you of some capacity in yourself? OR perhaps it is just the somatic response to sudden sound and storm.
You search the internet to find when the Sun is predicted to rise, and you find that it is 7:21AM! Wow! You knew that these are the longest nights of the year (dead winter), but the Sun and all that it brings (warmth, protection, clarity, hope) seems so far away. Perhaps you will be awake. But perhaps you will fall back asleep again.
You recall a dream you were having, as the wind started to wake up. Something about two of your friends having an Instagram altercation with your father (around queerness and gender?). What a strange dream. Your father doesn't even have an Instagram account, although he has been heavy in your field recently. Thank god for friends who can see things that are unseen and help you to clear them. At times it can feel like too much to do on your own.
Returning: here, in this way, feels good. It feels like at least something is moving. Things have been very still these days. You pulled the 0 card, FOOL, last night before bed. It gave you a quiet smile. Ginseng is the plant associated. You smile because you remember recommending Ginseng to a lover friend who asked for your advice in feeding their sexual practice, and how Ginseng had only ever been told to you as an herb for "male sexuality", but you are subverting that.
Subversion, contortion, and the spine is stiff. The spine wants to dance. The spine wants to be set free. The hips get involved now too, and they want something. Want you to fully embrace your fluidity and let go. Rain down your legs with all of your fluids. This will one day, come. Like a waterfall, with the right lover. Or with yourself when you can finally feel safe. You have the tender suspicion that this lover that you have longed for is actually, right now, your current lover. And then your whole body gets soft.
The sky is starting to turn. From an unutterable blackness, into now a deep blue. So much so, that the trees caught in windy chaos can be seen as silhouettes now against it. You ponder how things are always in relationship to each other, especially in image. A background in relationship with its foreground. The back of your body in relationship with the front. Once you learned from a book given to you spontaneously by a professor of a method to unite your back body with your front body. It is said this is a way to link up the unconscious mind with the conscious. It involves rubbing the perimeters of your hands around each other in a circular motion. You learned this from the author of this book, who is Marko Pogacnik, a Slovenian artist. You do this now and breathe slowly in the space all around you, watching as the night says goodbye to the sky as it becomes more and more blue.
^ Marko Pogacnik, named UNESCO Artist for Peace in 2016
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