Posts Tagged ‘madness’

Mojo

July 22, 2017

My moon madness.

My magic man.

Mine, mine, mine.

The shadows cast from the trees are bigger

Than you or me.

The sweep of the owl wing, ghosting whispers,

Love caught in the branches.

I feel as though I was running for so long.

Not knowing that I was running towards you.

I never thought I would be so taken.

Overtaken.

Craven.

And.

Consumed.

And it is stunning in its totality.

I love you so.

And I have been running from you for ever.

Afraid.

This fear that crawls up my arms and wraps its hands around my neck,

Shivering me with silent threats and the sing song of the moon,

Which distracts me from the insidious slide down the slope of love.

I fell into the hole and rather than needing to fly away.

I settle.

I am not afraid.

I am not afraid to fade out and burn away.

I am not afraid to grow old.

I am not afraid of time.

Unless it is time that I think I will not get to have with you.

Thinking and thoughts do not serve me.

So.

I believe in magic, in mojo, in music, in poetry.

In.

You.

Singing in my blood.

Laments and sorrow and all the heart-shaped progressions

Of stories and tales, fairy tales.

The mystic and mysterious.

The wolf at the door.

I see your eyes and I know.

I don’t have to ask questions.

Sometimes.

I ask anyway.

I want to see the shape of your mouth when you say the words.

I want to watch the shade of your eyes change.

I want to see them widen, dilated with love.

I want to drink you in with all my senses.

Even my sixth.

Especially that.

Intuitive and dark and dreaming.

Oh.

How.

I.

Dream.

Of you.

Drowsy in the morn having run through the wilds.

Chasing you through the magical woods.

Thinking that I have been running for so long.

Only to collapse in a puddle of late night moonsong.

Wolf song.

Love song.

Blood.

Heart.

Magic.

You.

Caught.

Entangled in my hair.

But it is I who is captured.

I will stand still in this grove.

Arms at my side.

Ready for your embrace.

Your face already embossed upon my heart.

How could I do naught,

But surrender?

So.

Easy.

Graceful.

Bending with

The desire only to feel the press of your lips on mine.

If tears fall from my eyes.

They be but tears.

Of.

Joy.

At my unsuspected.

Uncanny.

Supernatural.

Love.

For.

You.

 

Bearing the Unbearable

July 27, 2013

The discomfort of being uncomfortable has me wound up.

Until I let go a little steam, or a lot, and the pressure eases off and I go back to being crazy and kookoo and loud and don’t look now, ma, emotionally walled up again.

“Have you written about any of this?” John Ater asked me over dinner tonight.

Which one might have thought I was eating a vale of tears, not shedding them, as I stolidly ate through my brown rice and steamed veggies with shrimp (no sauce) and crumpled my face into my cloth napkin time and time and time again.

“Not really,” I admitted.

I don’t really write like that.

I don’t often take out the pressure valve.

I don’t often let out the steam.

I put on the face and everything, yeah, everything is alright baby.

“I am enamoured of your ability to be emotionally vulnerable,” he said to me tonight as his own face lost the control of being in control, and tears smoked out his words.

I am enamoured of you for saying that, thank you, my heart goes out to you-and-out to you some more (please let me hug you again that was worth the entire evening of tears, that moment, your face buried in my hair) and I am grateful that I could be emotionally out there so someone else felt free enough to go there too.

I showed up tonight and said a lot of shit I just did not feel like saying.

And for the life of me, I don’t remember what I said, but in some unknown, miracle of a way, the unburdening of the burden happened.

Somewhere between Red Jade restaurant, Our Lady of SafeWay and the Church Street Cafe, I lost the burden of the facade and just dropped into myself and who I am and allowing myself to be present.

I pause to look around, a cat meowing in the living room in the house I am staying at this weekend in San Francisco.

A house sitting gig in the city I said yes to and because I said yes to it I also said yes to put me on the guest list for the club tonight, I will show up and dance at your set.

I am not at Public Works.

I am in Cole Valley.

I will stay in Cole Valley.

I don’t want to get on my bicycle again and venture back out into the night.

It is wet out there.

I got doused twice riding my bicycle through the park, the sprinklers are going full blast, once in the face and once on my ass, and now being wet and cold and emotionally emptied, the last thing I want to do is get on my bike and go back to the Mission and got to the dancing at the place.

Although I would and I have debated taking a cab over and back.

Which would completely negate the cover I am not paying by being on guest list times two.

If I had a vehicle other than the bike I might, if I had discretionary money, I might, but the fact is, I am probably going to finish this blog and just drink some hot tea, watch a video and wind it down for the night.

I expended a vast amount of emotional energy tonight.

I believe I left most of it, my emotional baggage, in the crumpled maroon napkin at the restaurant, but just in case there is any wobbling about, the last place I want to be is in a night club tonight.

I don’t care if that makes me old, or un-hip, or whatever, it just is what it is.

There was a time when I was put on the guest list I felt so obligated to go that I would show up no matter what.

I do want to dance, I won’t deny that, but maybe I just want to dance around in the kitchen.

I had a hallucinatory memory or a deja vu or an episode.

A future forecast.

A moment of magic.

An I don’t know what, yesterday in the kitchen of the little girls house where I nanny at in North Oakland, a moment dancing with her in the kitchen of the house with the sun streaming in and for a moment it felt like I had never been happier in my life.

I was having some sort of memory of dancing with someone, someone special, holding me in his arms, in the sun and dancing, then my heart swelled, the music swelled, the little girl lay her head under my chin, I breathed in her warm little scent and I twirled around the room.

I realized after that I could not pin down the memory, or the person, or who was holding me, or what it reminded me of, but I wanted to.

Then I thought, this is a future moment.

This has not happened yet.

But it will.

“Are you saying that you’re broken,” John asked me tonight, an astute eyebrow raised, “because, that’s what I am hearing.”

“Fuck, I don’t know what I am saying, I don’t have any ideas, I can’t stop the loud in my head and, I, listen,” I said changing gears, “I saw this man tonight, barefoot, crazy, walking down the street in a hospital johnny talking loudly to himself.  He walked in front of the eyeglass frame store on the corner of Church & Market and right in front of the sign that said, ‘Summer Madness Sale’.  And I thought, he just went shopping!”

“That’s what this feels like, I bought some madness and I am pissed off and how can I return it?” I finished, sighed, cried some more.

To be honest I am not sure what all the fuss was about.

And it’s always about the same stuff, I am not where I am supposed to be.

What if right here is where I am supposed to be?

What if there was nowhere to go and no one I was supposed to be?

What if I am exactly where I am supposed to be?

Would that be ok?

I think it might.

I think I will let it.

I think I gave up tonight.

I let go.

I went to the summer Madness sale and said, “Yes! Give me some,” but the fact is, my kind of crazy is always for sale, there’s nothing special about it, it’s just a facet of who I am.

I am, however, not who I think, I am how I act.

I am the actions I take.

I am the vulnerability I put out there.

I am love.

Loved.

Lovable.

Worthy of love.

That is bearing the unbearable.

I am uncomfortable with it, but that does not matter, I want the reward.

I will continue to do the work.

 


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