Patterns Keep Repeating…that is what makes it a pattern.

WHY would I continue to choose a lover who does not choose me…or tell myself that shitty story anyway? Not the wailing why? A curious why. This child side of me, we have already uncovered. Perhaps she is still feeling so unloved, unloveable…

The safety of familiarity…perhaps.

Something love wants me to see? What are you trying to show me?

Just the same as it ever was. Unconditional self love. You fucking rock, girl. You fucking rock, boy. You fucking rock, WoMan.

I am. I can. I will.

Leap. Get little bits better. And big bits too. And you. Switch it up.

We got this.

Oh! How I love to watch you blooom!

All your unfolding and molding yourself into things,

all your dramatic silences and calm pauses and chaotic coincidences…

It is lovely. I love you.

Love letter to myself

I love you. All of you. I love your moods and your imperfections and your awkwardness. I love your breeziness and your heaviness and your quirky sense of humor. I love your eyes and your vision. I love your hands and your talented fingers. I love the way you cause a calm stir when you walk into a room, or out of a room sometimes. I love the way you can be invisible. I love your voice. I love your free spirited codependence. I love your way with words. I love the way you juggle things and sometimes drop them. I love the way you nibble. I love the way you bite off more than you can chew. I love the way you get things done. I love the way you leave things unfinished. I love your sense of style. I love how open you are with nearly everyone. I love the way you move. I love how much you pour yourself into things. I love how you navigate the edges. I love how you do things your own way. I love your smile. I love your connection to plants and other animals. I love your capacity to love. I love your sense of rhythm.

On Shamanism and Dreams, Visionary Beings

Worthy of Conversation

Reminding myself, I am worthy of conversation. I am lovable. I am interesting. I am fun. I am interested. I am trustworthy. I am available. I am talented. I am generous. I am brave. I am flexible. I am magnificent. I am musically inclined. I am free. I am calm. I am in it.

I have again managed to fling my heart attention towards a man who insists on being unavailable. Hard no’s abound. Why would I?

That’s obvious, isn’t it?

I told a friend about being raped earlier this year, and some of the conflicted feelings I have, and how overall I felt like it was a healing, expansive experience to some degree, and then felt vulnerable and judged and like I should not have shared so much with her. There are other things I did not share. Labiaplasty, for example. I trust strangers more than some people close to me. None of me is really a secret. I mean, see here. Still, there are things that make me uncomfortable to see. So I guess I have to understand when he does not trust me. Finds me unworthy of conversation.

I do that a lot too. Distance myself. I just don’t do it in love. Do I? My inner circle. I am fully available there. Aren’t I? And that is not reciprocated. Is it? It might even be resented a bit. How’s that for a shit story?

A better version is, I am well loved. I have many friends. Lovers any time I want. Satisfaction is mine to make. My lover gives me what he can, and it is a lot sometimes. So much, such that when he gives me none, or very little attention, I am tempted to feel it as lack. There is no lack though. Only a matter of what I focus on. I have plenty of attention in all sorts of fashions and places…so much that I welcome the alone time. He trusts me enough to let me go, and to let himself go. We know each other well, and also, we don’t. We are both free, and not free.

We are all one. I am not him. He is not me.

Permission to walk about the cabin

It comes down to what serves me best…and sometimes that is mulling things over, contemplating, reflecting. Most of the time though, it is moving. Taking action. Leave the cabin already.

Ciao, bella.

Creativity Jams

“Whatever made you weird/ashamed as a kid is what you can be your special skill when you are an adult.” Quote paraphrased from Chase Jarvis

I first thought of my body. I was too ashamed to undress in front of all the other girls at PE. Ashamed to pee in a public restroom if anyone else was in there. So ashamed. Didn’t tell my mom when I started my period….other things.

And indeed, today my body is a source of fulfillment for me, and being vulnerable in front of others helps me feel like I am helping others and me…

Then I thought about my imperfections…exaggerations…

my wildness

I was weird, even among the weird kids

Now I love myself more and more and more all the time, as I unfold

I was a tomboy. Still kinda am. Sexually active young. Still kinda am. Large hands. Big head. Tough. Wild.

Incarcerated. Caged.

Boxed in.

My freedom, my wild, my willingness…

my imperfections… rawliciousness.