what ya feeling right now?

Feeling is enough. 

The soft kiss of my lovers lips when I stand at the stove and least expect that press against my cheek or neck, the sticky fingers of my girls interlaced with mine as we walk down the street, the sun burning the backs of our heads.  An early morning hug with cold bare skin and wild hair and the whispering in my ear, “mama I’m hungry”.

The hot flames of a bonfire stinging the front of my face, burning away the extra something I brought to the heat, burning the rubber off the souls of my boots.  Burning my arm-hairs as I borrow some flame to spin it around and around me. Burning me into nothing more than I am. Burning me to hell and back with glory and shame.

The sharp lash of someone’s tongue devouring my ego, chewing it up and spitting it out on my barefoot.  An incisive heartache. The darker moods when the moon is only a shadow of light.  Longing for something but not sure what. Waiting to change but not sure what into. Wanting to rest but not sure where. Restlessness. The pressure of Spring against my skin, to move and shake and rise up into something.  Not knowing what. Knowing it doesn't matter.  Knowing we always rise anyway.

The nothingness of time and space when I sit down to write.  The tingle in my ass after sitting for so long.  The ache in my arthritic fingers as I try to type as fast as my brain and soul wants to pour it all out.  The ache in my fingers as I try to braid my child’s hair.  The entrapment of the ache.  The feeling of breaking free with a good long stretch. The juice of the stretch.  The wild temptress the juice brings out. How feeling wild helps me feel free.  How feeling free is such a passing feeling, unable to be captured or bottled or even held close. Because then it's not free.

A throbbing stubbed toe that brings me to the ground and those short moments when all I can do is wail and pound my fists on the ground and then feel great pain in my fists.  And that one moment when the pain magically lifts, I can say wow.  A good hair scrubbing, a good rinsing with fresh lemon juice, fresh sheets afterwards, a decently long fuck after that, and the embrace of the full moon on bare skin through big open dome above my bed.

Being buzzed, alone.  Walking city streets at night. Feeling scared of what's around the corner.  But forgetting about it because I'm too cold.  Hating the cold and loving the warmth. Hating the heat and loving a cool rain. Lace panties against worn jeans. Wooden healed clogs that make my feet ache but lift my ass really nicely so the ache is so worth it.

Bare feet out on the cold forest floor to take a first morning pee on the ground. First morning air on my skin. First morning breath in my lungs.  First morning exhale of fresh air.  Feeling the reception and the giving. Of air.

Suffocation of children climbing all over me.  Missing children climbing all over me because they are getting bigger and don’t want me so much.  Open to being climbed on again.  Closed to everyone else just for a moment. Or longer. Jealousy. Scared shitless. No faith or hope. In awe. Sitting in comfort somewhere holy like on that bad-ass rock that comes from the floor of the sea or the edge of my own soul, in joy and pain, whatever it is, just being there.

Just feeling it.  Feeling it is enough.

{{What do you want to feel?}}