a moment under the mulberry tree

I have come here to write, strung between an old fruit free and a new fruit tree, in heavy blue and red canvas, swinging in syncopation, because i want a conclusion. I want to write something solid to stem the sadness. To attenuate the frustration.

We have such beautiful trees here. If I tilt my head to one side, all I can see are trees. Different shades of red and green.

If I look up I can see a bower of mulberry leaves, the sun peeks through when the leaves get blown about by a desultory summer breeze. The fleeting warmth makes me sleepy.

I used to come here when I was younger, the deep dark womb of our garden, and climb this mulberry tree. Fresh faced and dreamy I would stand on the platform Dad built and cling to the branches that would sway threateningly in the wind. The wind, the heavy back and forth of the branches would make my heart race. I would read, i would watch the sunrise, when I was thinking about an idea of God I would come here to see if faith would present itself to me. I named this tree at one point. I cant remember what, surely it involved alliteration. I had named all my favourite trees.

Friday Night Philosophy

I had a conversation with a man on Friday night. We stood at the fridge clutching beers. I stood side on to him so that I could hold my ear close to his mouth. The music was loud, the talking was loud.

He was talking about chance. He told me stories about moments where people he had not spoken to in months or years, he thought about randomly, and who then contacted him that day.

‘I’m like that’, he said. I think outside the box a lot. ‘What’s it called again? Those conspiracy theories? About planes and chemicals....Do you know what I am talking about?’

Yes I do.

I did not mention to him that someone had mentioned that to me, a few hours ago, it was the first I had heard of it. And here I was talking to him about it again. For the first time, twice in one day. That would have corroborated his argument. But I wanted him to substantiate it himself.

‘There’s more going on than what we see’, he says.

We talked about solipsism. And birds eye views.

He had an interesting tone. As if these stories of chance, proved that there was no point to the world. Somehow.

I responded with my usual quasi-socratic, quasi-existentialist ideas...

Does asking questions about the meaning of life, the purpose of life.... how can that alone convince you that life has no purpose?

Cant your own individual purpose of life be to ask these questions. To examine life.

Can that be your ‘eudaimonia’, your ultimate design and end of flourishing: A worthy life of examination.

Cant you be whole in your seeking of answers. Cant that process of seeking itself be what fills you with purpose?

And if there is no purpose of life, no collective order running through all things, that can be a premise, that gives you freedom to create your own purpose.

He did not seem to have much patience to consider my questions. I think that he decided my questions meant that I did not understand what he was saying. ‘no, let me explain to you again’ he said ‘this one time someone i had not spoken to in years, i thought about randomly and they contacted me that same day’. Yes I understand, I said, don’t fret sir. I just want you to think more about what you are saying. If you believe something like this, and then draw conclusions from that belief that mean that life has no purpose... ask questions. Substantiate it. Be able to have a discussion with me about it and answer my questions. Questions don’t invalidate your argument, they just fill in the colours.

I asked him if this ‘something more’ that was going on, which was evidenced by these moments of random chance, if he believed they were caused by something internal or external to us. If it comes from us, was through our volition, the fact that he had thought about someone caused them to then contact him. Or if it was the world responding to his thought. Or if it was all the way the world moves around us. This idea of ‘fate’ that we cannot control, presenting itself to us.

It was an odd conversation, but it is something I have been thinking about. It is in the back of my mind, these grand questions of fate. of how we interact with the world around us. what dynamic forces or interaction exists between people and the physical and metaphysical world around us. 

On Coffee, Bread and Patience

Patience has never been easy for me. I am too headstrong and short tempered. Fevered, giddy and impulsive. But patience has its place, especially in a creative heart. So I like to seek it. Force it upon myself. Hand myself moments, whole and golden to pause and gather and assess and breathe and observe with patience. Not in a vertiginous frenzy.

I can have moments, isolated and discrete but still whole, where I am creating. I am achieving. I am pursuing life. Maybe it is not furiously. Maybe I am not spilling coffee on my dress, maybe I am not eating breakfast in the car as I rush from one adventure to the next. I am still pursuing life. But in the spaces, the silences. There is just as much to be found. There is a natural rhythm to be found.

This morning I went to a cafe and had a coffee while I read some creative essays.

I stir my coffee before I drink it. I learnt that from Gen. So that the consistency is a little more uniform. Not half froth – half actual coffee. The spoon clinks in syncopation against the glass. I pull it out slowly and while I wait for it to be cool enough to suck, I watch to see if the residual coffee will drip. I tilt it on some elegant trajectory and hold it at an angle so the coffee gathers on the end of the spoon and forms a little drop. My heart beat quickens in trepidation, will it, wont it, my eyes are fixed on this spoon and my surroundings are fuzzy. One drop, two drops, and I catch the third in my mouth and lick up the sides of the spoon. Warm metal, sticky amber coffee.

It is mornings like this that remind me of how sacred and gilded each moment is. How much there is to be found in them, how rich a resource, how worthy of attention. I like that sometimes I feel a torrent of moments and it evokes creativity in me, and sometimes i just feel one, with intensity and attention to detail, and it evokes a different kind of creativity.

Like baking bread. I crave days that I have time of a morning to bake bread. It represents to me the idea of slow and comfortable creation. The absence of pressure and expectation and this great sense of haste and hurry. Because creating should be free. You cannot force it, you can encourage it and create a space where it is fertile and rampant, but it has it’s own rhythm. A tricky thing to balance sometimes, so I bake bread, and bread represents my balance. I drink black coffee, I listen to blues music and I stick my hands in a bowl of dough. it is so good to make something with your hands. to spend time engaging in something purely physical (well, dexterous) for the sole sake of creating. it is the most glorious suspended moment of time. with dough warm and wholesome in your palms. it is so good to have hands covered in butter and sticky dough. to form something with your fingers. to feel the yeast alive and growing and elastic. feel it bouncing beneath the heel of my hand. its very sensual. bread. creating. kneading. needing.

and then i just sit and wait while it rises. maybe there is a time for everything and i can just learn to be patient.

I used to add cold water to my black coffees, to my herbal teas and even to my teas with milk. Such haste, such hurry. Such impulsive imminent desires for things. Now, most of the time, I like waiting for my coffees and teas to cool, for that perfect drinking temperature.

I can wait for things to fully form themselves in their own time. There are things I have control over and i celebrate my urgent desires for them. But there are things that gloriously, I have no control over. I can wait for those to form around me, to be ready to give themselves to me. I can work around the rhythm of other things. I can wait.

uncertainty

Sophie and I had a great conversation about freedom and fate, and whether they are mutually exclusive concepts. It was challenging and inspiring and exciting.The kind of excitement that only learning with and through other people can give me. We picked through eachother's thoughts and offered alternative thoughts and drew on the thoughts of important and smart people.

Sophie had such clear and thrilling ideas about fate. I just had to read it over and over again. they were sublime, i wanted to gild them to my windows.

it got me thinking about something else though. I have been thinking about this a lot.... How I feel about uncertainty.

A few years ago I was so certain about this. About how I felt about freedom. There was no room for doubt. doubt was weakness.
But now i am just in the process of asking questions. It frightens me to be asking questions. I long for certainty that i lost. But I am sure I'll find my way back to certainty, but i’ll have a much stronger foundation for those questions.

I envy past Fiona and her unexamined certainty. There were, still are, so many things that i believed were implacable. This is what i feel, this is who i am. There is no scope for error. For mistake or uncertainty.

There were these things that i believed were so foundational to me. Never being less than free. Never doing something that i doesn't fill me with joy. Never having sex with someone i am not completely physically enthralled by. Never doing something without understanding what my motivation was, or without being comfortable with that motivation. I thought it was conceptually impossible. Physically, fundamentally impossible. My body would not engage. My heart would not negotiate. My soul would resist.

I am in this place now where... i need to know its ok to be asking questions about what i thought was non negotiable. I need to know that its ok to have feet of clay sometimes. (here’s a random bit of poetry I always remember - from the bible, of all places - ‘This image's head was of fine gold, his breast and his arms of silver, his belly and his thighs of brass, His legs of iron, his feet part of iron and part of clay.’) I need to know that there is strength in identifying weakness. That i don’t have to be stoic and strong 100 % of the time. That there are parts of me that are uncertain and uncovered and thats ok because life is about learning. That doesn’t frighten me anymore, that thrills me.

There is a penumbra around these things. Around certainty of values. There is scope for mistake. There is always scope for learning. Its ok that i am not fully formed (got that one from clare bowditch) Its ok that I am relative (sophie got that one from Anais Nin)

Or maybe it is about identifying what you want to be a foundational concept. And then you work hard to make it that way. Is a belief less valuable because it was cultivated over time and determination rather than something that has always been there? Now that i think about it, i think there is much more value in identifying what i want to grow in me and growing it myself. Maybe it all comes back to that idea of accidents vs autonomy. There is value in choice and hard work.

I worry i have tainted this idea of freedom for me. That the very fact that i doubt its implacability means that it is not a part of me. But there is value in me choosing freedom. And actively seeking it for myself.

when i did something that i did not understand why i was doing it, which is a big deal for me... it frightened me. Because i thought it was a fundamental value. Unshakable. Inherent. But now i think... its ok that i have learnt that through trial and mistake and questions and decisions. Its ok that i will spend time deliberately entrenching this as a chosen value in me. It has more strength for it.

So i don’t really envy past Fiona so much. Because she didnt ask questions. because she was afraid of learning. And I think asking questions is brave. I think examining life is brave. Was it Socrates that said an unexamined life is not worth living? A very strong thing to say. Im not sure how i feel about it for anyone else, but for me it rings true.

So this is the context that I am thinking about fate and freedom in. The context of... asking questions about things i once accepted was certain and being ok about that.

And also... finding a balance. I find myself charging ahead with such certainty about what i think, and then life stops me and challenges me and i have to re assess. I have to consider alternatives and soften my iron clad views. I have to balance the elements.

Like, for example - I am learning to be ok with the fact that i cant be for myself every thing that i need, that i might need something outside of myself. I need to balance, i need to soften.

Certainty in freedom.....For as long as i can remember I have felt these words to be so true. That i am free. That I was never less than free. So when people challenged that, when i let people challenge that and in turn challenged it myself, it is super frightening. But I am balancing. I am asking questions and considering and exploring the penumbra bravely and when I do come to a conclusion it will be stitched under my skin with all of these background colours and textures. 

I am dusting off my feet of clay and continuing to march along.

and celebrating wondering. 

inspiration vs. dedication (feat. some wise friends)

I am getting distressed by the realisation that I have no joy for uni at the moment.

But, yaknow, the world does not run on the same time line as me. We have different rhythms. And mine is so erratic. So desultory.

I’m ok with sporadic passion. Because when it's in me, when i create it or when it's evoked in me, it fills me. I would rather that than being.... platitudinous.

I struggle so intensely to do things I don’t find interesting, or am not inspired to do. I have such a capacity for what i am passionate about. I have so much to give to the things i want to do. I just don’t have time for what I don’t care about.

And... I have these naive and glorious ideas about what is good for my soul. How I respond to what I give myself to. What builds me and what erodes me.

I feel so uncomfortable with the idea of doing something that does not fill me with joy. Of committing my time and energy to something mediocre. I think mediocrity erodes me.

I think we give to the world, by being whole. By seeking wholeness for ourselves.

But Sophie says we should believe in determination and dedication over inspiration.

That feels really strong to me. I like that idea. It is positive.

Maybe commitment is a building force. Even if what i am dedicated to doesn’t fill me with as much joy as i would like. Yes, that thought encourages me a lot.

Marko said something so encouraging, about gritting your teeth, and then reassessing when you have finished what you committed to. And then making it what you want.

(I have such wise friends)

Now I don’t think it is as simple as only doing what i love to do. We should be ok with ‘building blocks’. With doing mediocre things as a means to some glorious end.

just grit your teeth.

Maybe inspiration comes from determination. 

restlessness

i was thinking about restlessness. it is one of my strongest feelings. one of my strongest forces and motivations.

So sometimes it is... not the best thing. It can make me do reckless things. It can make me so physically uncomfortable. it usurps me completely. and i can feel like my bones will jump from my skin and run away from my body.

But it is always celebrated. Like every other part of me. a walt whitman luscious.

There's a certain kind of restlessness that i get sometimes... a heavy kind of restlessness. The one i feel when i know what i want but cant give it to myself. It swells in my chest. Distending and tumescent. I can feel my bones growing. I feel heavy with its presence, heavy with its impact.

It physically moves me. It makes a puppet of me. I almost cant control what i physically do.

I feel like it... bubbles in me. Under my surface. Quite defiantly and determinedly. As a feeling it is determined. Implacable. There is no attenuating it. No reasoning with it.

I wonder if it was a substance what form it would take. I wonder if it is a solid substance. tumescent. it sits like stone in my belly. in my chest. Or if it is vapour. Gas. Does gas bubble?

whatever form it takes, it must exude from me. It must be a tangible force. It feels so strong. It fills me so intensely, i can feel it coursing through my body and leaking from me. I wonder if people around me can feel it.

It makes a plenum of me.

What i find interesting, what i have been wondering about, is how much restlessness fills me. Fills my capacity.

And i wondered... do i feel full OF restlessness? Is restlessness a substance? Is restlessness the matter in which i am filled with, or is restlessness the means in which i am filled with... everything else. Whatever i am restless about.

Maybe restlessness is a catalyst. Or like a reactive ingredient. Like yeast. And i rise and swell like dough.

It can manifest in so many ways. Its very dynamic. Sometimes it sillyness. Sometimes it is heaviness in my chest. Sometimes its reticence. Sometimes its an intense need to communicate in intricate detail. sometimes it is ebullient joy.

seven

furtively, tentatively
without dexterity
fishing a teabag
out of my scolding, torrid tea

twenty

the long road to Toodyay, lined with thick white trees like bones

the sounds of the Toodyay train, trundling wheels, whistling like a kettle.

the smell of onions cooking. that glorious moment when they soften from that harsh white to an inviting heady brown.

writing while standing up next to the stove, a desperate, capricious scrawl

Denise's laugh

Denise has a raucous laugh.
deep hearty belly laughter
a cacophanous cackle.
I think she likes to shock people with the things that she says.
She tilts her head back,
opens her mouth wide
and I can see all of her teeth.
Something happens in her eyes
they light up for a moment
her pupils dilate
almost like she even shocks herself

Zoe's house

Zoe has a cupboard
full of little things she collects
she says she knows they are odd
but she cannot let go of them

i wonder about her eyes
i wonder about the way she sees the world
i wonder about her colours, her thoughts
the way she defines beauty
i dont know the words to ask
so i just smile and wonder

she has two cats
two guitars
a banjo
drums
and a piano

there are colourful crochet blankets around the house
and a yellow and blue bathroom.

Zoe is so natural. She is very beautiful.
It is the kind of beautiful I am drawn to
with the full force of my heart.

Zoe has freckly skin
Zoe has beautiful arms
Zoe is slender and soft and graceful.

we drink tea, eat avocados
and she listens to me blabber on about life philosophies
because i want to engage with her
and that is the only way i know how.

she says
when there is open space
the opportunities are amazing.

On Greek Mythology

What was meant to be a brief comment on Greek Mythology which turned into a number of torrential tangents.

On living creatively

I want to expand my ambit of inspiration. seek new sources, new means. new muses.

I think I am in a perennial (just found out that perennial has two 'n's and only one 'r' - i thought it was the other way around. English is cheeky) pursuit of living a creative life. living as creatively as I can.

I just want to be surrounded by creativity... this ubiquitous and omnigenous force.

I want it to be so foundational, so inherent, to influence every element of my life.

I think I seek a state of.... comfortable creation. I don't feel exactly happy with the way I expressed that. Because I don't want 'comfortable' to indicate that it is not challenging. or dynamic. I dont want it to sound ... lazy. easy. mediocre.

What I mean by creating comfortably is... my desire to create does not conflict with anything else. it is unhindered. and active. that inspiration is closer, and ... redolent... and prominent. Accessible.

Anyway, this is all ancillary discussion. What I want to talk about is something new in my "creative development" (I always wince a little when I say that)

On Greek Mythology

On one of my many capricious solo roadtrips south earlier this year, I found an Encyclopedia of Classical Mythology, tucked in this tiny op shop.

I think I am drawn to old stories. they have a certain ... quality to them. maybe its a physical thing. maybe they are really... bare and exposed.

Maybe it is why I like antiques. there is some inherent quality. it is rich and redolent. something about age, something about time.

It almost feels... religious. ritualistic. you know that feeling of being in an old church. It is religious. not in a constructed way. in a glorious renaissance painting of a naked woman eating fruit kind of way.

it's interesting to see... values, concepts, that transcend time in a historical context. I think there is a contrast there, it produces interesting light and shade.

Greek Mythology is... so big. there is nothing meek or mild or mediocre about it. Nothing is held back, nothing is reserved. Actually, no... I dont think it is about NOT reserving, I dont think they had a concept of holding back, a concept of humility, a concept of what should be said, what should be done.

it was all very instinctual, very physical, very visceral.

maybe because it was earlier society, less social construction, a less developed a less constructed idea of morals.

Rage was apoplectic. passions were usurping.

and unhindered pleasure was celebrated.

It is such fertile and faithful inspiration.

I am drawn to things that be to their capacity. and Greek Mythology has an unapologetic capacity.

So I have been reading through these amazing stories and myths, and writing poems about the characters or situations I am drawn to. Like... Eos, the goddess of dawn, who is doomed to desire, and carries people she falls in love with away on a winged chariot. Who wouldn't want to invoke that, for a moment, for the time and space of a poem?

On seeking new inspirations

And it has been great inspiration for me. A totally new experience too.

Writing is very visceral for me. very solopsistic. I write for my own truths.

And I always thought I would lose so much if I sought to write with any other purpose. That it would be somehow diluted.

But I have really enjoyed writing with a new purpose. Writing to seek someone else's truth. Or maybe... to explore that truth in myself. To let it come out to play.

On everything being relative (thanks Soph)

I like that what I thought inspiration was is in flux. I like to think my sources, my muses are expanding.

At one point in my life, a few years ago, I was very frightened by the idea that I was not entirely aware and certain about every part of me. I knew exactly who I was thankyou very much. I was completely developed and there was no uncertainty in me. For some reason uncertainty about myself felt like weakness. Felt like I was somehow less than complete, less than whole. 

That was a long time ago, but something Soph said to me a few weeks ago made me think of it again. She said: ‘We are relative’.

Heraclitus says ‘verything is in flux, the way up is the way down’

Sal Kimber says ‘gotta move like a rollin’ wheel. Gotta trust in that rollin’ wheel.’

(that’s a nice friend-philosphy-folk farrago of quotes)

Anyway, further tangential torrents. Basically, Being in flux, having things evolve and swell within me and around me... it does not scare me anymore. It is very exciting, on a deep foundational life kind of way. I love that how much I have to learn overwhelms me. And I don’t think it means that I am any less than whole. I think there is wholeness in seeking wholeness. I can be whole in my seeking of myself.

Teddy

Reasons why everyone should aspire to live like my dog.

1. He takes naps in sunbeams.

2. He has a boundless capacity for excitement.

3. He fills his capacity for excitement, frequently, unapologetically.

4. He doesn't just wag his tail, he wags his whole body. He feels joy and excitement with his whole body, all of his limbs

5. He is so generous with affection.

6. He asks for what he wants

7. He knows what his job is - to guard the house - and he does it well.

8. It is very easy to win Teddy's affections. He knows who he feels comfortable around is very free and exposed with them (literally, he lies there on his back with his legs in the air)

on honesty and intimacy

sometimes i worry that i intimidate people with my honesty.
But I just want to be... accessible. I think that is what honesty achieves. it removes barriers between people. it removes pretense, it removes performance. it establishes a vulnerable and free space.
but sometimes I worry that by being honest I have the opposite effect. That I distance people with my intensity, or something. It is a fear of mine.

I just... want to always seek new levels of intimacy. new ways to engage. new ways to explore. deeper ways to learn people.
to be so real, to be so honest, to be so raw.
I want to live my friendships to a certain line. I want to keep pushing that line.
I think being honest, I hope that creates an environment for people to feel very free in, to share of themselves. I don't know how else to facilitate the conversations i desire. the connections i crave.
Because that is what I want, to explore people, to learn them.
details are delicious. stories, simplicities and silliness is seductive.
i want to be free and ... strong... with my parts. with my details. i want to give people that trust. that special trust. i want to give intimacy, with mirth. mirthful intimacy. bold intimacy.
it is so joyful, it is so thrilling. to be so vulnerable with people.
i think such strength is gained from that vulnerability.
from giving so wildly. so freely.
and hopefully it will encourage reciprocation.
that is what i seek from my relationships, that is what i seek from myself, and that is what i seek from my life.

wild intimacy

an external force

Lately I have been feeling deprived. And it worries me, because what does that mean for my pursuit of wholeness? For my pursuit of being for myself all that I need?
If I feel deprived... that means there is something I am not giving to myself.
But I have realised that what i feel deprived of - desire - I can't give that to myself. I can cultivate, and nourish and... just seek myself, belong to myself, be as fucking whole and and fucking full and developed as I can be...
and i do. i feel a great sense of self worth. I don't need anyone else to need me to testify to that.

But I can't give myself desire. it is an external force. this feeling of deprivation... it is not coming from me.

desire is an external force.

So I have identified what I need. and I think I am learning to be OK about identifying what I need, if that means someone else needs to facilitate the fulfillment of that need.

my friend Bea says to me 'a man is not an island, fee fee'

i encourage people to need me. why can't i give them that in return? why does it feel like the scariest thing in the world to need something outside of myself?

It has been a long time since i have felt desire.
I feel... so acutely, 'friendship-desire'. which is.... more divine. the most sublime. i am rich for it. It surrounds me. it ensconces me. The people in my life and what they give me, the way we create together, how we seek eachother... I am so rich for it.
But physical desire is different. and I think the last person who really did... want me, was Belinda. and i was so addicted to that, to her desire. and it was the most destructive thing.

So I don't really know where to go from here. I dont know how to facilitate this need. And I don't know how to do that and protect myself from my weaknesses at the same time.

Saturday at the Hugo's

Yesterday morning Mum danced around the kitchen.
My chest hurt for laughing so hard.
My chest is where I feel all the heaviness,
and it just dissipated with laughter.
Mum will do something ridiculous... and John and I will just look at eachother and laugh.
hearty laugh. belly laugh. a laugh that fills my lungs, that reverberates in my chest. a laugh that rings in my ears and folds my body over.
we are big laughers in our family. My dad has the most glorious giggle. His whole face scrunches up and he stamps his feet. its almost like a series of hiccups. 'a hi hi hi'. it completely takes over his whole body. it is such a joy to witness.
John... has a booming laugh. its comes in staccatoed bursts, in groups of increasing numerical order.
HA. a HA HA. a HA HA HA.
i imagine it rolling around in his belly like thunder.
So John and I laughed at mum. and it filled my chest so that there was no room for heaviness.
Mum is so free. so insouciant. so ridiculous. it is the most positive thing to be around.

I gave mum and dad a poem that I am thinking of submitting to a magazine. Usually mum is funny about reading and critiquing things. I would avoid it, because she would focus on one little detail, and not the whole thing.
and that is not what i wanted from showing my parents something important to me. i just want to share.
but this time, she gave it back to me and said
'it is perfect. i cant believe someone so intelligent came out of my womb. it is perfect. dont change a thing'
My heart swelled. it was everything i wanted. It was all the support I needed. It was so beautiful. so generous.
I was brushing my teeth and I had a mouth full of toothpaste.
it dripped down my chin.

I had woken John up to come with me on a field trip to Theo's. I needed my partner in crime. and of course, as always, he was there for me, there with me, to facilitate my desires. even in its recklessness.
like the time he drove 10 hours with me, to and from Albany, while I went to see Kasey and Shane, and he just hung out at the backpackers.
His generosity and selflessness .... It is unparalleled. He is my hero. I wish i could be more like him.
We went to buy a banjo. I had decided that i needed it. That i would surely die if I did not buy one imminently. So I did. I told Mum, and she was all for it. and John came along with me, bouncing alongside next to me.

We are all seeking special things for me.
It is everything that I need.
Almost everything I need.
It is everything I need to be ok about the fact that I can't have what I need.

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.

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

a list of fears

1) not being enough

2) being too much

Joshie

a bottle of red wine down
and we sit in the dimly lit room
with only a scarf between our bare skin
there is an unruly and overgrown cityscape on the curve of your arm

I always knew you had a wild heart.