thunderstorm bodies
I am bending backward, smelling an ancient memory, my scent leads me in circles.
Today, it is raining, which is rare for the place that I currently live-with. It is misty, and there is fog rolling behind the ponderosa pines, as I look through my window writing this.
I hear the continuous hum of the heater behind me, off to the right, or actually. That might be the refrigerator.
I am developing my back space. Ever more, sending the golden suns down the back of my legs, as much as the front. Remembering to rub my hands together and feel their warmth. Remembering to really ---------- breathe. As simple as that sounds.
Sounding itself across me always are memories of different times. Last night, I visited the Cathedral of Souls for the first time. It was absolutely stunning. The golden pool. The Endless hallway of teachings. The safety I could feel there. And to also notice: that I was oscillating from third person and first person awareness, while being there. To see how this mirrors my every day experience of dissociation and being in the center of my head. Am I really here, where am I? Where have I been taught to be? I also visited the moon. This was scary and thrilling.
I am learning and leaning into so much how my practice with cultivating and circulating my sexual energy is tied to the revolution. How reclaiming this aspect of loving myself, of un-knowing myself, and of strengthening all of my bodies is deeply radical. How speaking to my body in this way, through soft touch, through drop-down listening is a sweet remembrance ritual. Sexual trauma is rampant. Rampant for so many bodies, especially marginal bodies, in our world. And I am so curious about the conversation between the sexual and the social, and what kind of healing is possible here.
My gender is so confusing. Lol. Sometimes I day/night dream about what it would be like if I grew up in a world that affirmed me no matter what. That allowed freedom, space, and validation in my experience, instead of tried to force me into categories and binaries and definitions. Then maybe I wouldn't be so confused. And/or maybe this confusion is sacred. I am reminded of J's thesis and the way they weave the sacred art of questioning there. I am so inspired by them and who they are here to be.
It is Beltane today. A Gaelic May Day festival of honoring fertility and pleasure in our bodies and in the earth. Fertility can be such a distorted word, especially in primarily cis-contexts. I am speaking about a queer fertility. A fertility that is not intent on "making babies". Today, I will take a walk outside and find rain on my lips and fingertips and enjoy this sensual communion with the landscape that surrounds me. I will ask for forgiveness for the complicated histories of this land and do my best to be in reciprocity and relationship.
I was recently rather wounded by someone I consider a mentor of mine. The wound came from something I had been carrying a long time, so actually, perhaps it was an accidental touching of an already ancient wound. The wound of assumption, of ignorance, of categorization. People keep calling me Ms. Grace, and I hate it. I hate it because even if I do feel that one in me, it is not the only one, yet it is the only one you choose to see. This is so frustrating and leads me into wanders around fragmentation, parts, and longing for wholeness. Being a part of C's Fragmenting Ymir ritual performance was powerful for me, because of this. And recently, what I heard someone say in a circle about holding the many different parts of themselves.
As I have been writing, the mist has settled itself even closer now, to where I am. Almost completely covering the mountains in an eerie gray. Only an outline of earth shape is visible now. To this, I say thank you. Thank you for the lessons around visibility and exposure. Of hiding when we need to. That there is also something intelligent about this. That to be seen, is also to choose to be seen, and sometimes we are not always afforded that privilege. Sometimes the seeing comes like the rip of thunder across our bodies and it is hot and cold at the same time and not something we have chosen. The air thick with vibrational lightning energy, thrumming through the trees, I pray. I pray that the thunderstorms in us get a space to be witnessed, because they deserve something so much as a circle, to witness them.
Today, it is raining, which is rare for the place that I currently live-with. It is misty, and there is fog rolling behind the ponderosa pines, as I look through my window writing this.
I hear the continuous hum of the heater behind me, off to the right, or actually. That might be the refrigerator.
I am developing my back space. Ever more, sending the golden suns down the back of my legs, as much as the front. Remembering to rub my hands together and feel their warmth. Remembering to really ---------- breathe. As simple as that sounds.
Sounding itself across me always are memories of different times. Last night, I visited the Cathedral of Souls for the first time. It was absolutely stunning. The golden pool. The Endless hallway of teachings. The safety I could feel there. And to also notice: that I was oscillating from third person and first person awareness, while being there. To see how this mirrors my every day experience of dissociation and being in the center of my head. Am I really here, where am I? Where have I been taught to be? I also visited the moon. This was scary and thrilling.
I am learning and leaning into so much how my practice with cultivating and circulating my sexual energy is tied to the revolution. How reclaiming this aspect of loving myself, of un-knowing myself, and of strengthening all of my bodies is deeply radical. How speaking to my body in this way, through soft touch, through drop-down listening is a sweet remembrance ritual. Sexual trauma is rampant. Rampant for so many bodies, especially marginal bodies, in our world. And I am so curious about the conversation between the sexual and the social, and what kind of healing is possible here.
My gender is so confusing. Lol. Sometimes I day/night dream about what it would be like if I grew up in a world that affirmed me no matter what. That allowed freedom, space, and validation in my experience, instead of tried to force me into categories and binaries and definitions. Then maybe I wouldn't be so confused. And/or maybe this confusion is sacred. I am reminded of J's thesis and the way they weave the sacred art of questioning there. I am so inspired by them and who they are here to be.
It is Beltane today. A Gaelic May Day festival of honoring fertility and pleasure in our bodies and in the earth. Fertility can be such a distorted word, especially in primarily cis-contexts. I am speaking about a queer fertility. A fertility that is not intent on "making babies". Today, I will take a walk outside and find rain on my lips and fingertips and enjoy this sensual communion with the landscape that surrounds me. I will ask for forgiveness for the complicated histories of this land and do my best to be in reciprocity and relationship.
I was recently rather wounded by someone I consider a mentor of mine. The wound came from something I had been carrying a long time, so actually, perhaps it was an accidental touching of an already ancient wound. The wound of assumption, of ignorance, of categorization. People keep calling me Ms. Grace, and I hate it. I hate it because even if I do feel that one in me, it is not the only one, yet it is the only one you choose to see. This is so frustrating and leads me into wanders around fragmentation, parts, and longing for wholeness. Being a part of C's Fragmenting Ymir ritual performance was powerful for me, because of this. And recently, what I heard someone say in a circle about holding the many different parts of themselves.
As I have been writing, the mist has settled itself even closer now, to where I am. Almost completely covering the mountains in an eerie gray. Only an outline of earth shape is visible now. To this, I say thank you. Thank you for the lessons around visibility and exposure. Of hiding when we need to. That there is also something intelligent about this. That to be seen, is also to choose to be seen, and sometimes we are not always afforded that privilege. Sometimes the seeing comes like the rip of thunder across our bodies and it is hot and cold at the same time and not something we have chosen. The air thick with vibrational lightning energy, thrumming through the trees, I pray. I pray that the thunderstorms in us get a space to be witnessed, because they deserve something so much as a circle, to witness them.
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