Journal

Fall Equinox

.. is today. Some snippets of conversation, clipped out and tucked away here:

" Fall is when I feel the world the most intensely, I think because the little deaths progressing into winter bring everything closer to the realm of spirit.. which is where I feel most comfortable. "

"I think fall is the time we feel most alive because it is the time of year when the world feels most like we do. A world of changing colors, swept up in wild winds, leaning into change, a whole world whispering what it knows, the feeling of motion and purpose....."

Sunrise

I awoke this morning, trading my dreams for the feeling of being deeply nestled in the earth. Mist clung to the mountains and trees around me, and I felt as though I inhabited a magical kingdom much apart from my actual geography. The air felt new, and I remembered how much I missed this feeling of being embraced by the land, and other things unnamed.

Only Love Is Real

Friday night, I walked with my love to the ocean, where we found ourselves faced with a statue of the Virgin Mary, studded with candles. A small clipping at center indicated the cause: the faces and names of a thousand American soldiers who have died in Iraq since this last war began.

The wind whipped the flames into a frenzy, and only a handful of candles remained lit. We stood without speaking, and finally in a silent concord, we each took candles and lighters and began to light the dead flames. We moved like shadows around the statue and through the grass, and people would pass, noting the memorial and murmur thanks, or prayers. For twenty minutes we would dance, setting the candles and lighters back down on the base ledge of the Virgin Mary, then, finding more dead candles we had missed, again gather up our flames and re-light the fires.

Whomever had built the memorial left it that others could easily keep it burning. We felt like the changing of the guard, melting back into the night as we came.

On the way home we passed yet another dance, this one marked in blood on the sidewalk. Several young men were gesturing excitedly at the ground: "That's not ketchup!" "No, that's definitely blood, man." "He must've broke his nose!"

Footsteps circled eachother on the splattered sidewalk, the diary of an angry scuffle maybe an hour earlier. The pavement thick with red, drops trailing off in the distance from the departure of the wounded.

The night was filled with sirens, footnotes to the little wars taking place all over.

Crow

I'm getting sick. I can feel my throat constricting, my body waning against wakefulness.

I took a bath filled with too much peppermint oil and emerged freezing, my skin ice from the mint. The weather is 80-some degrees, and I burrowed beneath three blankets, a winter coat, and two towels to try to get my body back to normal temperature.

My body is failing me, and I am emotionally tired, but my mind is a tornado. I have been doing a lot of work on several projects, some new and some quite old.

I found a crow two days ago, sitting in the grass beneath the shade of a large oak. An unusually inquisitive squirrel circled the crow several times, staring, sniffing, before bounding up the trunk of the tree.

I walked towards the crow, and clumsily, she stood, favoring one leg. Her left wing drooped, and she would fall over in her attempts to stand, to hop, to fly. I held her in my hands while we waited for animal control. Her body was exhausted and perfectly still, while her eyes shifted about, looking for her next move.

My body today is in a similar state, my mind searching for an opening to fly.

Sequentially.