we are trying.

{wild unknown tarot :: the cards that inspired these words}

We’re all just looking for a worthy adversary.  Someone to bang against in hopes to crack open the next self.  But fears make us dodge out of the way, and it seems we just watch each other fall.  And we feel like the falling is a big fail.  But it’s not. We are just trying.

So I’m saying this: let’s just stop the shit for a moment or two and lean against each other and gather the wild plants and make elixirs, pull roots from the ground that twist and turn deep and complex below the surface, + use them as they were meant to be used.  Let’s hold hands through the forest, in the dark corners of the woods, along the brush of the trails with woven baskets, filling them with reds + green + gold’s, stories of our past that bring us back home.  

We are the medicine for this senseless notion of failure.  We are medicine for each other.

It feel’s like we can’t do anything right, I know.  Every day we are continually tripping over the wrong. But you must know that somewhere…  everything is just right.  Let’s divorce the self-inflicted bruises of our honest tongues that attempt to translate the incommunicable feelings of our broken hearts.  Or else give yourself a good dose of arnica.  I will too.  Then let’s shut up.  Words can’t live in the place of the broken heart anyway.  It’s a place to just Be, the shattered qualities of this organ is only resourceful when it’s left to its full demise.  It can only come back after the silence of its sorrow is over.  When that is I can’t predict, my love, sorceress I am not.

We strangle ourselves with explanations; ego-lashing betrayals that mark skin with a brandings of foreign symbols and designs. We are space-less with our words and language is an almost impossible expression of the root of these matters: evolution’s desire, destruction’s quake, or a perfect tsunami of both. So let’s just go behind each word and feel where it comes from instead, reach for the extension of the eternal records that fills the vowels up with Truth + the syllables up with Meaning.

I keep noticing how we blame our self for the walking away and turning our backs when our fronts can’t take any more exposure.  We hold the guilt of removing love and building thick walls of protection. Let’s stop blaming ourselves for wanting too much, for never giving enough, for claiming our desires. We blame ourselves instead of just owning that we know. We know.

Let’s stop blaming our selves for just being here. We are not a burden.

The shackles of blame + shame are an illusion. So hear me out. Breath out the bondage.  Breathe in through the nose and out from the mouth.. Let’s hear that breath come outta ya nice and loud, like the wind against the water on this cold Sunday eve. Kick a few times as the breath makes it’s way through, up and down, kick you legs against the old thoughts of what was, let that big old nerve that lives up and down our middles guide us. That breath can get stuck but push through it.  A long gushing sound of all sounds, the sound that made us, the creation of exhale, of the great birth of need + desire.  There we go. Breath.  Can you feel where there air meets air and together they are swept as one.  Yes. That’s all we need right now, the only sound we need to make.

We swallow our medicine deep into our soul’s reserve and we store the roots in red bottles of our heart for later and we keep breathing, we always keep breathing and decide a nice wool hat will do us well in this cold night air.  We walk into the bay, out kinda far into the water’s grace + waves, sit in the salt to cleanse as we watch the sky grow dark on the edge of our discomfort. We gather rare jewels and unnoticed water nymphs under the last bits of light and put them in a box, a treasury for our future selves. We begin to float towards someone that looks faintly like ourselves and we wrap our arms around the sons+ daughters we once were, the flesh that was born of a prayer + gift to the world, fresh from the womb. We wrap our arms around the golden skin of possibility, against our yet-to-be-broken hearts. 

Let’s cross our bodies with the holy trinity of the moon. Then let’s take a photo of that, just for the sake of it, an act of creation that costs less than a dime and has no where to go but here.  Let’s keep it next to our hearts.  Let’s remember

Then let’s dry off with the night air and strap on shoes and wander into the streets alone to watch the world and how it works, see who looks sad and who holds their chest high and who walks so fast we don’t know how they hold themselves up.  Let’s notice how lovers kiss, how their hands interlace or how they look at each other in the eye when they speak to each other and how they still smile, how they still look in love.  Let’s follow them into corners and see how their bodies press against each other deeper and deeper, watching with heat and steam rising from our own desires. And we take notes.  We scribble their stories beside our stories.  We see them as one. We recognize them as teachers, as part of the same fertile ground of instability, of cracks and drought, of mud and fields of wildflowers.  To see the world we begin to see more of us, feel more at home.  We notice the profound grit + beauty contained in everything. We sigh in relief.  See, we aren’t failing.  We are trying.  We just keep trying.  And we wonder.  We wonder why it’s so damn hard.

Of course it’s hard. We are humans. Nothing easy about us.  Stuck between revolutions, carrying the changes through to the other side. We are complicated fuckers with suffocating emotions that we stuff into safety deposit boxes of the soul because we’d rather not be smothered.  We are wildly obese with weight from the past breaking our sacrum and keeping our spines compressed.  We didn’t create our pain; our pain came with us as a gift, a portal to carry us to where it’s At.  Let’s step inside that pain for a moment, yes, I know it stings, breaks, makes us want to close our eyes and curl in a ball, but let’s keep our eyes open and see where it takes us.  Let’s deny its lust to squash us down hard into only a particle of human, unable to move. Let’s ride the pain like the south pacific surf to the land of wonder and mystery.  We don’t know where we are going, but there is nothing else to do. How bad can it be?

If it gets too hard, jump off and stand still + strong + stretch.  Fold over to the Earth and I’ll come behind you and lean into your release.  Dig our toes into that earth and know that as unstable as it is, it always holds us up.  Let’s find time to be alone and let the silence drowned us in our own mystery.  Like really alone.  Hour upon hour and even if we can’t be away from people, we can be alone in our mind, clearing it clean, paying attention to each breath and let nothing get in the way. 

Let’s keep breathing, make space for more trying, better trying, or no trying at all.  space for our shifting brains, shifting paradigms, space for the shifting sight that comes straight from behind our eyes.

Make no choices and allow choice to choose us.  Or scream and run and jump on something really soft over and over again and laugh like a child and get naked.  Maybe its time to just sit at a bar for a day and drown our bodies in the sweet stickiness of bourbon and a single hand rolled smoked.  Maybe it’s time to beat on a drum and set up a Future Us altar, bang ourselves out until we are undressed, nothing but feathers blowing from our hair and the leftover dirt on our feet from gathering the healing roots.  

We aren’t failing even in the thick of the thickest, in the dark of the darkest.  We walk the shadow now, and it’s a good time to do it if that’s what we do.  We question what hurts, we yell at what’s dying, we pray for what seems to have no life left in it anymore.  We hold hands with the enemy.  We get quiet in the moments of grace.  We know when it’s time to announce anger.  We know when it’s time to gift unconditional acts of love.

We are trying.  We are trying so hard.  I’m proud of us.  I am.