Two Posts in ONE NIGHT???

       "I'm going to go for a walk, I think..."

       "Okay. Love you."

       "Love you too."

Whooooooooshhhhhhh.... goes the air through the vents, making the hair on my arms stand up.

 Looking over, I see the sleeping form of my oldest, his long legs curled to the side. The little one has kicked off his covers again-- too warm I suppose; though my fingers, usually hot, are cold as I type.

Kids grow so quickly; such a cliché to state, but quite true, nonetheless.

Curly heads facing the windows, unison breaths in and out -- they'd snuggle in their sleep and wake each other if we let them get close enough on our big bed.

Tonight is the Full Super Blue Blood Moon. What an incredible thing to witness. I haven't seen its full glory in person yet, beyond pictures, and perhaps I've missed it. After I finish my entry, I'll look.

I notice my chest feels tight, and I cough. Residual respiratory irritation. Yay. The flu season peaked for us over the Yuletide, and we're still recovering, all of us.

J isn't back yet, but I know I'll hear footsteps soon.

SHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhh... I hear the shower kick on, the rain head echoing in our tiny bathroom.

       "Hey Darlin', you writing?"
       "Yep."
       "Have you seen my journal?"
       "All three of them are on top of the bookshelf, on the left."
       "Thanks."
       "Sure."

The little one rubs his face back and forth on the comforter, softly crying out and coughing. Time for snuggles, and for me to read my book in the darkly orange glow of our bedroom lamp.

I am grateful for this moon, and the energy it carries.

 I am safe tonight, and I will never take my partner for granted, because J is a big part of my feeling of safety and coziness.

Maybe some day I'll scream about it from the rooftops; this marvelous feeling of comfortable, lasting,  accepting of everything love.

I am glad that we found each other, every single time our eyes meet.

My person.

I remember once in my teens, telling my voice teacher Naomi, when she asked me if I was in love with one of my best friends, and whether or not I was okay with seeing that person date someone else:

       "Maybe I am, but if it's meant to be, it will happen. I think finding even a single person that I  can connect with is what's important-- regardless of sex or gender, or orientation. Sure I love him, and maybe it's romantic love, but even if I never kiss him, I'll still love him. I'm open to being in love with women too. Love never goes away; it's like energy-- it simply changes forms. I'm okay with waiting for the right person for me. I'm not losing anything by not professing how I feel to him, while he's in a relationship -- that's not fair. If we both end up single, at the same time in the future, then perhaps." 

We did, and I did, and we had a great weekend of making out, and then reality set in and we returned to our lives separated by three states.

I'll always think of him fondly and love him as a friend. He was part of my finding myself when I was going through the second deep heartbreak of my life.

Love changes us. Each time we love, we learn and grow and get better at healing our wounds.

Love has many nuances, flavors, feelings...

The heart wants what it wants, in the moment and beyond, each wave paves the way for the next.

      "You almost done?"
       "Yes. How was your walk? Did you see the moon?"
       "I did. It's big."
       "I'll have to go take a look."


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Think Before You Speak...

Me, Myself & I:

I wear more than Converse.

I speak more than English.

In my head space there are corners around which I am squeamish.

I write songs no one hears.

I have novels un-read.

I can't quiet the thoughts I feel, drowning in dread.

I live in the space twixt the dark and the light.

I long to connect, but I fear that I might.

I try to let go, but I'm holding on tight...

Keep it safe.

I sing more than lyrics.

I can memorize quickly.

There's not just my way; people do each thing differently.

I can draw with charcoal.

I can paint with my hands.

Every day I must move, my whole body must dance.

Sometimes a person discovers new things 'bout themselves.

They want to sink that chapter back into the shelves.

The difference is owning our wounds and our wells.

Trust your heart.

I can act with my love.

I can cry from my soul.

I can access that part of me, which keeps me whole.

My joints bend too much.

I re-live old slights.

You've probably forgotten; I re-play under lights.

In my mind I empower and torture my being.

All the things I don't say; intuition is seeing.

If I choke on emotion, you won't see me breathing.

I'm here.

Grey Day, HOORAY! Here's a poem for RIGHT NOW:

Some days feel like fall.

Fall into the spirit of the moment.

Moments are what life is made from.

From outside to inside I take a pause.

Pause life? Impossible.

Impossibilities are a lie.

Lies can drown a person.

People don't often realize or listen well.

Well, at least you're here today.

Today is the time to read between the lines.

Line the inner drawers of your heart with cushions of strength.

Strength is shown in compassion and emotion.

Emotions are not a sin or a crime.

Crimes against oneself or others are all too common.

Common ground is the space between you and the enemy.

Enemies are created; they're fiction.

Fiction is not as strange as the truth.

Truth is subjective.

Subjectivity is every person's experience in life.

Life, in essence, is breath...

SO TAKE A DEEP ONE.

Take My Hand Cause' We're Walking Out Of Here... - D.M.B.

A new hair cut.

I cut my own.

I snip the split ends, like I wish I could snip the problems of the world: Cleanly off.

I trim two inches.

Not enough.

Two more.

Wait a few days....

Another few inches hit the floor.

Feather, feather, feather.

Kelsey taught me this...

Just a little at a time.

Even isn't the issue.

Layers.

Like ogres and onions and my home-done haircut.

Long.

So long.

Grow it out, trim it up, cut it off.

Shorter?

Sometimes I wish it was.

Sometimes I wish for red fuzz a quarter inch off my scalp.

What message would that send the haters?

I am my own me.

The boss of my body.

Self-esteem tangled in hair.

Red hair. Redhead.

Should I dye it blonde?

Change.

I want the world to change, but fighting though I am, it's not. Not yet. Soon, I hope.

Appearance, image, esteem.

Challenge my own opinions of myself.

Will I be less me with a buzzed head or platinum locks?

Someday I'll have the guts.

Maybe sooner rather than later, I'll take more of a chance.

For now, I just dare to cut my own hair.

And So It Begins...

Do not go gentle into that good night

Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

September, October....

Where did September go?
Things are moving fast, then slow...

This is my favourite time of year.
The wind turns brisk and the pumpkins are here.

I am tired, but happy.
I'm nostalgic, not sappy.

There are so many things I want to do.
I have so many goals I'd like to see through.

My heartbeats thud, like the sap in the trees.
Preparing for the colder weather, for the freeze.

Now's baking and reading and nights by the fire.
Smelling apples and leaves, being compelled to conspire.

Take a moment and breathe it in.
Fall into autumn and watch it begin.

Oh, the Air...

Oh, the air, is still, tonight.

The mind's eye fire, burns cleanly and bright.

The wind in the trees, creaks and sways in the breeze,

and my heart beats in threes to take flight.


Oh, the air, is smooth, tonight.

The lovers that kiss, do so softly, and tight.

The water that flows 'twixt the banks and the boughs,

bubbles swiftly with prose from its light.


Oh, the air, is soft, tonight.

The hope flies on wings, past the fear with delight!

If you hate, you'll be lost with the pain and the frost,

for your sad, boiling mad begets spite.


Oh, the air, is heavy, tonight.

The love that flows freely is lit.

From within you shall be, and between you and me,

there is far more to see than meets fit.