O sinnerman, where you gonna run to?
I finally worked out this morning. Nina Simone was there while I kicked my own ass. This lil pooch isn’t going anywhere unless I starve myself or start doing crunches, and starving myself is so 10 years ago.
But (allow me this one Carrie Bradshaw moment.) It got me thinking…where are you gonna run to?
The penitent man is humble before god. We all know this, Indiana Jones taught us that if you don’t kneel you’ll lose your head in the temple of the grail.
Something magical happens when our knees hit the floor.
We stop running for one, sometimes we crawl a while along rock bottom, I have the scars on my knees to prove this.
“The one thing that isn’t served to you on a silver platter is humility” Harriet Hayes, Studio 60
I have enough humility for a busload of nuns. I can barely take credit for anything I do, constantly berating and second guessing myself and I’ve had many experiences losing literally everything. Material things, love, friends, my child twice and even myself.
It’s been a year and 11 days since I did DMT and experienced a full death of ego and self. After that there isn’t much more to lose. The feeling of isolation, complete and utter abandonment and just wandering around in a void for months afterwards still haunts me, as it should.
No one is coming to save me, I knew that already and I had to rebuild everything once the ground stopped shaking and swallowing me. Everything I ever was, felt like a lie.
Tonight there is a full Wolf Moon in Cancer and thereby incredibly emotional, and we are in our first Mercury retrograde of 2022.
I wrote these things down and sent them to someone as a reason to delay an important discussion and somehow they still felt false in my mouth even though these are the things that have been the cornerstone of my belief structure for my entire adult life. Moon phases, astrology and planets dammit. My new thing is karmic cycles, as in breaking them.
I went from thinking everything is magic, to literally nothing is magic and now I sit somewhere in between. Even if it looks, tastes and smells like magic, ima double check that shit.
Like any belief system, mine is fallible. However, it does rely pretty heavily on quantum physics. I absolutely doubt my own power, see 5 paragraphs back. But then I remember torn ACL’s, broken windows from 500 miles away and the fact that I am still here and I am alright. I also remember using other people’s majicks and having it backfire in a spectacular manner. Tonight is the night to undo this.
Tonight is a purging moon, a severing moon and I am cutting the ties that bind me.
Apologies in advance, but I renounce any further responsibility for your ego.
I can no longer protect you forever.
Time for someone else’s knees to hit the floor for once.
SET IT ALL ON FIRE CHILD.
I have a terrible habit of revisiting old hurts to see if they still bleed. The answer is yes, yes they fucking do. Cauterize that shit and move on.
I’m trying to be better, trying to move forward. I tripped and fell into a couple of job opportunities and I managed to make it part of the dance. But as with every retrograde Papa Mercury tests us by dangling past carrots a little too close to the precipice.
I am doing what I can, with what I have where I are.
After spending a couple of years not knowing where I should be, I am just here. And honestly? I should’ve always been where I am, seems simple enough now but the call of the void had such a nice timber to his voice even if they were just empty echoes.
This round of lockdown, of which I truly have lost count (I wasn’t here) I don’t know how many times my corner of earth has been closed. I just know a few lockdowns ago, I stopped getting dressed up for groceries.
The first one, I nested. I didn’t know how long I was going to be here, no one did. So I made my space cozier.
Then we all took our tentative steps back out into the world and things felt better, kinda.
I bought a couple plants, went back to work, went away to places where life was almost normal.
And in between I came back here with my hoarded treasure from ‘not here’.
Now this room is an amalgam of what I was, where I was and who I am now.
Cue this lockdown. This one, this is the one where I really tried to make it count.
Because I finally know it is going to end.
I set goals and smashed a few. Still haven’t put the pot rack up, but maybe today.
2 years ago today I think I was either heading to or just leaving New York, with a brief stopover back in Texas before I came back here. Covid was a rumor and I was watching the Witcher on repeat. The room had been cleared of rubbermaids, but all I had was a bed, a desk and an altar. I did admire the simplicity of that space and the freedom of owning very little.
I left Newfoundland with barely anything, including my sanity, but I rebuilt. That is what I do, with the grace and ease of someone who isn’t afraid of loss. I worry sometimes that I’ve become too fond of starting over and I won’t know when to settle or when it’s time to stop moving. Maybe it never will be. Maybe my time on this earth is just perpetual change and metamorphosis.
The flaw in this plan/not a plan is that I forget to step back and look at the things I’ve accomplished and instead concentrate on the things I didn’t do or haven’t done yet.
I’ve had 3 weeks between catching the Christmas covid and this shiny new lockdown. I spent a week up north with kiddo’s kittens. Before that I had 17 days between Newfoundland and going back to work. I did things, I accomplished shit. The living room is splendid, 90% of my plants are happy, I reorganized my room including a rather difficult furniture shuffle. I put money away, did my tri-annual epic purge and this morning, I did an ab routine that kicked my abs. It’s gonna hurt tomorrow and I am going to do it again anyways.
I cannot save you, but I am (going to try and) save myself.
Stabbing Westward