Waning Crescent 39%

31 May

When the moon was moving toward new, its shadow shining heavy against its fingernail sliver light, a simple orange bow unravelled from Anne’s braid. Anne and I are not close. But our suns are both in Aries and we collide with grace and laughter. I caught the bow as it fell and my heart sank.

This is, Anne said, the end. What comes next is the only thing you can’t know until you know.

I was afraid to know. Because no one ever knew until they knew, and by the time they knew they couldn’t tell anyone who didn’t know.  I couldn’t reach the pocket that housed my trust and safety. I couldn’t reach and I panicked. Of course, there was nothing to panic about. I would know soon enough.


A Short Clean Ladder

12 Apr

I took the green ladder to the car wash. Or maybe I didn’t take it there but it was there beside my car, getting washed instead of my car, nothing to do with a car at the carwash.

Ladders are a path to nowhere. They end abruptly and then you can only go down. Maybe change a lightbulb or paint a ceiling, maybe climb onto the roof or some other high up place. But then what? And what if you shift your weight wrong? Broken ankle, busted nose, fractured wrist, cracked head.

I watched the ladder get washed. I felt the spray of thin wisps of chemical water through my T-shirt and wondered why the ladder was at the carwash, why I was at the carwash, inside the carwash.

Cleaning my path forward, only as far as I could see. Without my glasses. Which is not far. Clearing the road ahead just a little bit. Because I just had a birthday and the year ahead has arrived.

Now Is Better Than Then

3 Apr

After twenty five years, I became a teenager again. It didn’t happen like freaky friday or through some supernatural lightening storm. There was no trading places with a random kid on the street through a car wreck . It was much simpler: I woke up and I was fifteen.

I’ll admit that I have fantasized about this. I’m nostalgic for the nineties and the memories that feel too faint. But I never thought it would happen. Or could happen. When it did, all the teenage anxiety resurfaced, as if the years of therapy to undo the shit that is teen dome, were erased. Only I knew it. I knew what I know now.

I tried to get a job at a coffee shop, but they said I was too young. I wanted a martini. Too young. Sex. Too young. My own house. Too young.

I am an adult, I tried to explain.

Yeah yeah, all the adults said.

I reached into my bag of deep personal work and therapy language, buddhist meditation and Pema Chodron quotes, for a place of acceptance. This is who I am now even though it sucks, I said to myself. I can do without martinis, jobs, a house and even sex. But what I couldn’t do without, what was missing the first time around and now again, was the feeling of love. Loving and being loved. That love I had with my partner after and before I was a teenager again.

Like the first time, it felt like I would be a teenager forever. But like that time, like all times, it eventually ended.

Baby Burrito Baby

28 Jan

I was pregnant in January. My belly felt heavy and hard to the touch, like I had eaten too big of a burrito. What I knew was that I was having a boy and my only concern was that he not be a Pisces, like my brother. I wanted an Aquarius baby. Someone aloof who didn’t cry or feel things so intensely. Someone mature who would get over it quickly. Someone not like me.

My due date was soon, but labor felt far away. I went to the hospital in hopes of being induced. It was still January, so by the calendar I had time. But time, as time tends to do, was slipping through the holes of my Swiss cheese life. A doctor told me there was nothing they could do. I would have to wait until the baby was ready to come. So I took the matter to google.

How to induce birth naturally. One site, the only one I looked at, told me to rub slippery elm on the soles of my feet. Slippery elm is, of course, slippery, mucilaginous. Feet are on the ground, down, at the bottom, the direction a baby has to go. I mixed powdered slippery elm with a few drops of water to make a paste. I rubbed it on my feet and belly. I waited.

I waited. And I waited. Nothing happened. What I felt was constipated. I was constipated. Come to think of it, I had not crapped in a few days. And I had, in fact, eaten a big cactus and bean burrito recently. Again, something occurred to me. I was not pregnant with a baby. I was pregnant with conflict – and food – and I wanted the conflict out of my body, out into the calm, cool, quiet Aquarius air.

The Best Song Acoustic Version

26 Dec

Phil Collins was doing an acoustic set at a bar around the corner. You don’t anticipate someone like that will be somewhere like this on any given day. But he was and I was there. I was a semi-fan of Genesis, and a little less of his solo work. But my girlfriend loves all of it. Especially the sappy love songs. You either love it privately or publicly, but you know you love it either way.

I walked into the dark bar ready to have a martini with extra olives and do nothing else, when the lights went dim and a stage I hadn’t noticed lit up. There he was, with a generic acoustic guitar, a microphone, and nothing else. He started in on the one song of his I have always loved. I knew all the words. Everything in my body shifted, relaxed, felt euphoric. How music does that. He played a few more, then came down to the bar right where I was sitting, for a drink. Phil Collins, I said, can you play that one song again? I want to record it on my little digital so I have a bootleg acoustic sesh. Please. He said, everyone always wants to hear that song but okay. I’ll do it again for you. Thank you so much, I said, Phil Collins you are a stand up man. He smiled and went back up on the stage and played the song for me.

I know it’s not everyday that you run into Phil Collins, but also, I just asked for what I wanted and even though I don’t always get it, PC pulled through for me. So there’s that.

It Looks Like A Scribble But It’s All One Line

28 Oct

When it’s going well and you talk freely about your feelings your opinions your judgments and it all seems safe. Then you get home and you have diarrhea. Because you may have said something you shouldn’t have said. You didn’t mean it. Not against her just your strong opinions and your big mouth. And now it’s in the world as a judgment you have cast. You know your friend doesn’t care doesn’t think about it may say something to her partner may have an opinion but you know she knows we all struggle. We all suffer. Our judgement is our mirror. You know she knows. She burns sage and meditates just like you. She consults tarot cards and astrology just like you. But diarrhea comes again and you lose sleep. You have diarrhea gut and diarrhea brain. Everything is spilling. The mess is your own from creation to death but you make it everyone else’s. You make it the problem of the world so that you can continue to suffer. You know better. The leaves are yellow orange red brown blowing hard outside, changing too fast to see, high energy. You know this is how it is. You know. You know. You are trying you know you are trying you know you are trying to wrap your fingers around it and spin it the other way. Your hands don’t listen to your diarrhea mind but you know.

Things You Might Find In The Couch

20 Oct

I found the tiniest kitten under the couch cushion. He was small enough to fit into the palm of my hand, the size of a mouse. His fur was grey, like the cat I already live with. In fact, he was a replica of her, a figurine for a doll house. But he was alive, sleeping like the baby that he was.

I pulled him out from the couch crack among crumbs and coins and he started to purr. My life sized grey cat arrived and jumped up on the couch to investigate. I lay the kitten beside her and he nuzzled into her belly. She was able to feed him, as though he was her own.

I decided to name them Harold and Maude. The baby would be Maude, and my old lady cat would adopt the new name, Harold. I wasn’t trying to be funny or artsy, it’s just what came to me when I saw them bond. As Maude continued to feed off Harold, he grew to normal kitten size and I felt happy to have two cats instead of just one. I always felt that it would be nice for Harold to have friend around. I read somewhere that if you cannot be alone, you will always be lonely. But it’s good to have the option.

The Only Advice I Can Give You Is Just Relax Already

13 Oct

I was trapped in a headlock. Almost underwater. With a squirrel about to bite my face. It hurt. My neck I mean, and it was hard to breathe. The moment of panic, panic, and then more panic. And who is this a-hole trying to drown me and give me rabies at the same time. I couldn’t move. This guy really knew how to do a choke hold. A pro wrestler maybe. I couldn’t see his face but I  could tell by the way he was breathing and the shape of his forearm, thick and hairy like an unshaven, waterlogged sausage, that he was a man.

Before the big change, “the big change,” you know what I mean, before that everything gets really fast in slow motion. Everything feels the worst and the scariest and the hardest. And when there’s no energy left, when it’s all squeezed out of you via neck via headlock, when you are at your edge and then it hurts more and then you pass your edge and then you look behind you and you can see your edge in the far distance, then surrender. You relax. All your muscles, bones, tendons and ligaments. All your emotions, fears, worry. You relax and the hurt stops. You close your eyes and let water fill your face, throat, lungs, bloodstream. And then it feels better because it feels like nothing. Even if it’s worse.


1 Oct

There are so many choices it’s like there are none. The way a circle has no beginning and no end. The way it looks so warm when the sun is out but the air bites you on the ass and in the nostrils when you touch it.

The way I can’t wait to see you all day and when you get home we are both too tired to smoosh together. The project you are anxious to finish, the phone you can’t stop looking at, the life you think you want that when you get, when you’re done, when you look up everything is right where it was and looks completely different if you just wait one more minute, one more breath, five more heart beats.


25 Aug

Flying is not magic. It’s trust. A deep breath in, out, in. And up. Stomach dropping like being on a roller coaster, excitement, terror, power. I have done this many times. Remembering stops the fall.

Trust is fact, there is no other certainty.

I was flying over broccoli treetops, arms stretched body parallel to the ground. I flew through an open barn around wooden rafters, in one end back out the other, back into the sky, the world an ant farm, a topographical map, the big picture all one thing. Flying is the fact of perspective, not disengaged just stepping back for breath, stepping out for air, stepping to the side to let someone else through. To make space.