Link to full poem: Happenstance
“Following the sunset, I went to the ocean to walk the path along the cliffs.
The half-moon had risen, the sun bid her farewell as he sank below the horizon.
I just missed it.
So it was in twilight that I headed along the familiar trail, and by twilight that another trail called.
I hesitated, but the happy stirring of soul urged me on. I huffed a sigh and almost begrudgingly followed.
I followed the path to this one, to that, unsure of where I was going, then came upon a labyrinth:
homemade, a narrow winding path tread into the dirt and lined with stones and shells and small trinkets.
How could this have been here all along, and I had never come to find it?
I begin at the beginning, marked by a large piece of wood.
A few steps in, I find my father’s name
painted on a rock.”
because it makes my whole life happier
Today I officially purchased stardateindefinite.com. Not sure what I’ll do with it yet, nevertheless, it is Mine!
been on a sort of
for most your life
in the hope
of being fed.
“Every single day I consciously attend to healing my nervous system, not only for my own benefit and my family’s benefit, but also because I understand the effect incoherence in my nervous system has on everyone around me—every single interaction I have with every single person I meet is informed by my own relationship to my traumas. That has been, and remains, the most heartbreaking thing about it.
But heartbreak has given me a lot of drive, and my ability to process, heal, and transform my traumatic experiences has continued to steadily even if gradually, improve. Each new step of healing I’m ready for reveals itself in time.”
Click link to read full post: Colonized
tonight, in the midst of a miniature existential crisis, when I couldn’t seem to orient myself one way or another, essentially having a sort of cosmic internal tantrum—I tried to meditate and got only more confusion, no clarity; I cried a little, and felt immediately the discord of it, knowing crying from frustration is different than the release of grief and doesn’t feel good; so I read and listened to some things, still got little to no clarity, only more questions. Then, more flabbergasted than when I began, I suddenly found myself with a renewed sense of humor and perspective, and I just fully, playfully inhabited that childish moment, with a defiant stamp of my fist into the bed and an “answer me dammit!” called out at all the sources of infinite intelligence that be.
Then took a breath and cleared my mind enough to move along and decide what to do next with myself—only then “the answer” enters my mind easily: “all the answers are born within before you’re even aware you have a question. The question forming, coming into being, is nothing more or less than the evidence of the answer you’ve already been given. It *is* the answer, turned in upon itself.”
Well, it’s an answer, I guess. Thanks, universe.
(Why do I feel like I’m right back where I started?)
This is like a rough rough rough rough draft in which I attempt to describe the interdisciplinary rudiments of my own personally frankensteined mythology about the structure and function of human consciousness, our basic personality matrix, and how we shape history for an interested friend—one of my best friends during high school who may have gotten five minutes in to watching this and bailed..
It’s a specific collection of moments—me stumbling through learning how to talk, basically—captured in time, on independence day, 2020, and looking suspiciously like someone who’s been riding out a pandemic with three kids, as well as a thesis and a divorce in equally glacial progress.
It’s fun to witness how my ideas have evolved.
Video link: The Quad
on whom do we blame the fall?
rock a bye baby don’t you cry
“the unnatural offspring of a woman and a beast”
the projection of shame for the violence
of mother-stripped instincts
locked in a labyrinth
for sacrificial pride
and the curse so oft rehearsed
at the bedside
rock a bye baby don’t you cry
it’s all gonna fall now
the gods forgot how
the stories go
from cradle to casket
til all that’s left is human
only blood and sweat and dust left
ate one bite, that’s all
just one for the fall
of the father and his limited sight
made wings suited only for his own plight
his own wisdom and scope:
“don’t soar too high nor too low
or these narrow-band wings
won’t last as far as we need go.”
He knows his own limits
fears the sky and the sea
though his creation by nature
must exceed them:
his legacy is discovery.
so Icarus’ problem was not
hubris or heedless folly
but in soaring on the wings of his father’s
and the subsequent prevention
of nurturing the vision
of inborn sight
that soars on the power of—
the making of—
his own flight.
In the pen? The paper?
The child? The inventor?
The appreciative eye? The camera?
The technology that made it possible?
The shared moment?
The sharing of the shared moment?
Perhaps an easier question to ask is, where isn’t the magic?
In the moment curiosity, wonder, and connection stops