Dactyls

We are the Dactyls
sons and daughters of the Master Blacksmith
and we come in half light

We come with the gypsies and the thieves
We come with the marauders and madmen

On swift and nimble feet
we tread lightly
in clandestine pursuit of creation

We spread out across the land
the fingers of an outstretched palm
We clutch at Gaity and her bounty
we hold it in our grasp

We leave little gifts
in secret places
oddities. curiosities. treasures.

We are the makers and miners
the sorcerers and smiths

We sew for the reaping of mortal men

the happiness in sadness

I had a very sad weekend a few weekends ago.
I think I felt it with such force because of something I already know to be true, but I seem to be a slow and stubborn learner.
I should feel what is in me to feel. Let it run it's course.
I am ... aware... of how easy it is to get lost, overwhelmed by all of my feelings.
Which is why it is so important for me to be vigilantly self aware. To identify what I am feeling. To attend it, examine it, unravel it, understand it. To not let it consume me. To not be consumed by a force, a feeling that I do not understand. That I cannot deal with. I think there was a point in my life where I felt so... tangled, by a million unattended threads. it took me so long to sort out that unaddressed mess. To understand the place that I was in.

So it was silly of me, reckless of me, to let such a big feeling, that encompassed so many important things, to let it simmer unattended. to let it grow rampant. to swell and distend unchecked.

But I was so... frustrated about it. Frustrated at this feeling that will not go away. That is having a negative effect on me.
I got a beautiful book in Italy about the greek god 'Eros'. The god of desire. It talks about... the dichotomy of this entity, this force. how it is 'bittersweet'
I have talked before about how much i embrace this feeling. About how much it gives me.
But it is also heaviness. it is heaviness and light.
Thats how i feel about this person. They make me so intensely restless, but so joyful.
And there are a lot of negative things too. there are fears and weaknesses... all in the name of stregnth, i realise that. But as single entities, as ... forces in my body, they are hard to cope with.

And while it is so important to feel all that is in me to feel, doesnt it get to a point where... you need to move on? you need to start taking steps to ... not dismiss the feeling, but encourage it on its way out?
So I just tried to avoid it. I tried to distance myself from it. I was sick of thinking about it, sick of writing about it. So i just sort of stopped writing. Which is a grave loss.

Of course, it reached a point where I could not bear it, where those unattended feelings demanded to be felt.

Of a Saturday, I... capitualted.

I remembered that there is stregnth in identifying feelings, even weak ones, even sad ones.

It is strange for me, to feel sad. i dont usually feel sadness. I feel so fortunate that there has not been a lot of sadness in my life. So it was a new physical experience for me. the heaviness, the pressure in my chest. the swelling, the reeling.

This past week has just been... coming down from that place. And I respond, in such dynamic ways, to strong emotions, to strong experiences.
i think that weekend was stregnth and weakness. it was vulnerable and it was bold.
There was happiness in that sadness.
as there is an element of joy in every experience. In learning. in something completely new. in letting my mind and body do what it needed to do.
Walt Whitman says 'each moment and whatever happens fills me with joy'
So I have had moments of deep sadness, moments of intense restlessness
but mostly, I am very bouncy. i am singing, i cant stop singing. And that happens when i am insouciant, and ebullient.

So this is the space that I am in. Raw and exposed. and i am responding with intense feelings. dynamic feelings. oscillating from one intensity to the next. But I celebrate it. i celebrate it because i know it is wise. and because...
I feel very alive.
I think that is what is making me happiest.

i like the way you push your glasses up your nose

blushes and philosophies
caprices and fantasies
not flirting
just prurient honesty

running down hay street

running down hay street in the cold dark
in a red dress, brown gloves
bare legs and mustard socks

wine and music waiting for me
when i had finished with my moment of ridiculousness

pedestrian ridiculousness
practically platitudinous

three conversations in a bundled bed

Last night I sat in my bed as the afternoon leaned into the evening
My mum makes these gorgeous hand made quilts
and so every surface in our house is covered in bundles of them
you need to wade through them to find suitable seating surface area

So I sat on my bed, in a tangled bundle of blankets
and there were books and diaries sort of strewn sporadically
throughout the different layers of my blanket-cake-bundle
i could feel a book against my left heel
another against my hip
whenever i moved it made a rustling, crinkling sound

I felt comfortable, comforted, ensconsed by what delights me

Cat called with a question
just one single question
and sparked the kind of conversation that i crave
but dont know how to ecourage, or facilitate

the afternoon light was fading into 6 pm
and i thought to myself
how generous a friendship this is
how much i get from this friendship

i wrote some more, i have a new turquoise diary
I am in that delightful mindset
of a ubiqutious desire to record

gen called
and we talked about happiness in sadness
it was just what i needed
the support of talking with my best friend
i dont need her to say anything, no empty words
and she knows that. she knows what i do not need.
the comfort in her voice, the support in that space
was perfect.

and then much later in the evening
I texted,
flat on my back, arms pinned to my sides, with dinosaur hands
to a new friend
about new wonderings
about physical surroundings
and i wondered, not for the first time
about distractions, desires and motivations

a conclusion

i think what makes me saddest
is that my entire capacity to desire someone
to seek them, to be passionately curious about them
in the most selfless, divine way

is not what he wants

that it is either

too much for him
or not enough for him

and i dont know which conclusion makes me sadder

flying over red dirt

there is this...pattern
marked across the land

thick winding paths which break into
many thin paths which break into
more and thinner paths
again and again
seemingly infinitesimal
until all i can see are dots

tracks of shrubs winding and coiling
like a thick snake
like ghostly fingers
like a long gecko with one thousand legs
and a million toes

I look across the land and it looks alive
like skin, like a nervous system
like veins pumping blood
shuddering breaths like lungs