"And maybe that's why I love you-

...you notice those things and you believe me when I make them mythical." ~Davka

i just came through this weird nebulous sometimes friendship sometimes love affair and the whole thing is that he made me believe in me, made me believe in the story of me. the things that i hold most dear. which is wild because the reality of me and him was always mostly just a story in my head, one that i told myself. one that he, too, sometimes told me or we together tried to tell each other. there wasn't a whole lot of reality, just a whole lot of what both of us tried hard to want to see.

storytelling is so important. life is nothing if not mythology, and all us, all us broken broken people are just doing what we can to cling to some kind of, or shape what we can of, a meaning. something to hold it all, to string it all together like so many little twinkling, barely there decorative lights that you branch over the cedar tree next to the garden outside in the night in summertime. and sometimes it rains, and sometimes the lights get lost in the dark green, and sometimes you just forget to turn them on.

i was with my homey prandy the other day it's the first time i saw or talked to him since six years ago the day of his wedding, in that time since we've both been in and lost our own hard, hard love. i fell crazy in love with him when i was just 16. we've had a sometimes trippy, often simple, beautiful road together since and i am happy he is still my friend. and he talked a long long while and then it was my turn and when we were both done i told him, i was coming through the dining room this morning and saw myself in the mirror on the wall and thought, i look so old. we laughed cuz the truth was i had just finished talking about spending so much time with cuzin erin and how youthful and good for my summer soulnheart that's been. but the truth also was that it was true--and i said that next. prandy, how? how did we get here, to now, how did it happen that i am suddenly 32?

and that is mythology, and what matters, and also why my truest gift is my story-teller soul. because here, him and we, we spent the four hours we were able to make for the other totally handing the other our bones: the stories of our lives, the important pieces that we hold dear. not the answers, just the steps. the steps we've taken on our paths, which, without neccesarily saying so, held the marks of how much heart in each place we actually laid down. and that is what counts, our own journey. the hero's journey is our own, every one. and how beautiful to me are the people that keep track with us, that help us see the march we're on, every so often, for the bigger version of what it is. no matter the lies or the details that we are busy trying to tell ourselves, no matter the pain of the reality: my heart is beating and bleeding but sharing our bones reminds me, i can feel! I AM Alive!! and this is what counts...our stories are what we own, are all we have...and there is relief in the little bit of medicine of this.

i am so thankful for dear friends. for sharing on their paths. and so, so grateful for what they do to illuminate my own....and today what i honor most is my own right, my own right to my own story and the understanding that i am capable, and most of all responsible to that. that my story truly is mine and the steps i take are up to only me, and my own mthology up to no one else but me to own, how i see things, how and if i choose to look....i loved someone a long time for his ability to see the life in me and that sort of got in the way of me being able to do the same.

hmmm. good medicine doesn't come easy sometimes. that doesn't mean it isn't worth it, tho