spring May 1, 2008

My desk is cluttered with evidence–bottles of tea, scraps of paper, neon post it notes, more medications than I can count, empty pillbottles, necklaces strewn like prayer beads… the walls advertise arthritis relief, yoga, study abroad sheets, quotes of Rumi, appointments, dried lavender. These are what is running through my head, this is all I’ve been running on–pills and tea and old jewelry and scribbles and beautiful breath.

I am running, I am one of the fleeting doe girls who only stops to type and dream and even then my mind is running at full pace–both to and from, with both fear and destination driving my head.

She-wolves chew my hair and women lovers stroke my chakras awake, friends pop up like mongrel dogs all intelligence and poetry and new, the activists want my time, poetry nibbles at the already tattered edges of my heart. The surface is unsure but near the ocean floor there is a layer of cool water like wind never drifts, my acceptance of zen and love and universe and despite all that fear of death I remember since I was three, I know know know that the Universe wouldn’t break me like that, I no longer equate death with stopping. Fierce women character my songs and everything I read is filtered through that ever-broadening perspectivee. I how the conversation will flow, if this cocktail will relieve the pain, if in time it will all come down to few things: whether my feet will fail, if I can untangle these stone necklaces, whether I can get past the artful survival mechanisms of the heart to let myself heal.

Some day I will come to this blog, or another, because I feel that I need to tell someone bigger than friend-lovers and my beautiful girl dog. It’s coming soon; maybe when I move away from this desk, transcribe the scraps of paper that are manifesting in the corners of this lovely joyous fleeing.