Whole-er now

It was one of the longest weeks I can remember.

Years ago, in the Nez Perce wilderness in Idaho on the river, I had my period and laid long for days on the rocks in the sun. The butterflies were nesting and we hadn't seen them on the return trip until then, not like how they showed up every day after day two on the road when they marked four corners next to truck, the blue sky morning after the protection ritual I did around the tent in Vermont that first night. In the Nez Perce it was a full moon and I cried for days, I cried deep, meaty throttling choking tears, we'd been on the road for 16, 17 months, for well over a year, I knew I was crying the river, and for the moon. For the great, deep, the retched Mama wound. In the tent on my back the mama staring at me her wide white eye I knew for sure in that airless clear way that when my heart broke the first time all the way back over a year before in the Black Hills, when Crow came to me and then the natives in the dream and then I was too scared to do the Sundance we encountered on the Res the next day(it all would have been different then, had I, this I know) that this, this in the Nez Perce, butterflies nesting there, full moon tears and me, was a continuation of what had been. God wasn't breaking my heart god was finishing that night, finishing making it whole. The breakdown that paves the way for breakthrough. Turkeys came, fat ones, big wild turkeys through the woods turkey the give away bird--you will give it away, your whole new heart grl, for the world.

Ten days ago I looked at houses in Baltimore to buy and start my boarding house. I was so syked and none of it came thru. Nine days ago the tears came in the wordless way. They fell for no reason and wouldn't stop and then my heart closed, and then I knew: it is happening again, not the breaking of the heart but the making of it whole. It hurts so bad when the thread and bandages go through. It chokes me and feels like sucking dust and I still haven't learned how not to shut down. But I am learning how to fight to re-open because if you dont do nothing well then months pass, you are deadened, grey inside, it's become you this new state of numb. Sooner and sooner each time after I close now, sooner and sooner I am able to re-open. I saw two concerts, two plays, and took myself by myself to the ballet. In these ten days with all that community and indy art I still lost my faith. I went through the motions tho, fed the vegetable body with all the food I know. On Thursday, the day before I signed my fate, Justin Sirois' book came by mail from Baltimore, and Erika's book she keeps telling me about a memoir she wants me to read that she didn't tell me she was buying me came, too. I kept trusting, I kept trusting that these were little pieces of me, of the river, of the eye of the moon. I kept breathing even tho I couldn't feel it or when I did it felt so hard. Even though I dont have anything to tie my lot to, to go forward, to catch me or latch on to when I fall. Or leap, I should say. Now that I've lept and can't see where I'm going. I kept going will keep going all the same.

I danced all night last night. All night long. I let the vegetable body transmute it all through song. I dont know what's coming, but I'm a little better today. I saw crocus' two houses down from me yesterday and more important my medicine most true, the first dandelion. I will keep going, I dont know where, but I'm for sure whole, or wholer now, and must trust in that. Must trust that I'm on my way must trust in all that I know. Must trust that all will be, or actually, that all is well.