sunday sunday sunday morning

I am taking my husband for his first day at church. Real church. 98% friends living on the streets, 2% friends living indoors. Two-thirds don't give a rat's ass about what has been popularly monachered as 'christian.' The other third is okay with the knowledge that we don't know jack shit. I think that is where we are supposed to be most of the time. Trusting in what we surely do not know. Our church is lunch with our friends living out of doors. Playing cribbage. Playing the piano. Talking about their lives with them. Listening. Giving away socks, sleeping bags, tampons, shampoo, gloves, tarps, hand warmers... Giving away our respect and love.

I get to take my husband today.

soundscapes Monday morning

I used to have this enveloping daydream of dancing with whales through the ocean. I was from the ocean. Salty water spirit. Exploding mischief and magic while shooting in and out of the sea. I made the whales laugh. They made me laugh, too.


I am happiest when I am within a day's walk, 2-hour drive, of mountains/ocean/forest. Lakes, rivers, trees, ocean tides. I have no concrete explanation. My being rises from within me and breathes most fully in these planes.

There is nothing like it.

acceptance of a fate Saturday

Do you know what it is like? Living in the knowledge that you are ended in the event of any major disaster? Subtracting the obvious- billionaires, politicians, persons of power/influence in the known world, etc. Among those of us left behind- there are we of more tightly sealed fates.

I am not aged. I am living on borrowed time. Time that runs out when the system does. Though I am young, if I did survive the throws, I would be at my end. Life outside of the system is numbered in months.

So. I live within driving distance of Hospitals. I live in societies adhering to modern medicine. On borrowed time. How does one thrive in the limited life? Life that rides on the shoulders of death. How? It gives one vertigo to open this thought-way.

In this state of existence I must then choose my beliefs about any options after death. Whether it be belief in atheistic Science, belief in Darwinism, belief in Reincarnation, belief in a next place; Heaven...


Why do I choose what it is I choose? Why?

Does this question matter? Is our existence meant to be of questioning?

I watch my body change slowly from child to adult. My skin tints and folds infinitesimally every day.

I firmly believe in the hope that there must be a great and good purpose! I must believe it!

If I never see it proven. I must believe it.

Crying out to God.

paper wings Thursday

Is there a point to human existence on earth? Is there a point to existence? Would there be any questions without humans? If there is a point to any of it, all of it- it's beyond my reach.

Why do I still have hope, then? (because I do.)

Does that question really need an answer?

white winter hymnal Thursday

I believe that my skin, my body, is not my self. What my physical senses can know is not ultimate reality. That kind of puts a cramp in my earthly style.

I get stuck on the self-preservation issue. Am I not supposed to have it? The instinct to maintain my life at anny cost?? The possibility of attack on my physical life should, perhaps, not bring me resolve to let go of it... In dreams where I am dying, being attacked, murdered- I smile and say 'I'm ready.' 'I forgive you.' 'Jesus loves you.' And I am happy. At peace, I think, is the experience. Then I wake up. I love life. Being alive. It's fucking crazy what life is in this place. Earth. 99% darkness and misery. 1% fucking knock the wind out of you mind-blowing. That 1% light conquers the misery. For me anyway. The Clair de Lune moments. Getting back on the surfboard in spite of the terror of imminent physical annihilation- and screaming with incredulous triumph, riding the waves like a king on a firey chariot; one with God and the smallness of existence.


I live in perpetual 'otherness'.

november rain Monday (it's sunny)

I have been on the road and across the sea these past 4.5 weeks. Friends, surfing, hiking, Germany, Paris, seeing my husband for the 3rd time this year. Life is a scary precious way.

I love fall becoming winter. Cutting crunchy air siezing steamy particles in a smoky dance out of your mouth; I love that one. I also love not shaving my legs for 6-8 months out of the year- no one is going to see them anywho. Comfort within snug long'underwear may cause one or two occurrences of jungle control... :) It will all depend on whether I deem tugging long'johns, or, the battle of the shaving, more bothersome. Haha! Oh, but it is true!

Let's all just fucking group hug and swig hot Christmas! That's when my husband comes home. :)