Feeling Heady

I fondle my pubic hair when I read. A remarkable tension is released when my fingers rub through follicles unceremoniously pressed between panties and skin; the daylong restriction undone. Naked under my blankets I feel sexual and heavy breathed yet I'm without the desire to bring my fingers down through my pubes into that delicious slit, slowly and deeply into that wetting cave and up again to that playful nub that coos for more, baby.

No. Now I feel like playing with the keys while I open and close my legs and think about those wonderful feelings between two passionate bodies. The tingles will grow louder but now, now I'm not ready. Now I will imagine breasts pressed, lips embraced, and hands slowly rubbing curves and crevices wanting more but knowing slow in this moment is best. Yes, I will just type and periodically bring my fingers to my face and inhale the earthy smell of my cunt and feel a new tension mount.

Now I will absently lick my mouth and suck my cheeks, bend my hips and firmly press my legs together. Linger on my breasts and watch my nipples harden, feel them ache and coo, baby. Now my touch is firmer on my chest and neck, my jaw clenches and. My skin feel smooth and warm

Damn

Just got off the phone with my younger sister. She's so responsible and has a successful career going in Ottawa. It was so difficult articulating why I want to spend this summer exploring (my psyche, Canada, nature, wild plants, strangers, my heart, etc.) and, if you've ever spoken your truth to someone who simply doesn't understand, someone who you have this complicated relationship with, one full of expectation and social design, and you just don't jive, well, it left me feeling shitty.
Shitty and confused and bungled. I need to leave right now. I need to get away and free my head space from these people looking at me with their disappointing sheep eyes. My family - Bah!
They don't understand. Well, my mom might. She's a freer spirit but is still weighed down with being poor and victimized. But my dad. Woh. This is the guy who thinks pro-wrestling is the shit. Who hasn't read a book since leaving high school (and if then?). He's the guy who has lived with his mother for 45 of his 50 year life. Who watches TV 8 hours a day. He's the guy who will look at me like I'm all kinds of crazy... and yet this is the guy whose expectations I don't want to disappoint and I ask myself WHY!? Why am I holding onto this when it's pulling me down pulling me down down down?
These people in my life don't understand.
And it's because of them that I question myself. That I live in this dual world of lies and truths. That I'm failing at being me and failing at being society. That I've hermited away in this room all winter afraid to be in the world because, you know, I'm "incapable". I feel like screaming but I can't... imagine the response that would get! These people. Who are these people I'm related to? Why is a part of me trying to be like them, forcing me to be like them and clouding my mind trying to figure them out?
Yes, I'm waking up. More and more. I'm finding myself inside this web of lies and I'm growing stronger and clearer and my voice is louder by the day. I am leaving this place behind and I won't return until I am my own person.
This is my birthday pact.

Twenty four hours in my day. Twenty four years in my life.

I wrote this as an email to a friend of mine yesterday (who thought I was turning 23). It pretty well sums up what I think about being 24 so I thought I'd post it.
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Thanks for the birthday wishes, S!
I'm much older than you think. 24 today. Woh.
Kinda weirded out: I got an email from my self at 22 (www.futureme.org). I'm not who I wanted to be... but I'm closer, right? I don't know what that means, actually. If we want and want without stopping, breathing, and really feeling the ground beneath our feet how do we know who we are. Or maybe I meant something more articulate... like, something I can't put into words right now; it's still that weirded out feeling.
The email made me feel old. It made me feel like a broken record. I'm spinning on this table and I feel like I'm moving but... repetition and skipping and staying in one spot...
Oh 24! What is this age!?
I wrote to myself at 26 and 28 today. I'm kinda masochistic like that.
I feel weird about 24. Like, 24 is something responsible and put together and I'm not those things. Like, 24 should be well on your way.... To what? 24 doesn't belong to me. 24 belongs to society. I guess that's why I feel off. Not only am I disappointing myself but I'm also disappointing society. But what does that even fucking mean?! Dammit, S. Life is so wonderful and beautiful and then we have these expectations that mess the whole thing up. Let us just Be!! Let us decide freely what we want to be and embrace our journeys, each and every one of our personal journeys through this mysterious chance encounter with Earth.
You know what really confuses me? People who don't wonder about the meaning of life. People who think they've figured it out by grabbing onto some fucked up doctrine. People who think we're just decomposing particles. People who think everything can be explained. Well fuck if that doesn't just minimize the whole Universe! We are mysterious. Our time on Earth is so... improbable. And then we're domesticated and given blinders; encouraged, taught, and forced to abide... by who? by what? What is it we're so dutifully following or trying to follow? It should be that voice in ourselves! It should be the wind in the trees and moon in the sky; nature flows more articulately than anything human's have written. Why are we ignoring her? I have not been happy holding on to the forced life and I will never be happy until I let go and run. Until I learn the language of the wind. Until I meet the horizon. So what is it that I hang onto at 24? What are these expectations and what do they mean?
24 feels circular; I've made it around the face of the clock and... it's a new beginning... a new day in my life.
24 is a big number. If I'm a lucky statistic I have almost 1/3 of my life lived. How crazy is that? But what about reincarnation? Do you think it's possible? When I was younger my 2 year old cousin used to say, "There's where my daughter lives" whenever we passed by a certain house, (unfortunately my aunt is steadfast against reincarnation and didn't pursue his conversation). And I've heard so many stories of children finding THEIR children and grandchildren. Plus, the Dhali Llama - the dying Llama will direct the other llamas toward the place where he'll reincarnate and then the child they find... well, it's rather remarkable. We are so mysterious. How can we possibly say we have the answers? How can we possibly be that arrogant and closed off? ... Of course, my declaration is just as arrogant...
Anyway, I really have to ask myself what this means. What does it mean to be unsatisfied at 24? To feel like something is missing from this grand and awesome life I have to work with? It's such a peculiar thing, yaknow? And I feel the waver and the tilt inside of me when I think about living my life my way. There's an equally strong force pushing me away from this decision as there is pulling me toward it. I guess it boils down to choice. Which feeling will I allow to be stronger? This is the choice I've always had to make and I've always never made it; comfortable in my Limbo. But that's a sad use of this life...
I talk and I think about what I have to do, I think and I talk myself into it and up to it and still, I've always known the answer. To manifest that answer, there's the rub! So let's make a pact. I don't know what you're wrestling with S, the specific conversation you're having with the Voice in your head, but whatever it is, let my 24 year old wisdom tell you that you have to follow it. (You know, if you haven't already made that decision...!).
Well, that's my birthday rant. I feel agitated and explosive. I want to fly atomic in outer space, to collide with galaxies and casanove with stars. To make love with a few black holes.

I lied. Again.

I'm not actually bicycling across Canada.

I say that I am because it's easier than talking about my real, wayward and purposeless plan. And I lie because it's been my mechanism since I was little in order to protect my dreams and my self.

If I lie how will you know how to stop me? hurt me? break me?

This lying business has gotten out of hand and I don't know what is true any more. So, it's time to grow up and speak honestly.

Here it is, the beginning of my practice: My intention is to embody what freedom means to me: To not answer to anybody but my heart. I want to give myself the opportunity to shed the extra senses given to me by my so-called lot in life and by my family. I want to discover the lost Ark of Me.

I've tried this many times before. Those were times that didn't work out because I wasn't free enough. My outside lives still suffocated my inside Life. I had the pressure of finding a job. Finding friends. Worrying about money. Worrying about doing things right. And other pressures that come while living in the civilized world; those cramping bombardments that distract you from your real purpose. Plus, I was really young. I didn't know what I was doing and I was still my biggest enemy.

I am still my biggest enemy.

Despite appearance, I do not give up. I know when something feels wrong and I move on to something else or I detach myself until the thing that trapped me is over.

This. Isn't. Working.

My purpose is 'to find me.' To let the girl-child go and allow the woman to bloom. I can't move on with life until I start this process 'the right way'. Total freedom is two months on a bike with no direction, no worries, no expectations. "Just let me be while I do my thing." And then go from there into civilization, more or less.

I just want to figure out who I am. To start that I need to get away from people I know. I need to get away from forming new relationships. I need to run until I need to stop.

A part of me wonders if I'll 'succeed' this time. I fight those moments when something inside pushespushespushes against my habit'd and normal responses; an action, a thought, a feeling... A sensation will follow that urges me to change course, tells me I'll make progress if I allow It to grow. But I fight it and I grow hot and burn a fury inside as these energies box for their glory.

I'm afraid of stopping this auto-pilot. I'm afraid I'll break down. Right now. Immediately. And I don't want to do this with other people close to me, clouding my mind with how I perceive their expectations and disappointments and the heaviness of their energies. I've held off the truth for so long, out of anger and resentment and fear and... have built so many lies. I am a lie.

A truth: I am a dreamer and a runner. I want to be the woman I feel contractioning inside of me and I want to give her birth. I want the freedom of knowing nobody.

I'm scared, excited, moved, and enthralled by the break down.


(Picture: My Grandmother in front of her sister's house, Newfoundland.)

to speak and not be heard

let me speak about voice.

i can do this best by using my own as an example, yet i hesitate lest i speak too much about my insecurities for those are entities entwined as ironic lovers, bold and strong. i desire these bed mates part to allow new growth yet... i've grown so comfortable with my voice. it is me. it's soft and soothing. gentle and acquiescent. the type of voice that mixes play and love. it's easily trampled and dismissed. it's under heard and over stressed. the type of voice not taken seriously.

a giver and a giver. and a giver.

voice is an accessory to personality, like countenance and stance. for me, it speaks the deepest vulnerabilities in every nuance. i wear it on my face and i shirk and smirk and run away from speaking my truth.

i wonder if it's because i AM the things i fear i am or if it's just a fulfilled prophesy of my own.

voice. oh, to be silent and alone. to not speak to others and fear their voices. i could talk about emotional abuse but i won't.

voice. what is it? how do we change it? rather, how do we allow that change? and this is what i didn't want to talk about. my voice dragged it out. those insecurities come so naturally in expression, in cadence and tone, sitting on my tongue waiting for my voice to carry them...

so, let me talk about voice. let me talk not about expression but the repression of voice.

voice. oh, cruel master. gritted teeth and tight jaw. held back and swallowed blue until all you can do is scream or punch a wall. alone, of course.

second guess. pull away. and run. hide. squat and watch and work your courage. go over conversation in your head. prepare. prepare. prepare. and don't form deep relationships.

because of course you suck. and you're a bitch. oh, and don't forget how you're always wrong!

hide voice. protect voice.

voice is the window to the self. self is where you get hurt. voice and self, protect them both.

there's a part of me that doesn't associate with my voice. my voice is the part of me i show people and i am full of lies. my true self, my true voice, is hidden and she only comes out in silent darkness and this is my issue. i have no idea who i am. lies are meaningless. i am meaningless? i don't know. i really don't know why i sometimes blog since i don't associate myself with these words. ok, sure on some level i do. but mostly i want to bury myself in Spring soil and grow on my own until i'm ready to face the other flowers. i'm a runner and a dreamer and those things don't manifest well in reality, so i've been told.

but let me run! let me dream! let me find my true voice and sing to you. let us all find these things we crave in the deepest and most raw corner of ourselves.

let me be brave and courageous in taking on the next staircase and let me find my strength and endurance to follow it through.

Earth Rape and Freedom

Yesterday I bicycled to Smiley's Park and Campground to listen to the River. During my first visit she granted me much of her wisdom, I was astonished. My second, far less. Men were working noisily behind us and I felt violated in my privacy and sad for the River and the Earth. I wonder, why do some humans choose and encourage devastating activities over simply listening and following the natural rhythm? I can't even imagine the intelligence we've sacrificed for this puny, circumstantial and bitter existence.

Sigh.

I'm really, really, really... really aching to get on the road. Excited beyond measure by what I'll experience and, fuck, the sheer freedom I'll have! I'm a bit afraid, for what I'm going to do at the end of the road? I need to remind myself often that this journey is one of self-discovery and expansion and I simply don't have all the answers to the questions that the practical, responsible person in my head is asking.

I've resolved to tell my dad on Wednesday. That'll be the day after my 24th birthday. It makes me cringe knowing that I'm so afraid of what he'll think of me and how he'll react. I have to remind myself that he is not adventurous, not independent, and is certainly the most boring individual I know. He just won't understand. He can be so mean and he'll make fun of me and try every chance he gets to prove I'm incapable of taking care of myself...

And me. I'm so dependent on him. I hate thinking about who I'll be if I stay and 'follow the rules'. Tara wrote the most amazing post the other day. Her closing line was "I've become who I always dreamed I was." A perfect song that vibrates directly to my soul. I know what I have to do. And I know it won't be easy. But what we are is meaningless if it's not the truth.

this isn't wonderland

a cheshire moon grins through a tree into my window. i lay on my bed looking into the fragments of a life i wrote so long ago and wondering how i'll look back onto these words. so many words have passed through my fingers, so many thoughts and feelings riding their backs, and yet what did they mean? what are they worth? i am not those words and no longer am i those feelings. yet they belong to me, they waited for me for... what? the cat grins mocking and i curtly but briefly relieve my tongue of its mouth.

soon i'll be gone from the confines of this house. freed from the old man downstairs and his subtle arts of manipulation. shed from the skin of many selves past. it seems like forever since i first came back here but it's only been fivepointfive months. an eternity, actually. in this time i've fought to hold onto my dreams and i fight still for their manifestation. he won't understand this desire to bicycle across the country. he won't understand that strength in me that tells me i can do this. he won't see who i am and i fight his perceptions. i fight his destiny off from my own. he chose his. i'm choosing mine. fuck off. fuck off. FUCK OFF.

and so i hermit in my room lost in blogs of the vital women i've grown to adore. who i've adopted as sisters. who i shyly wish sat in the field behind this house, under this disappearing moon, with their stories of life and love and telling me i'm not loony for wanting my own kind of freedom, my own kind of life.

and still the moon sits above the pasture... a paradox of meaning.

make love in her waters

there are times when i take out my pen and i take out my paper and i hold them together, still. pen meets paper and both grow hungry. wetting. anticipating. pen wants to fuck, make love to paper, turn her ten ways inside out covering her untouched body in kisses and licks and swirls. and paper lays down waiting, wanting, heaving with passions unwrit. waiting. wanting. waiting... waiting...

these are the times when words sit on the surface of my skin heavy with airs of superiority, an unwillingness to translate through my voice. they sit, smug and scornful, sipping herbal tea wondering what karma gave them this fate of ill use.

but there are times when i dip into the river's creativity. there are times when i'm not ashamed to open my soul to her taste and she fills me with passions as i writhe inside of her and her words flow through me.

here it is

i just finished reading my past posts and i'm torn between knowing her and wondering who she was. it's been just under two years since starting this blog and it's been a year+ since being here and it's been at least a year since remembering its existence.

should i play catch up or start fresh?

i've entered transition. for now i'm under my dad's roof without a university degree (long sordid story: administrative incompetence and my own disillusion). in may i will turn to my bicycle and head cross country to expand, learn and live. in a few years perhaps i'll learn midwifery. for now my heart is where it's always been: just over the horizon. i plan on meeting it and taking it for a wild adventure.

no longer feeling external pressure to be something. rather, no longer letting myself feel that pressure. i am only me and i will only do what i please.

i spent the summer in british colubmia. i returned home in november feeling different, more in tuned with who i am, what i want, etc. and i feel the power to live my dreams. sure, sometimes i feel lost and sad but i know that's situational. being home in rural canada isn't the most mind blowing experience. that will change in may and that's what's keeping me strong.

i guess what interested me most in reading past posts is the week between writing 'how lonely am i' and 'fuck it, i don't know what will happen' and 'i just met chris!' - totally hilarious. update with chris: we slept together as friends for 7 months. it was nice. still friends, without the fucking though (and good thing. i learned i shouldn't take fucking lightly).

anyway, i'm finding this whole writing thing is boring the hell out of me right now. more later? who knows given my record.

JK