I was told recently.
“I like reading what you write.”
God.
I love that.
Validation.
Although it’s not why I write and I am struggling with that.
Let go, I whisper to myself.
But.
It’s hard to let go of something that I have been in relationship with for seven years.
I have to shut down my blog.
I haven’t written the last few days and I can feel it in my bones.
Actually, that’s not true.
I have been writing, a lot.
Just not my blog.
I have been busy.
And the not writing I can take with a great big grain of salt because I was busy doing wonderful things and having life altering experiences.
Life is happening.
My God, is it ever.
I started my internship.
I take my first client next week.
I have read my client file, contacted said client and set up our first session.
I am navigating all the paper work and all the insurance stuff, more stuff, all the stuff, the policy papers and the keys, oh my God, the keys, I have a lot of keys right now.
Which is fine.
I jangle when I walk, but whatever.
Today I had my first group supervision training.
It was great, I learned a lot, it’s rather like being in a small classroom and getting to ask the teacher all the things, and I took some notes and got the questions I needed answered.
Most of my questions had to do with administrative stuff as I haven’t met with a client yet.
All the others in the group have been seeing clients and thus they brought up what they needed to have addressed.
It was great learning for me to just sit and listen and I did have some input and that was nice, I was able to see a few things and offer some different perspective and I was thanked for my experience and my insight.
Which I appreciated as well.
I also asked about my blog.
This blog.
My baby.
My love child.
My little place in the universe to pour out my heart and talk about all the stuff on my heart and in my mind, or to get out all the stuff in my mind so that I can listen to my heart better.
I have known, probably since I started school, that one day the blog was going to end.
But.
The writing doesn’t have to end.
And that was what my supervision group gave me today.
I got very affirmative feedback from everyone to take down the blog off social media and make it completely anonymous.
I have already pulled it from my Instagram account and I privatized that account so random folks can’t join it, I have to approve the follow request.
I have also dropped a few folks off the friends list on Facecrack.
I could probably winnow that out a little more as well.
It was recommended that I change my name on Facecrack.
I’m not sure to what, but I know a few people in my cohort have already started doing that.
It’s a damn good idea.
The next suggestion was to not link my blog to Facecrack.
It would eliminate a lot of my readers.
I mean.
A lot.
But.
It would provide me with more anonymity and it would also give my client room to see me as a therapist, not as some poet girl, Burning Man aficionado, single lady in the Outer Sunset riding around the city on a scooter.
Then.
Sigh.
Ugh.
It was suggested and I knew the moment I heard it that it was the next action to take.
That I stop writing this blog.
Double ugh.
I knew it in my gut, but I teared up.
I am tearing up now.
Fuck.
I know that because I have such big feelings that I am going to be a great therapist because I can empathize, but shit, sometimes it’s just a bitch being sensitive.
Granted, I wouldn’t wear it any other way, that is, my heart on my sleeve.
Gerber daisies in a Mason jar.
Dark pink stars on slippery green stalks opening toward the light.
Petals kissing.
And blushing soft.
Mouths like hungry little beasts blossoming into the warm air.
My heart.
Threaded with light.
Opening and beating against the back of my ribcage.
Tender under the bruised spaces on my breastplate.
This then.
Each moment timeless and gone only to be longed for again.
And again.
And again.
I digress.
But you get the point?
I like to express.
I like poetry.
I lie.
I love poetry.
I am a whore for it, like cello music and Clair de Lune and Brahms and Mozart and Chopin, I prostrate myself to it and hope, really I do hope, to gracefully surrender to whatever beauty is taking me at that moment with a kind of asunder that only perhaps is heard inside my soul.
But hear it I do.
And to renounce this forum feels terrifying and sad.
So sad, the richness of sweet lipped tears on the tops of my cheeks and the sudden catch of my breath in my throat.
Oh.
All the feelings I don’t want to feel.
But.
OH.
All the feelings I get to feel, I am so grateful and graced and loved.
Beloved.
I am.
And I am aware of my great fortune.
But.
This then, begins the end of my blog.
I have to let you know I won’t stop writing.
Nope.
I just won’t be writing here any longer.
I will have an end date on Auntie Bubba.
She has been such a good girl to me and shown me my strengths, and oh yes, my defects, those in spades, all things intimate and good and intense and wounded and sad and well, just all the things.
Yes.
All the lovely things.
This bearing witness to my own journey.
I am forever grateful for it.
So.
As this chapter closes.
As the Book of Bubba comes to an end.
I will admit.
That I am not finished.
That I am not written out.
That there are more words and worlds of words and galaxies and yes, a universe to still discover and write about.
There is a theory about the Big Bang and how the universe was created and when the universe will end and that it all came from one spot and explodes out and then shrinks back in on itself.
This is called the Big Bounce.
This is all very general and not very theoretically informed, mind you.
However.
It speaks to me and what I endeavor now to share with you.
I will be starting a new blog.
I am not done.
This blog is, however, just about done.
I will only publish a few more blogs here.
I am not quite ready to say good-bye yet.
But it is only days away.
I will start a new blog and I will continue my writing, my growth, my learning, my pushing my edges and finding out more and more who I am through this medium that speaks so much to me.
Writing.
I will not be connecting it to my Twitter account, in fact I am damn close to doing a deactivation on my Twitter account, I don’t feel like I use it all the often any way.
I will not be posting my blog on Facecrack.
I will not be making it known who I am.
I will be writing anonymously.
I haven’t a name yet.
Just a taste on my lips, like the last kiss at the end of the night, the push of tongue into my mouth and the startled stillness in my heart that precursor to the shaking tremble that befalls me and tells me, yes, here, go here.
I will consider sharing with some of my readers my new blog.
But you will have to message me privately.
Which you may do by posting a comment.
I approve all comments before they are linked to my blog.
I will message you my new blog when it goes live.
Otherwise, seven years later, I will bid this space adieu.
They say that after seven years all the cells in your body turn over.
I know not what will be next.
I just know that there is a next.
And I thank you.
My readers.
Who ever you are, where ever you are, for humoring me and my poetry and my words and my tears and my heart ever beating upon my bloody damn sleeve.
With so much gratitude.
I thank you.
Auntiebubba 