There are words and there are spaces. I have a body wishing to flow uninterrupted towards her desires.
The bible—translated and rewritten—says, “But I discipline my body and bring it into subjection, lest, when I have preached to others, I myself should become disqualified.”
Ok, wild thought here. What if discipline is MORE good, rather than less bad. More, more, more more more. Sharpening my iron against another--allow the imagery to be sexual and non-sexual cause the result is always more life :P--learning how to flow with the qualities I cherish in human bodies, the things that make me feel free, open, vibrant, full, alive! I want to feel goooooood. I want to do good. I don’t like my mind nor the world when I am chastised and punished until I, like child at chalkboard, fill my mind with thoughts that say, “I will not…” or “I shall not…”
I want to feel good in the words and the spaces. Ok, I recently met someone who is so comfortable with themselves and all the ways they are who they are. I am getting close with a friend who is so joyful and faithful to her work. I have taken time away from friends who are wild in their approach where I am tame or inconsiderate towards the themes in life I am deeply tied to. More time apart. Rather than less of them. More time to process. Never less love for them. More living where it matters most to me. Less sacrificing of my time, energy and love in environments that make me less less less, less less less.
I question if questions of worthiness have been backwards. If questions were coincidently quiet demands.
Is the work good enough for my effort? Is the community a good fit for my temperament, my bitterness, my healing, my anger, my disposition—will I be sentenced to a life of applications. Of constant waiting to reveal the worthiness of my disposition. Will the answer to my fate await me within a package or an envelop? How much distance makes my attempts seem futile? Why have I tried to enter locked doors? Why have offers of love spoken to me from closed, haunted hearts? Why did I think brokenness led to healing? Maybe this confusion ain’t faithful protest, maybe I am deconstructing artificial homes cemented by my attention. Maybe acceptance isn’t a theory, cause it finally feels so real that I can’t deny it.
I am thinking about what feels good.
Questions have felt so goood to me for years. Like lubricant, like sweetness, like longing expectation. They were more real to me than the dead ends. They made more sense than faceless heavily-marketed demands to figure out who, what, why, when, where, how I could be sacrificial catalyst for others.
I said loudly with each movement of my body in the direction of my truth: "Who, what, why, when, where, and how is this world mine?"
Who are my people--my equals? Who can I serve in this world as a mirror? Letting our instincts flow uninterrupted. For our work to fuel and recharge one another. One who’s corruption does not harm me, one who I can pull back from edges, one who sees possibilities in the dark spaces and doesn’t expect me to explain myself or offer myself plainly for their clarity. One who trusts me to decide without constant exhaustive tiring making-me-sick-and-unstable explanations. Bout my voice, my existence, my discomfort. My breaks, continuations, my speaking and living.
I want to stop. I want to be. I want to do what feels good.
I want to break skin like an animal and I want to outgrow unwalled paths like plants do.
I have felt so alone in my life and finally in this work, this art-making, when I am alone, I crave others. Truly, truly, truly in ways never known to me before. Not from doubt, not because loneliness, but out of desire. I crave others. The experience of people. I want to see people laughing close to me, their bodies near to my own. I want to experience the warmth of their skin, their blood, their breath. This work has brought me close to life. The times I am alone, I count down til I can be around others again. To learn more. The human form is like a chamber, with levels to unlock, bridges to cross, and love to open. For this, I am so thankful. To have a body that is mine, all mine to move and use and think through. And with tears willing to flow from joy because people feel good to me. After what felt like nightmare, like never-ending uncertainty, bodies feel so good again. Pain and trauma have a lease run out—what I want has once born from insecurity—to be alone and safe from harm—is done. I love to be challenged and disciplined by humanity, by connection, in this language of life, visible through a sight that has always been here.
I feel free. I feel good. I am doing what is good.
(there may be those who are seeing me become free in a way they cannot control and please know that your bad vibes ┐(‘～`；)┌ can be felt and will be avoided yeeeet ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ )