This time moving all the way through

It's so easy, the easiest way indeed, to be "depressed."  What I mean to say, to live inside that autopilot function.  I woke up this morning at Bebe's after a day of rain.  Rain like soggy riversides, rain on everything, trees made of rain, air-rain breath-rain rain in your speech.  Rainy Ravens rain day, we watched football and ate potpie at the local bar called Blue Heron.  I processed all morning first, rain cry, for the poet all things round the labyrinth again.  Chestertown a weepy sigh.  Bebe's house is made of magic, since I'd come then gone again she re-arranged so everything glows light now.  In the Cazadero Mountains I did magic for two weeks and you can not do magic with fifty people for two straight weeks and then not see the energy of all things when you get back.  So high so high.

I met two fairies they live in Cazadero tucked behind the woods.  They have friends with a cabin where I may indeed go.  Eager for warm potlucks under the deep redwoods.  The writing is ready, the hearthands of my skin digit processors are ticking.  I think about Jon at Vipassana so far south, I want to tell him his Giants made the Bowl.  I think of Gracy and my brother and sister-in-law both away at new job trainings missing the first mobile motions of their little girl.  I miss her it feels terrible but I am alright, alive, where I am meant to be.  Sad words reflexive, they are how I smile...

Meaning it could be easy to be but I'm not depressed. I'm brave enough to express all the way through!  Bebe helped me.  I learned so much at training, 9 hours of class a day and at times up to two of ritual, at least.  We'd learn then process by going out to play.  There was a time in my life when I had a home and a community and a partner, peopled through by what we'd built on our love.  Permaculture, holy permaculture took me back there again so for two weeks my heart is what my eyes were on.  Poor little closed door. I watched it surface then hide.  Surface tweaking then blocking reeling hide again.  How could I have let so fully go of who I used to be, where did the man go who helped so strongly grow these roots of me? I watched.  I kept learning and playing.  Trancing ritual praying. I am good at loving everyone, I am good at loving myself.  But my past, that bridge back there, back to me, I am good too at keeping that blocked.  Tight and closed.

O Bebe, who helped me.  Today I woke in her big sweetness, bed lush warm cabin hugging me and all the dripping trees and air outside.  I knew it was time, here I am circling again, this time moving all the way through by willing to go back.  I can open to let go, that's how to fuel the moving on.  I chopped kindling in the rain, added wood to the fire, heard it crack and cackle and came happy with the words and the morning back in to my whole life again.  This fire different here, not like the woodstove I learned when he taught me once years ago.  And Gillian sings, and Brandi sings, and these are words I eat whole to taste my own words yet unspoken but starting the first movements of dance in my mouth.  Sacred tongue.  Brandi, back again, and gillian O poet gillian poet women who I love...and I would really love to hear your voice sometime to close a little distance in my mind...


I'll go back to Cali where I  can sleep out every night...

O time.  Blessed time, the revelator.