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Dear Under-earning,

dear slouching and poor posture and the incredible shrinking mess that is “Not Enough,”

I am washing my hands of you. I am amending. I am mending.

You kept me safe you kept me small you broke my falls always.

Until the waters that lay spilled across the greasy linoleum of my trailor park shame began to conspire and gurgle. Until the waters of my bottomless well began to surge and rise, to stand impossibly, giving the finger to gravity, reuniting miraculously in a whirlpool of twists and turns and endless movement. A force of creation. A force to be reckoned with. Underearning, your floodgates can hold me no more.

The gaping cavities of “too-poor-for-dentistry” are being filled with poetry and prophecy and hands stretched like scaffolding under my featherweight form. I am of the Earth now. My clinging to air currents is seeking its balance. Skipping feels better than flying these days: Earth/Air/Heel/Kick/Earth/Air/Leap/Land.



Gratitude, Chapter 2.

I am so grateful for bartering. Bartering for yoga means healing my body–my lower back which has felt like tight stitched-together plates that bite and snarl at each other–and now being present in a flexible and fluid-spined springboard of a body. Lumbar limber lyrical lalalalalalalalala!!! I’m grateful for the opportunity to Listen, for friends throwing ropes over the telephone, my many umbilicals, for buses and trains and endless means of connection. I’m grateful for Connection. For remembering the essential truth of connection, that We. Are. All. One. I’m grateful for the cleanness of my moments, the clarity of sobriety, the tunnel out of dark little hovels where I slumbered and slithered and lay dying. Alone. I’m grateful that my 13-year-old son remembered to take two buses across the lake today to bring me my shoes–the red Converse he borrowed when his own became holey and waterlogged. I am grateful for my son. I am grateful for shoes. I’m grateful for the chiropractor who is giving me a discount, who is wonderful and does kinesiology and who hears my body whispering and who has a sunlit, leafy office. I’m grateful for queerbo solidarity. I’m grateful for my clients, for their trust, for the chance to serve in this way, for the universe sending me resources. I’m grateful that I’m learning to take action to walk forward into my expansiveness, which is exponentially increasing because I’m learning to love myself enough to allow it.

Giving thanks. Giving. Gratitude as an act of Generosity.

I am grateful for queer community. Marita and eep(!)ing and Autumn and Jessiface and Capitol Hill and public dyking out and going to a writing workshop on bodylove and remembering listing “bodylove” years ago on my LiveJournal profile. I’m grateful for circles and how things come around again and again although sometimes they shapeshift. I’m grateful for a very fine romance and budding love with Amanda and grateful that she sometimes takes my breath away and grateful for the sound of children giggling. I’m grateful for the idea to write about gratitude. I’m grateful for good coffee and blank books and high quality ink pens. I’m grateful for community circles drawn together for love of the moon, for magick and candles and rattles and music. Grateful for lotion and soft skin and hot showers and soap sliding over her suppleness, and tongue-kissing and flannel sheets and laughter at bad horror flicks. I am so grateful for friendship, for learning about relationship, for learning how to listen, for having an open and absorbent heart. I am grateful for my literacy, for reading books in autumn-framed cafe windows with the sound of coffee grinders and background conversations about the environment and conversations about music and conversations about the election. I am grateful that I have a cell phone–that help is a few button-pushes away. That help is always on the way. That I don’t have to walk alone. I am grateful that my needs have been provided for thus far and that given the trend, will continue to be provided for. I am grateful for doing my passionwork and being of service. I am grateful that my bag contains poetry, pruners, a wool hat, and tickets for the Bent Showcase in which I will perform a piece about The Word. I’m grateful for words.

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Poet and Tarot Reader, specializing in Water Cartography
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