I cant say what it is: maybe its that I feel as though I am a tiny little heathen vying to be recognized for owning a status saved for people who don’t really care for it. I have this recurring vision that I’m a child sitting on my knees before an edge of a great abyss. I hear this voice and always she says ‘there you are child’; she smiles. I feel elated. Wow its powerful. She only smiles, and she doesn’t have a face or a form, but I seem to crawl into her arms anyways, an area as wide as space is deep and I feel so much relief, like what I experience when my mind forgives the germs and pardons my weakened feet from walking, sliding into a period open only for rest. Its pure forgiveness. Its peace. Its the reason I keep coming back.

But now I wonder why I even have the respect to write: my skin is heavy with filth and frowns, my mind is a steady torch growing tall in the articulated breeze that comes from the wicked west from where I hear my thoughts cheer ‘get real’ at a rally of long chins and gray faces. I react when I know I shouldn’t, I give in and give up and sulk on the bathroom floor; a cup of tea reminds me to work with something other than the mystery of my own mind. The vacancy sign is definitely on, waiting for ease to rent to room. Where is stillness now? I soak my head in chemicals to hide the markers of an aging crown and I frolic through the words that dump from me like an elephant takes a shit. I’m tempted to throw it all away, to burn the forest down before the wildfire devours his prize, to win the flow and to fuck it all, like an elephant takes a shit. God it must feel good to evacuate so much useless matter, to give it to the ground: I’ll give myself to the process, like an elephant takes a shit.

Dear Journey:

CONFESSION (of the sexual kind)

I pull them in unintentionally and they become arrested, prisoners pulled from the sheets and into the wind, and they look towards me for answers, security, protection: I am not your goddess. I wasn’t meant to be seen in soft lights, the glow I manifest as I step is not meant to bring you closer, the haze that emanates is not intended to attract your kind; I am only trying to get by; this elusiveness is merely the natural byproduct of the processes of my survival. I guess its not worth it to smile, when the lonely grasp onto it like a rope dropped to save the masses from a well; the weak see it as an invitation to fall in love. But a smile is a way for me to say that life is alright; like a stone in the center of a rapid stream I let the rough waters stroke my back and continue to stare in the same direction, never waiting or wanting more from the swarms of wave riders that grace my space with a swift hello.

But some want to stay despite that the flow is too strong: you try to hang on forever and I’ll forever ask for your removal; you see, you are a stone too, to think you are free falling and failing to love is to mistake your life with the life of floating debris.

I am no trickster: If anything I am too kind to reveal the truth that I do not love you in the way that lovers do: but it hurts me to see you unhappy, (this is my dishonesty) and so I allow you to hold on until your arms became tired and sore; eventually impermanence is revealed (nothing is ever-lasting, I should know better) and you require another way and so you were forced to figure the truth of my indifference, and you did but it was a painful realization, and so with your wild imagination you tell a story in which I embody the source of all your troubles and regress: it makes it easier to let go this way, it does when you confess your hatred of the thing to which you are so attached (after they buck you), like burning your finger on fire and claiming to never want to witness vivid flames burn again. The fire is the reason for the tingle and the taste (of searing flesh), and I am the reason your heart breaks, and I hate to see you unhappy, so I let it be, I accept your ill-energies with a smile and a shrug.

Nothing personal, I tell myself. How could I truly hear your hostilities and be alright? I don’t sit on a thrown, I don’t wear any robes; I am not more than human. Yet you throw demon-blessed frequencies my way as if I have developed some royal filter that purifies my heart each time some mean confession permeates the air I breathe. I have no such abilities. I have only the power to remove the power from your words by understanding that you are damaged and destroyed by your need to believe these illusions of me created by your gushing mind. In protecting yourself; in preserving your righteousness, sense of security, and in anticipating disappointment, your thoughts have painted me in dismal tones of black and blue and now your masterpiece hangs in the hall with other untouchable works of a loathsome hue; I am not defined as such but by your side. After all I was never meant for such things as being the center of a crying artist’s attention; besides, I know this, and suddenly I burst out of the shell and leave bitter rinds to rot; sweet citrus oozes as tangy teardrops from my eyes and I find that I need not erase you from my life, but to stay and witness how clever the trickster actually is, watching him coax you into believing the illusions of your trying mind, decorating the cake you bake in celebration of your freedom from me with an icy coat of useless rumors.

So it goes, and such is life. If this is the process then I surrender: I ask for nothing and I apologize to no one when that means I must scold the most sacred part of myself: my love.

That’s the thing about love: where you think its your partner that has betrayed you and whom you can no longer trust it is in fact yourself that has granted them the authority to make you the lesser. Love has a funny way of glorifying the beloved; you then compare them to things like crystal radiance and full moons, and they become just as powerful in your mind. Of course,once they leave its like god kicked the stars from your skies and dulled your vision of shiny lights: the only way you can regain stability and ground, the only way things can ever be the same is if you commit to maim and slander; so you tear violently at those projections of your beloved that you yourself created, pulling yourself back up and into reality by clawing into the goddess flesh of your once lover and telling yourself its the right thing to do because she couldn’t be worth anything more since she hurt you so badly. You justify your actions by blaming the ex-lover, when in all truth this love couldn’t exist without you, the carrier of love’s disease, and the act of all this fluff and dramatic break-up stuff is just a natural reaction to feeling as though you’ve been rejected by a queen: I am no queen, therefore, you’re argument is invalid. See? love is the trickster, not I (said the little red hen).

Where is the lesson in this?

Honesty.

I acted wrongly and perpetuated bastard energies. Time has asked me to stop yet now the mess is mercury hot, it begs to be removed from the nearness of the sun.

Run away tiny coyote! How many more forest friends will you consume before you belch the bones of your rancid ways?

Rain dance tonight! Ancient practice revives to cleanse the pollution of clumsy creations!

You say I’m so stubborn and cruel. Well then, I am so pleased to be yours and to have mine, let’s make more things to carry this crooked ship down the depths of uselessness.

But alas! A pirate with a pen, ravaging with words, a sentence he sharpens from the blade forged by many prophesying men: ‘death to things that make us feel weak, small and tired: that keep us on our feet! When what we require is a deep enough sleep, to drum a clear beat so the people can step dangerously in time with the ticking of the tides riding high on the moon’s backside and be free!’

Okay, I’m here. I am here! What spirit has called my attention at this place and at this hour and what must I do to appease your formless brew?

Listen you say, but instead I translate it as a condition of my diminishing physique; I nourish my bones with sweet and saucy, I lick my fingers when I should be licking the soles of Buddha’s feet; “don’t bother me! Pull the reigns of your fiery chariot and pierce your own heart; the arrow draws a string with which to pull the muscle from its nest, leave mine alone!.”

“Shut up and be still, this is why you were called, not for a culinary thrill, silly human.”

‘Okay!’ what now?!?!’ distractions arise from illusive shadows and thoughts generate to flush the intelligence of five senses: I ponder something besides my knowing of this realm. But the channel has been allowed by bundles of sage and narrow icicles of wax that beg for a chance to chase darkness away in a blaze.

Dear Journey,

Don’t write with confusion; write with clarity! Even poetry demands clarity, not in words and how they are presented, but poetry requires clarity of origin: this means not right nor wrong, but that the author is clear in representing confusion, sadness; what does this mean exactly? It means to be fully aware of yourself in the moment you grant for reflection and honesty (don’t worry, no one is watching) and be true to the experience as it is, raw and organic from your center, whatever it may be in the present moment. Be certain of the source and let the words form around them and align naturally in a march of syntax and prose; this is personal poetry, this is your gift, this is what you offer the world and it is beautiful because you made the space for it and it is authentically you.

Once the words are before you, these precious gems of absolute insight and depth, after you read them, separate from them: do not own them. You mustn’t feel responsible for their impact; disassociate from the words and they will inspire you in whatever way they do; your past self intended them as a guide, maybe for you, perhaps for another. The words are not yours; they belong to a greater source when they are born from clarity and consciousness. This way you can witness their power to unite and to change, phenomena which happens when and only when they are released.

You see, words are only sounds, particles, elements: they begin as a thought that forms from ingredients that interact in our minds, we send outward this energy in waves upon which we place words linearly, one word after the other, like our understanding of time, in a sequence like we see our own lives; but round is the actual order of things, infinity is the essence of higher planes of existence; our part is finite so we experience the beginning and the end of form and function, as we ourselves have a birth and death; but circularity is truth though ambiguous within the shallow measure of our immediate awareness.

To travel distances, to be said or written and heard and read, words must hitch a ride upon waves of energy that are continuous and infinite, floating and colliding and stemming from and branching off and bumping into other waves, like cellular waves, microwaves, brain waves, ocean waves, wind waves, emotional waves, static waves: with intention we send outwards our words like a message in a bottle atop a wave of energy that we have harnessed for the moment, attracted to us by the energies we have magnetically pulled and borrowed from this dimension (in conjunction with other dimensions?). The slower the wave the more direct from source, the more rapid the frequency the more momentum and force; these are the ones that require that the borrower use caution; they can cut and slice, they can tear and infiltrate and pass and influence, hurt and harm and devastate and destroy, much like ugly words with claws in waves whispered from the mouth of a conniving magician.

These high pitched waves are coming in at frequencies beyond which we can measure with our primary sense; we can neither see them nor predict them, therefore we can only cancel them by committing to impeccability; whole truths upon which we place words of a positive nature, honest and of the deepest blue; if you don’t make magic then magic is made upon you: saying love once invalidates the perpetuation of historic hatred and restores crystals to beauty and balance. Love yourself, love your energies, love the words as they are sent outwards and beyond the scope of control, let them surf the waves and purify the atmosphere of nonsense, chaos and confusion.

Be honest, source words from source, bow before your own energies, respect divine human potential; this is service of the highest self. Tentacles-waves are like wind; it carries dust that falls onto the lashes dropping center in a tear cried from the eyes of a weeping camel: it will find the earth and one day be carried again to grace the sky with its presence: every thing which is IS something which will connect to something else: nothing is ever truly free from belonging in the sense that it will inevitably serve as an influence or impression in this stage of reality. Even dust has a history, as do we, and so as wind drives sand so must we drive our words in a caravan towards LOVE.

In examining my existence I find that

there is only one, only one way home.

Today I mourn the vacancies in a sequence of three; one step, one stab, one me. I look for help but I am received with utter distaste; I am in the way and I do not belong here.

A smile cannot be found though people pour into streets like water from a wild fountain, they race to be places but the reason why is cleverly disguised; I just want to go home, back to nature’s womb, cuddled in the arms of vastness, blanketed in warmth and reading poems carved like symbols of imperfect hearts into the crust of a scorched tree.

‘The city, the city the city!’ I cry to the people so distant performing so distantly: why must I stay? Let them race and rot along the way, my city-self is suicidal and she demands her way; stillness is met by tears that grace pavement which meets my spirit that is so exhausted from exhausting every attempt to adapt by being higher this and not-so-much that; then what?

Then what when I walk around and I give myself and I bear my soul in honesty, and I allow and I disallow; I am drying up! It seems that every step I take requires another moment of stillness so I can collect and continue; and for what; for what? For what?

I require a way home. To the woods can I come now? Can I come home now? Can I come home now please? I think maybe you forgot me here, did I miss my turn to return? Can I come home now?

I know you say that the chains are illusory but I see today my life in this cage of gray and all I want is to come home now. The trees you say to see and be seen but I see them now as imitations; is it a trick to make me feel at home amidst this war?

In examining my existence I see only one way home; I require that way home now. The air isn’t clean and the energies are obscene and the fire that fuels the cars is from the same fire that burns bruised hearts and I am begging you please let me come home now.

A man walks by; did you send him my way? He says ‘what a beautiful day’ and I wonder if like the trees he sees that I am not so naive; he wants to sell me temporary peace, but I know better and so my eyes are facing up at the sky and I think that maybe it doesn’t go on forever; maybe its all fake and above it is a ceiling made of plastics and metal grates and there is someone like me looking down and laughing at the misery and sadness I create and I just want to go home now; please.

And the voice, it says to enjoy the mundane; no matter if it is real or fake or a ploy or one giant mistake; I am here and that’s the game; to find a plane where I can feel at home despite the craze.

In examining my existence I see that there is only one, only one way home.

I was at a cafe sipping my umpteenth cup of coffee, absorbed in the literature that has come to consume the entirety of my waking life and pondering a breath of sweet Indian smoke when I opened this letter. At first, my ego was satisfied with skimming the contents quickly and returning to the comfort of my toxic mind-space, but as I settled into his words I found a sort of calm, and in reading the message, in removing my attention from myself and onto the words I was inevitably enlightened; here, before me, is the truth that people have the power to heal themselves, that no matter where you come from and what your troubles are, the very thing you desire is entirely within your means to achieve; that, like Jason, in letting go and removing yourself from the insanities all around, you discover a sort of peace of mind that comes only when you no longer seek to grasp it.

His story, indeed, symbolizes the greatest ‘becoming’ of us all; it represents the most precious lOve story ever, that is, the lOve we fOrm with Ourselves as we re-fOrm Our lOve with essence, nature:

Shed old skin however best suits your desires; but do so soon and you will become wise beyond any level the best authority could grant. By removing yourself, relieving yourself of superficial duties and unnecessary attachments you allow yourself access to the highest source of infinite power, strength, hope, and love; be humbly and daringly open, accept that life is your challenge not to win but to surrender, and flow into it with the same respect you would offer the sea if you found yourself on a surf board, on a wave, powerless and in awe of the expanse of unity that could bring even the strongest warrior to his knees.

Jason Writes:

I know you would love this amazing California beach trip. I wish you could see this Shammy. I didn’t know who to write to I just had the urge to write, so I know you would appreciate this. Excuse my poor writing I am new to this. The peacefulness that this trip has granted me greatly triumphs every possession that I have and its “ability” to assist in my happiness. This is what being free truly feels.

Right now I am sitting lying in my car somewhere south of highway 1, which by the way is just as beautiful heading south as it is heading north. I got to Santa Cruz today early morning and surfed Pleasure point for high tide. You wouldn’t believe the seaweed there. I kept getting completely tangled in it and would be absolutely destroyed by the waves when I was there. This definitely wasn’t a rookie surfs spot. The hardest thing about surfing is getting actually out to where you wait patently for waves. When there are good swells it is near impossible. It takes every bit of strength you have to battle nature at its finest. So many times you just feel overwhelmed by the ocean. As soon as you overcome the wave another one instantly attacks you. The constant pounding makes it seem like it would be so much easier to just head back in.  I personally feel that it’s a sign of respect for the ocean, almost a test. You must past the pounding waves to be allowed to ride them.  The ocean is so unforgiving to those to don’t respect it.

After a few hours in the water the low tide set in. I took a break for lunch and started driving south through Capitola. I found the most amazing sandwich place ever. Had lunch there and ended up meeting some locals who guided me to Steamers Lane. Steamers lane is a cool surf spot south of Capitola that works well at low tide, so I went there and surfed for an hour or two. The ocean bottom was hard rock. Next to coral reefs this is the most unforgiving. The most amazing part of this spot is the inaccessibility of it. The water comes up all the way to the cliff; there is little to no beach left. Definitely somewhere you don’t want to get caught. There is a large lookout over the cliff filled with people watching in awe of the surfers completely shredding the wave or completely wiping out. There were also a few surfers that never surfed this spot. I started talking to them and we completely analyzed and planned our surf (all good surfers do this).  Time really doesn’t seem to matter right now. The only way I have been able to tell is by the sun. I went to take a post surf nap in the car (much earned) and ended up passing out for about 4 hours. I woke up and it was nighttime.

Heading back to the beach it was marked with the bright lights of the Saturday night bonfires. Here I met a bunch of people from Monterrey. We exchanged stories and danced the night away, cold sand beneath my feet. Ironically it was total surf hippie music. I wish you could see the stars here. It looks like they are neatly scattered across the sky. So bright and vibrant, they will keep me company tonight. I can hear the beautiful peaceful sound of the waves crashing down in harmony as I sit here in my car and write you. That’s it for tonight. Time to catch some shuteye.

I slept like crap last night. The only place I found that I could crash was right off the freeway. It got so cold at points too. It is strange to me that on a normal day that would completely bum me out. However I had some fruit for breakfast and was instantly put in a wonderful mood. I started driving to somewhere I could surf the sunrise. I put one of a few CD’s that my friend gave me for this trip and re-discovered Missy Higgins. (I went to the concert with Shereen.  Her voice could bring peace to war. Missy’s, not Shereen’s; haha) . She is amazing.

I ended up at Carmel Beach to surf the morning. The water is so clear and blue here its amazing, perfectly contrasted with pure white sand. It looks like it could be in a movie. The water here is ice cold though and the water was more of a rolling wave (good for long boards not short), so I was not able to surf long. Afterwards I started heading down south again and stopped by a Whole Foods to grab some grub. I ended up only buying fruit (apples, mangos, bananas, and a pineapple) and tons of water. I stopped somewhere on the coast to take a nap and relax for a while. It’s still crazy to me that I have nowhere to be and I can just go as I feel. That feeling is more amazing than anything.

Furthering in driving I came across Sand Dollar beach near Big Sur.  You couldn’t believe the price of everything down here. Gas and food is crazy. I think I will have enough gas to get me to my next destination tomorrow though. I think this is going to be my camp spot tonight and I will be heading down to Santa Barbra tomorrow. I started talking to these people and they even invited me to have dinner with them at their house. We skim boarded for a while and it was amazing.  I didn’t tell you that I love skim boarding too huh. However, I decided to get a head start on tomorrow. The further south I get the more breathtaking the beaches are and the more I wish that you were here with me. You would truly appreciate this more that ever. Highway 1 goes all the way down the California coast.

I started thinking about my life as sit here overlooking the Pacific Ocean. I think I am going to have a few goals before I decide to make drastic changes.

1.Eliminate liabilities. I have discovered that possessions mean nothing in comparison to experience. On my trip I instantly want to take every hour of TV watching and video game playing back. I have no memories of doing these things. Every memory of you and I sticks out in my head so vibrant and motivates me in life.

2.Improve my health. After a few days of surfing my arms and shoulders are torn. It is seriously wearing on me. My goal is to get mavericks water-ready by next year, not during competition mode but enough where I could be out there with the best. I have been out in the water where there were huge 15+ foot waves and it is so scary. Imagine looking up and there’s 15 feet of water above your head. Even when you duck, dive or turtle roll through the wave it feels like your are being hit by the force a bomb would create.  You dive in and it’s like a sonic boom.

3.Education. I have discovered that I think I am in need of a major change. I’m thinking communications (not mass communications, there is no money in that). I want to do something I love and communication is it. Everyone loves me; they cant help it.

I can’t believe I am writing you an essay.

I’m getting more towards So Cal and the water is getting much more warm and crowded.  Everyone seems so superficial here. They definitely don’t appreciate the little things. I did catch the most epic wave today though. I rode it all the way to its end. Flying past surfers and other swimmers, it was one of the greatest feelings that I have ever had. The feeling that you are completely in harmony with the wave is breath taking. You understand each other and you are working perfectly together to create something beautiful. My heart was beating so fast after. All I wanted to do was run and yell. You should have seen the smile on my face. I don’t think it’s ever been that big.

So my album for the day is ‘The Who’. It complements the drive so nicely. Tomorrow I will be driving back to the bay and for the first time in the trip there is somewhere…

I’m down as Pismo beach and it’s just littered with people. There is nothing inviting about this place. It is kind of neat that the surf breaks due to a large pier. However it doesn’t allow for a long ride. The last thing you want to want to be is stuck between a large wood beam and a crashing wave. I don’t think I caught one wave today. There was just way too many people. So I headed in to do some homework. It is amazing that I can sit in my car, perfectly angled so I cannot see the crowded beach; just ocean, sun and sky. I wish I could do homework here every day. I can just focus. Especially no internet and phone to give me any distractions. The only regret is that there is a small part of me that wants some pillow talk at night. I can only hint upon what I see and how I feel. I think I could do a better job verbally describing it to you. Talking about this experience probably wouldn’t give it any justice either. I think showing you may be the only way.

People down here do not appreciate what I am doing, unlike the people more north who thought it was amazing. A lot of people ask me where I’m from and what I am doing.

As soon as I was ready to give up on So Cal I met this old surfer. This man was the most peaceful person I have ever met in my life. He kind of reminded me of that guy from Surfer, Dude. I went and had lunch with him and he taught me so much. Its amazing how wise he is. Here are a few quotes from the old man.

“Surfing is much like love, it always feels good, no matter how many times you’ve done it.”

“Very few people life live anymore. Life lives them.”

“Listen brother, if there is one thing I am going to teach you today is that I have never stressed one day in my life. I have lived it more

 than any other person could say. I have nothing and only that reason alone gives me everything. Live peaceful young brother.”

CRAZY right. I asked him if he had a phone number or email to exchange and he said that he would always be somewhere by the beach if I wanted to ride with him. He has no phone or email. Amazing…

Well I am heading home tomorrow so I won’t bore you anymore with this.

Live Life Shammy, Be Peaceful.

Love,

Jason

Blow and Morning Brilliance

‘Oh my gato’ how the energies are painted in tiny specks across a spiraling reality: how minuscule the projection appears through my weary lenses looking out from within a  nightlife capsule; the sniffles and sneezes, the dollar-menu gazes and gourmet hollowness of this place is spawned from an oath to commit an act of epic togetherness.

It is this element of absurdity that links the faded frequencies of gone people; we’ve done this before, we do it again, distance is a trophy best honored by recurring sips of powdered air.

There are warts on the morning horizon, craters on the face of dawn pop and leak fluids that unveil a recent history of conscious massacre, one fueled by an overabundance of mind-altering goodies.

‘Quick’, I think. ‘Lets clean it up before the aliens arrive. I don’t want the obvious remnants of an intentional mutilation ceremony to taint the preliminary impressions of my possible saviors’.

Oh well. I shrug my thoughts and lean into myself: an olive tree is pointing a finger at me and I grin: ‘okay, okay, I’ll play my part’, says I in a whine. I collect my frigid form and manifest a smile when all I most easily want is to play with the party people. Regaining a sense of stillness I remember the impermanence of it all and sentence myself to detention, surrendering the responsibility of playing straight.

While life seems to be descending to a fine point for the partakers of illusory escape, I am with absolute presence and awareness, in a dress fit for a clown, laughing at the process and counting the seconds until I can gracefully walk away; I am free to feel the frequencies of a morning sun without the burden of having to pop her pimples.

I gesture to leave my souring nest but pity is a poison best sipped near the entrance of a new day and I ponder my own willingness to stray the comfort of isolation. No. Not today. I can’t go on like this. Ready. Set. Go.

I escape; I scurry into daylight, my shadow trails behind and I find a seat before the sun, beside a tree nestled eloquently in a bed of mulch and stone. I drop down down down to bloody knee: I can’t go on like this. Stop. Breathe. Listen. Screeching tires, busy doors and voices of people pushing sloppy conversations through forked tongues: over it all the piccolos cry, there it is: there it is: one tree in a field of asphalt has the power to pull angels from the sky. Its 10 am, I slowly release the heartbeat that rocked me from the safety of sleep; I undress my armor of emotional impermeability and learn that I am none of the things I call myself. Ready. Set. Go.

Dear Journey,

Confession:

I think maybe I tried too hard to be a hero around this. I dressed in an armor of emotional impermeability one night in the distant past and I neglected to change suits. Today I sat in the sun; I felt small. I miss feeling small. It felt nice. I surrendered the energies to which I have been so attached, the ones inspired by you, ignited by this spontaneous connection-

I write this as the thought of you reading these words makes me feel vulnerable- it is from this source of uncertainty that I trust you, dear Goddess, to provide nourishment for my spirit; music has been a fine dose of encouragement, colors return to grace the buds in beauty’s arms with pink-pointed kisses.

Or maybe its that I hold weakness in the back of my throat and it is now creeping upwards, shorting neural connections and breeding odd ones instead- I don’t know anything, but that this is not an end is something of which I am sure, though it has presented itself as one for some time now. And so I grant it the respect it deserves and I bury it while reading these words; otherwise I might turn my back to catch something shiny and new while this precious gem reluctantly floats out to sea…

Love,

Rasham Writes

-”This is for all them girls who have ever been made to feel ugly by an even uglier man”. – Violet

 I told a man to go fuck himself today; it was after he looked me deep in my eyes and whispered those sweet sweet words. It was after we made love. It was after he revoked the meaning of every meaningful thing he had ever revealed to me. It was after he draped a cloak around his secret vulnerability and reacted like the coward who fires his gun before the bear begins to charge; it was after he looked me deep in my eyes and whispered those nasty, nasty words. Ya’ll know what I mean, no matter the actual content it was the way he said it; I mean, he said a million things and acted a hundred colorful ways but I absorbed only the base line of his poisonous message and it went something like this: “boom boom, I don’t want you in my life, boom boom, I don’t want you in my life, boom boom…”. I felt it. It hurt. I felt ugly. I felt small. I felt like runnin’ and divin’ into the coldest water to freeze the growth of sensitivity and pain, but I didn’t. I just swallowed and smiled and said, “its alright boy. You are the last brother from the tribe of indifferent men that I will ever dance with. I can say a proper goodbye now. Thank you for the challenge mister, now go fuck yourself”.

 This is gon’ be my new way, I think, makin’ it my bus’ness to know where those men come from, and tellin’ ‘em how I truly feel. Ain’t like I’m doing nothin’ wrong, I mean I ain’t hurtin’ nobody really. It ain’t my problem if he takes it personally, right? I’m just livin’ my life is all, and he should know better anyhow. Its like, what do you think is gon’ happen when you wear your selfish expectations as openly as your troubled grin? I ain’t here to please nobody! I ain’t layin’ down the right to bear myself, no way am I gon’ spread my legs kindly so he can have a taste of true power. I ain’t givin’ nothin’ to nobody that ain’t already pourin’ freely from the flow of things; why force myself further? Ain’t enough you’ve got that girl between your legs you wanna sew her up after you done, you wanna brand your name like a pretty little scar that she’ll forever wear as a reminder that she’s a missin’ a piece of her heart to you.

 I’ve been had and I’ve been a means to an end for many a mischievous man but I say enough! They made me, ya know, as a girl comin’ up in this world, tricked by every fake kiss and every false prophecy spoken from the filthy grave of his soiled dreams; I believed that love was when your name felt safe in the mouth of a well-respected man. Uh, uh, no way; and now I’ve paid my dues and I have been God-honored with the authority to love nobody but myself, and if the mosquitoes want a taste of my blood then let them have it; they’ll prick the skin of another man soon, and that will be my victory when the shaft of his cock is swollen with regret of having behaved a devil’s fool; guilt itches, my friend. Itch it long and good, watch how it changes you, I’ll wear a rosy dress to celebrate the rise and fall of your oozing fantasies, ha! I’ll bite harder than any alligator I swear, I’m tired of resting in the swamps next to other second-hand ladies; through rouge and globs of lip paint they slur from too many sips of moonshine while the moonlight shines on their tears that the water beast dries with his yellow eyes.

 I ain’t one them girls who jus’ wanna man, ya hear? I ain’t wanna sit ’round, and sip tea and talk about fancy things with lace, and whisper lyrics and batter my eyes and smell nice things and have nice things: I ain’t lookin’ for nothing from you: not acceptance nor approval, not a warm blanket or a humble bed, not a compliment or a dare, not nothin’ you can do to change me slightly, not no way for you to keep me comin’ round cause I dance to the beat of distant drums, harmonic gifts of direction granted by higher things, higher than the way you feel when you see me smile that smile that ain’t got nothin’ to do with you, not no more; I’m stronger than I seem, grace is not weak but tender like a mother lion with her cubs. Don’t you know boy? When spirits are suppressed, when they are confined, ya see, they revolt to any extreme; the spirit knows only how to be itself and it will do so under any condition, under any circumstance, whether you speak its language or not it will rise within and swell like the tides of the sea when the full moon calls. It’s like, you can take a person and you can train them and mold them and teach them how you want them to be, you can tell them that some things jus’ ain’t right and others are plain wrong, but it ain’t no use; you only gonna make a murderer, or a liar, or a rapist, or a drunk; stiflin’ energies morph and manifest in unwholesome ways when left to rot on the shelves of a restricted heart.

 So, boy, I release myself from the bonds that have held me down; turns out they were of my own makin’; but ya’ll can’t convince me to stitch them again. No way, I have a voice as strong as a million angry bees and though my soul is lyin’ on the side of a road a ruby stone in my chest has been graciously restored. So again, i”ll say it with mighty conviction, those sweet sweet words I’ll whisper in your ear; “go fuck yourself”.

I went for a walk in the forest today.

 I’ve walked many forest floors but never in this skin, never as I am today. I could say that something is different but I know the only difference is me. I understand clearly that I have nothing to give. Nothing that I could ever possibly do would benefit the forest more than my absence. This is an invitation, of course, to dance.

I danced. I imagined each tree as unique and engaged them as such. I touched the skin of these woody giants and felt forgiveness. I fantasized relationships and moved as I felt the tree would have led a human in a waltz. I laughed. I cried.

I was on my knees in the forest today. I played my part in the forest today. I was human where I stood and content as I slipped into the place where I belonged.

I have returned from a walk in the forest. Impermanence is revealed like a lightning bolt thrown from the hand of God and I’m gone in a moment. I burn myself as I thought I was and I become someone new. I surrender to the order of things, like rapid water reclines into stillness in becoming the sea. It is the center of time, a place where hungry scissors can have their way and nobody gets burned by the blades of confinement because limits have no value in the land of the free. Separate from my name, gather new ones and redefine the meaning of myself. I swat the switch to change my mind; this is the only control I can call my own.

“Do epic episodes of eccentric energies ever end? Or do they forever exist in everlasting imprints of extended tentacles?” I asked with diminished pride.

“Hold on to yourself while the ether flows around; wait: accept it, you’ll waste yourself fighting, just sink in and soak it up; flower from bud before wilting; you will have your moment and it is this life; stay open and exposed and love will find you in unexpected ways”, says the man called Mudpie.

 These lyrics that played while our tentacles interlaced serve now to ease the pleasure of hating you most wonderfully; ‘its just the way, that it is, nothing more, nothing less…’.

And so I wander back into my own skin, reclining into my easy chair, channeling melodies in city spaces and throwing off the challenge with a smile and a shrug.