An Offering to the Desert

They are in the desert, 
under a dusty sun, in a place I will know to be

They have flown miles, day and night,
running from the winds of a hurricane,
driven like leaves on the breath of the sky
to a place where there is a temple waiting to be burned.
And I ask you, what comes after rust? Even suns
burn low, even hydrogen runs out.

And I will answer,
I am the spirit of reckless abandon.

All I ask this universe is one holy moment,
just one. I don't want it all
to stay still. All I
want is it all to blow away
in a puff of smoke and
ashes like a temple burning
in the desert.
I want
us to decay like
good loam turned under
like the corners of our
sheets when we remake the
bed in order to retain some
semblance of stasis.

Vishnu never loved us: little
pockets of breaking desire,
Shiva's children who shake the
earth with dammed rivers and
drills. This is not wrong.
They're only endings.
We are always saying goodbye.

A Theory of Energy

You may have noticed that my “About” page no longer states that I update Thursdays and Sundays. An even better sign of what’s afoot is the fact that I’ve followed through with this change, and have only been updating in Thursdays. The reason is simple. I haven’t had enough energy. 

Energy is a limited resource. Now, I’m not talking about some airy-fairy notion of crystals or magick or etheric vibrations, but instead the hard concepts if time, focus, and the all important fuel, glucose. The stuff your brain burns directly whenever you make a decision or work on a problem. No, I haven’t had enough of that stuff lately.

And I could tell you about all the things that have attached wicks to my little ball of wax, brightly consuming all my parrafin: the paring down of my stuff, the getting ready for a move that might not happen, the fighting off of inner demons, the climbing out of wells… but going into greater depth feels like it would just be an excuse.

I don’t need to make an excuse. I need to monitor what I’m spending energy on. I need to be careful with my focus, and gentle with myself. I need address the needs at hand, which are to work at my craft and make sure I’m at a certain level of okay-ness.

Which brings me to the real heart of the issue: how do you divert your energy? Because every day, I see the signs of people around me becoming less and less well due to how they focus their efforts, spending far too much time on things which are social “obligations” or unreasonable standards they’ve set for themselves, and not nourishing their creativity, not nourishing their bodies, and trying to simply power through their days because they somehow “should.” Instead, breathe. Eat. Tuck away unplanned time. Take an hour just to daydream. Take a nap. You can’t live your whole life in fight or flight readiness if you want it to be longer than short.

In other words, spend some of your energy on you. That’s a piece of advice it’s about time I took to heart.

Eleven Years

That was all it took.

And though there were days when it was only my rage that held me together, and nights when but for fear I would be lost, I held to my heart the truth of my years: these are not the only times. And though you are out there, and your presence pains me, and I pray that you harm no other as you harmed me, I know this as well: that we share this rock, and we are part of the same organism. For all the energy I waste on hating you, I may well hate my lungs for all the good it would do this world. You and I, we are human. And even if that is all we share, it is enough for me to wish you this: peace, sir. Peace.

Though Thanks Is Not Enough

Dear Body,

Thank you. Thank you for being there with me through all of these things. You are the only one who’s seen all of it. Who knows what really happened.

Thank you for putting me into shock that night when I opened my skull on the brick below the wood burning stove, shivering against my father’s body as he cradled me in my favorite blanket and took me to the hospital. It was the only way a child so small could be still long enough to make it through.

Thank you for my freckles, dark constellations on my pallor. Thank you for skin like a wick, that takes Sharpie well, and the bizarre markings I make connecting the dots, or scribbling a phone number, or inking designs over calloused hands used to work and roughness.

Thank you for my terrible brown eyes that in their nearsightedness have afforded me the sweetest odd intimacies, unable to see until my lashes scrape the faces of the ones I love.

Thank you for flexible quadriceps and unholy tense hamstrings. Thank you for untamable wavy hair, and tiny sinuses that clog so often that on the few clear days I have, the whole world smells new. Thank you for keeping records with my scars.

Thank you for reminding me to eat, for throwing fits and shakes when I want to disappear myself in tininess. Thank you for not letting me be too tiny, for demanding glucose.

Thank you for my reflexes, which have let me live another day. One more inch, body, just one more inch, and it would have been different…

Thank you. That’s all I wanted to say.

And Auntie Earth Is Patient

The earth is not a mother, but an aunt.  She adopted us, her nieces and nephews, as her pet project.  See, Mother Ocean is deep, is cruel, is a mother in the old sense, where she birthed us, and gave us to the shores.  She is indifferent.

But Auntie Earth, in her coveralls and with her man-hands, with her weird affection for paints and posture, her grumpiness, her demanding stance, she told us, “Hey, I’ll help you grow up.”  And she meant it.

And we are growing: 7 billion of us, bickering.  7 billion of us, hungry.  7 billion, 7 billion, singing sad songs and introspecting, navel gazing about our own importance, when we are the tiniest specks, on par with a microbe or a star.  We don’t matter.  But Auntie Earth knows we’re teenagers, with abundant intelligence, and overwrought with our own social dramas.

At least, that’s how I like to imagine it.  It seems like a better story than tales of chosen folk, than yarns about how precious we are.