Homes of Whimsy

Liminal space. Between day and night, I sit on a great rock, one of a pile put here to keep the tide out and small children in. the light races the sun to the horizon in wild swaths of yellow and pink, the blue veil of night just behind in silent chase. The clouds that float above and within the fray reflect all that they see, water table communities dancing, showing the world a glimmer of something ‘more.’

I am a part of that 'more,' I'm finding more and more recently. Separate, though not the cold, untouchable, museum kind of way. But in a dancing starlight, firefly in a field kind of way, knowing I've got one foot here and one there, caught between two worlds much like time in this receding twilight.

I was called 'bizarrely fascinating' today by a woman I find amusingly attractive. She'd watched from her car as I raced along a curb, trying to see how fast I could go without losing my balance, all before ducking under a tree to take the grassy, pine needley shortcut. As she put it, I "just didn't care."

I've been called bizarre before. I've been called fascinating. And I've even been called both a time or two, but it's rare that someone says that I don't care. It's happened twice now in as many months, and both times it was an outsider’s perspective of my reflection of simply being. It's not that I don't care. I simply care differently.

It occurred to me rather sadly that the world has lost the necessity of whimsy. The absolute requirement of existence the shove aside custom and pretense and expectation (read 'prejudice') and be willing to accept the ridiculous and fanciful as being. We have it as children, with our faerie tales and our knights and their dragons and pirate journeys in cardboard boxes. Yet somewhere along the road we let them drop away, these fancy, fanciful things. Not all of them, mind you, for they can cling to us tenaciously, drawing our eyes and hearts to these tales and treasures in the form of movies and books. Yet still do we succumb only a moment, letting fancy pass as amusement.

I cannot exist thus. I never allowed the fanciful to drop away. On the contrary I swept up these fancy friends and kept them to me in pockets and bags and song and verse, desperate not to let a single sparkling one escape my notice. I am not always successful, but what fun it has been! And discovering new ones, new moments of wonder, little glimpses of prose and color, alive and dancing.

I see now that so many of these children swirl and spiral on the winds. They are homeless, orphaned. Is it any wonder they cling to one such as me? Like cats, the whimsy eat well and live loved in my care.

The edges of the liminal fade as blue waters flow to black in the coming night. The waves crash upon the rocks below me, white foam waving goodbye as I climb back down and return home, the Moon growing stronger, showing more of her wondrous face with each day, keeping the stars company.

Moving, and other nonsensicals

It’s been a bit, but it’s been a BUSY bit…

So, I moved. It went a lot smoother than it could have, but I have come to the point in my life where I will simply have to hire movers. Between the books and the piano, I’m not doing this again myself. Grant you it was a lovely day spent with my mom and my brother-in-law and my aunt and my cousin, cracking jokes and having a rather grand time between carrying crap-loads of stuff, this will be the last time I move myself.

Speaking of which, can I just say PIANO!!! I’ve been playing for about four weeks now regularly, and I’m getting good again. It’s an electric masterpiece, 88 keys, and it has sound-changing features that are too much fun to play with. Makes me SO incredibly happy!! Thanks, Mom!

I’ve also started painting regularly again. My walls are WHITE, staunch, stark, YOWZA white, and it makes me a little weak in the knees to look at how naked they are, so I’ve started creating work to hang. It’s going REALLY well, and I’m finding some interesting things popping up to be painted in colors I normally wouldn’t use. Give me 6 months and this place is going to be dancing off the walls.

Speaking of dancing, my living room is big enough to dance in. It’s also big enough to practice poi spinning in. I love this place. Can you tell?

And honestly, what I love is living alone. I was hesitant at first, being me and being afraid of being alone and forgotten, but in all seriousness, I fucking LOVE this. It’s less about responsibility and more about expression and self-revelation and being able to let loose and not give a crap because it s MY SPACE. I love people, I love being with people, and I love living with people, but it’s so nice to have my own space where I’m able to chill out and not feel cut off or shoved away.

I also live right down the street from Dominick’s, which means shopping is a challenge. I don’t like shopping at Dominick’s because they are expensive compared to Jewel which is about a mile down the road, but it has REALLY nice produce and their organic stuff is nothing to sneeze at and it’s 200 feet from my door. I can’t argue well against it. Although I did bike to Aldi’s then to Jewel and back home with almost a months’ worth of food about two weeks ago, which was very fun. Also being alone lets me eat exactly what I want, no more no less, and I’ve managed to lose almost 10 pounds already! Huzzah! 10 more and I’ll be set for July. What’s in July, you ask? More on that later.

All in all, life is good right now. I’m comfortable in a way I haven't been really ever, and I’m meeting my main goal without even trying: letting go the mask of reflection. Not entirely, mind you, because it has its uses, but for most of my life, I’ve felt like I was a mirror of all I see, reflecting back what I thought people wanted by mimicking and absorbing (to a point) who they were and showing them that image played back a la personal improv. It worked for a while, but I started noticing the difference between the mask and me. The more I noticed, the more the mask slipped or malfunctioned, leading to profound social awkwardness and leaving me not knowing what to do because I so rarely flew solo.

Now I’m finding that not only do I leave the mask at the door, I don’t always bring it with me. I have whole days outside my own little world where the mask comes up rarely, leaving me exposed. I do feel exposed much of that time, but not in the shameful, ‘I need to cover up’ kind of way, but in the ‘Here I am, world, worship my awesomeness!’ kind of way. Or something like that. Perhaps not the worship, though there are moments when I truly am worthy of it. And that understanding of self-worth is cropping up now as well, which is both new and exciting. It’s hard not to celebrate yourself when you hardly thought you were worth much and you come to find out, “Wow, I’m kind of a big deal.”

But anyway, I just came in from a walk and I have a second post to put up. It’s the result of Orion Foxwood and a beach walk sonnet, so prepare for Whimsy…..

Carrie under crass

I never thought I’d say this, but I actually think this semi-nude photo thing for Carrie Prejean is a positive development. If nothing else, it has the power to inspire empathy on her part for being attacked publicly for a conscious display of sexuality. Now she knows what it is like to have her own sexuality attacked simply for existing. She knew it was against the rules of the pageant, so she hid it. Now she understands what LGBT individuals go through with their own families, with friends, with society at large when they come out every single day. Some hide it, knowing what consequences there might be, much like Carrie did when she hid the existence of these photos, but others don’t. We step into the world, and we come out as being who we are each and every day, fully aware of possible consequence.

Personally, this nudity stigma that the has been hammered into current thinking like an ice pick is unnecessary anyway. I think the image of Carrie Prejean, aside from the pink, is quite lovely, and in different context could be seen as almost artful.

Needs better lighting, though...

Home alone - It begins

Note: Note sure why I didn't post this Apr. 30th... but here we go.

So I walked out the door yesterday knowing I was coming home to nothing. Theo and George were moving out ala hired movers about mid day, so I was going to come home to an empty apartment. It felt weird, and I thought it was going to be abrupt and strange, especially without Vivianne, resident kitty.

I wondered about it all, that changes coming and the changes happening, and in a fit of whim I pulled out my deck (alchemical tarot) and ended up with these three cards:

2 of Staffs (wands) – a joining of two flames toward a common goal. The sharing of passions, merging of actions. Whether between two people romantically, or between a teacher and student, one passing the flames of understanding to the other in emotional reverence.

7 of Swords – time to pick you weapon. Consider your options, and choose that which will serve you best in the future. The rest must be left to the wayside. Not necessarily cut away forever, but set aside for singular, appropriate focus.

Ace of Swords – The pillar of possibility in intellectual pursuits. The seeker takes the step upon the path to knowledge, discernment, and understanding. The time has come to dive in head first, and take in the beginning of a path that comes from traditional knowledge and the ways that have come before, so that your own way may become clear through interpretation via intellectual digestion and rumination. (Wow, run-on sentence, much?)

Whoa. Ok, I can do that. It occurred to me then that this was indeed a time of beginnings for me. I’m living on my own for the first time (I don’t count college), I have a solid job that is relatively secure, and I make enough money that I can squirrel away savings in case the unspeakable happens (commence wood knocking). Ok, that works.

Then I got a wild hair. I pulled out my rune bag and pulled out three of those as well, focusing on my personal journey as opposed to simply the environment in which events are taking place. I received:

Kenaz – the torch. Odin journeying into the cave to speak with the talking head oracle comes chiefly to mind. But in his hand, the torch to light the way. The way is set, and I have been given a Guidepost by which to know the way. Though I may not see the path, I can still see my feet, and that can be good enough.

Mannaz – mankind. To work for the community as whole, not simply my own existence. My community work is becoming more prevalent and more in depth as the weeks progress. I must make sure I understand what I wish to contribute and what I am capable of contributing. I’ve been known to downplay my gifts and strengths for most of my life, and though that leads to caution, it also leads to lack of confidence. I understand well my abilities as they currently stand. I know what I am and more importantly what I am not comfortable doing, alone or in community. The time has come to step off the ledge into the world, and build my wings on the way down if necessary. But even then, I may not need wings to glide.

Laguz – water. Not the tranquil waters of the element which most of us associate, but the turbulent, unforgiving seas on which the Vikings sailed. A storm is on the horizon, but I would not be forging toward it if I wasn’t ready for it. I know I can not only weather its trials and survive, but can I thrive. I fear it in a way, but it is foolish to fear that which cannot be avoided. I know the seas will rock and roil and throw me about, but I know well how to swim. I will swim and sail and ride the storm out, and know more about myself by its end.

So, I'm in for a fight. I knew that. Been feeling it for a while. I knew this summer was going to be hell, and I don’t mean the heat outside. I know now the time has come for me to start fighting for my life and battling for my community. Let the games begin.

Pt 2:

Home again, home again, jiggity jig. Home to… Open rooms. I actually forgot how much space we had in this place. It’s huge and echoic and all mine! For roughly three days, two of which will be filled with work. But last night proved lovely in its solitude. Theo and George left a couple odds and ends around (so not a big deal) including Theo’s speakers, so I got to listen to My Chemical Romance while working out a bit last night. Alone. It was beauteous.

And I actually slept with my door flung open last night. That hasn’t happened in YEARS.

My only dilemma now is how to plan out tomorrow’s time so all three things that need to get done can. Painting, getting my new cable modem/cable box, and finishing boxing everything up is going to take some doing, especially with a possible second coat needed for that one wall, but it should all work out in the end. And if not, whatever happens will work, too, so no worries. It is what it is.

Note: again, not sure why I didn't post this. Oh well....

Polyamory and Further Packing

So it was a rather lovely Sunday. Headed out to the Occult Bookstore on Milwaukee ala a Blue Line that had exactly one track running. What is about soggy days that makes the CTA think that crippling a critical public transit artery is a good idea?

Anyway, the discussion was facilitated by the ESC (Earth Spiritualists of Chicago) on Polyamory. Some of you may remember a similar discussion in Chicago with special guests Oberon and Morning Glory Zell on the subject, but as much as I love Oberon Zell, he tends to sugarcoat the entire idea structure of polyamory. He speaks of smooth transitions, flowing relationships, and how none of the women he’s ever engaged in this way were ever mad at him or bitter or anything. Maybe not to your face...

With that thought, a word on the negative connotations of this word. Polyamory: This is not a cheap excuse to cheat. This is not a ‘free love, no responsibilities’ situation. Hells no. This is about balanced, honest, healthy relationships between more than 2 people. It can happen, it can work, and it doesn’t have to end in bigamy or nightly orgies or other such things. Well, the orgies, MAYBE, but only in private, safe circumstances involving consenting adults. But I digress…

That is not to say that the sordid reputation of the poly community as well as the censure therein is not wholly unearned. Unfortunately, like any group of people, there have been instances where stupid people doing stupid things got noticed, and the entire group got slandered for their actions, regardless of involvement. These people are remarkably fewer than one would be led to think, but their philosophies of irresponsible behavior are trumpeted by those who disagree with the concept as a whole and cast the rest of us in a bad light. Let me explain.

One of the greatest misconceptions is that polyamory is an easy, ‘no frills’ way to sleep with whomever you so choose without losing the stability of your everyday partner. Thought process: you get the normal everyday meal package but still get to go out for a snack whenever you want. Cut this thought from your heart. (Catherine Valente, “In The Cities of Coin and Spice”) Polyamory, to me, is about WORK. HARD word, honesty, trust, and sound judgment on the part of everyone involved, just like any monogamous relationship, with one big twist: boundaries need to be established, agreed upon, comfortable, and maintained. These relationships are in a lot of ways much harder to keep healthy than monogamous relationships because of how much goes into them.

Now, the opener for the discussion was “Why Polyamory?” It’s a good question. I’ve always felt, as you may have surmised, that it is practically impossible to find everything you are looking for in balanced, healthy companionship in a single person. I’ve tried it, repeatedly, and it just doesn’t function. Monogamy works for some people, and to them I say, “You found a good one. Fantastic for you! KEEP HIM/HER!” For me, it just doesn’t work that way. I believe whole-heartedly that you can have a stable, healthy relationship involving more than one partner and be fulfilled as a person while still fulfilling the emotional, spiritual, and physical needs of those partners.

The big thing for me, as it usually is, is balance. Finding someone to share a relationship with not only me, but with any other partner(s) that may be involved. Understanding needs to be had from the offset on what’s going on, what expectations are in the relationship, and to me, being able to have these people in the same room without it being heinously awkward is a serious thing for me. I WANT to be able to openly communicate with each partner, and be able to say the name of the other without getting daggers or drama queen sighs. Trust has always been the most important thing in a relationship to me, sex or no sex. Being able to be open and honest and not be judged, but also knowing that I am receiving that same respect in being forthcoming. Even if my partner and I are free to see who we choose on the side, I would still want mutual check-ins on how things are going. Not necessarily for approval, but for healthy updates and understanding. If I see that someone is not good for the person I am with, I am going to speak up, and I would expect that same respect and honesty in return.

Definitions, I’ve found, within the Poly community seem so crucial to establishing these much needed boundaries. I don’t use them, personally. I seek ideas and understanding, but words are not necessary to define and ‘box in’ those ideas. This lends itself in my head to my own pagan ideology, and the concept that words have power. These words in particular, at least for me, bring a kind of closed-minded compartmentalization to the relationship between two people in this context. Words like ‘Primary partner’ and ‘secondary partner’ bring to mind a hierarchy structure that can be both useful and destructive.

Many participants in the discussion shared my views along with others during the course of the afternoon, which allowed me to sit back and take in other thought processes. So refreshing. The open dialogue also helped me to truly concretize my own perspective. And the group therapy feel was only prevalent for a few minutes as a couple who were newly exploring this avenue joined us late, bringing with them their ongoing story of explorative newness.

Afterward, I hitched a ride home with one of the great minds of my acquaintance and packed some more. Packing the altars was a trip, but what’s funny is that the energy in the room has remained pretty constant with a pregnant pause about it, as if awaiting the new surroundings. It’s going to be quite interesting to get these things set up in the new place.

Kitchen and bathroom now being primarily taken care of, it’s down to the awkward time of ‘most of my life is packed and I’m living on the minimum.’ Fun. But it’s ok. My biggest concern is getting those two walls painted Friday morning. Home Depot, here I come!

Sociologist coming out, fair warning

So, @theogeer brought something to mind today that decided to turn itself into a self-discussion. Blame him for this.

As I have said before, I tend to skirt the fence, or just plain stand on it, when it comes to a host of issues. That is not to say I am wish-washy, quite the opposite. I know where I stand, and generally I stand in the middle because I can see the validity of both viewpoints, but in the end, I do know exactly where I stand on 95% of the issues presented. The others I am still researching, because I like to be informed before I come to a conclusion. That said, spiritually I ride the fence of connection to the Divine and Deity, and that tends to perturb people. Let me explain.

I didn’t really have solid terminology for this until about three years ago, but in practice, I am a panantheist. The Divine is immanent in all things, touching all life, ingrained in every aspect of everything. It is also centered in beings, Gods/Goddesses, spirits, the transcendent beings that provide focus for the Divine.

But in my heart of hearts, I am a hardcore pantheist. The divine exists within all things, and the notion of ‘god’ is an abstract as opposed to an anthropomorphic entity.

The reason for this difference is two fold. First, and not the least of which, I recognize individual consciousness beyond my physical senses. I understand that a lack of consciousness that I am aware of does not mean that something does not have power, have energy, and have connection to the Divine.

Secondly, and this is a finer point that some don’t share, but I also recognize the deification of a person or idea. To give power to something is a heavy, hearty thing, and not to be taken lightly nor ignored. Concepts can be given power simply in their naming, consciousness in the thinking of those who ponder them. Angels, deified people, hell rocks in the ground such as the Blarney stone, are given power because of belief. Focused concentration giving energy to a concept, an idea given life through the light of those who seek it.

My own connection to Divinity becomes somewhat fractured at that point, because I recognize the validity of both views and exist within both viewpoints. I know that the Deity I connect with most readily, the Morrigan, is an entity onto herself (three in point of fact, but more on that another time). She is indeed a force to be reckoned with, the great howling form at the gate between, the guardian ushering the seeker across the threshold, keeping them safe but not shielding them from reality. The carrion crow flying down into the heart of battle to pull out the eyes of the enemy. The connection to death that all life has, whether they like it or not, and the lack of fear that comes at the moment of death, when all that exists is what lays beyond the veil. I know all this well, and yet I also know that is equally as valid and as powerful as the great geode sitting on my bathroom floor. It is no greater, in reference to the Divine, than a strand of hair upon the wind, holding the very essence of its owner even as it travels its own path. Separate consciousness, equal connection. Recognizing the Divinity of all creation, of all that is life, I see the differences between and yet know they are one, and through it all flows the essence of everything that simply is. By name, by sight, by scent, it simply is. And in so being, it is Divine.

And all this came from a notion by @theogeer that he had been experiencing a disjointation (Is that a word? It is today.) with Deity recently; a disconnection. Read here: http://tinyurl.com/d7bgme This really resonated with me because I have been feeling similarly.

Now this is not the severe, self-imposed feelings of utter lifelessness of past posting, but simply a wistful want of that connection, lost in the shuffle of mundania and most recently of moving. Nothing kills energetic equilibrium like trying to pack your life into a box or forty. I don't have NEARLY that many, but you get the point.

So tonight I’m off to the outdoors to get my head out of the crap I’m in and reconnect. I would do this at home, but it would simply be more of the same, and that won’t do.

I’m wilting. This day at work needs to be OVER.

Suicide at 11

My heart goes out to the families and friends of those two boys, Carl Joseph Walker-Hoover and Jaheem Herrera, who both ended their own lives due to bullying. This comes not only from someone who is compassionate of the situation, but who has been there.

When I was in school, I spent the vast majority of my life in therapy because I was violent in school. My shrink said it was my fault; school administrators said it was my fault. The only people who knew I was being provoked into self-defense were my parents. I was being bullied, tormented from the bus to school right until I get back to my front door, and as the years passed, the forms of torment became more complex, especially since the aggressors had friends who would gladly lie for them. If no physical marks were left, nothing could be ‘proven.’

Well, the marks are left, laid at the headstone of two young boys who didn’t need to die.

The bottom line: children are cruel. They are cruel because they are not truly taught otherwise. They are taught that doing stupid, mindless, mean shit to other people is funny, not wrong. Yet they get angry when it’s done to them. Or worse, they themselves become indifferent to it, not knowing pain until it’s exploding in their face, then they don’t understand what to do with it.

Children fear what they don’t understand. Anything new that is not given to them in a format that they are used to makes them uneasy. And anything they don’t like, they try to knock over, including other children. They think it makes them better; they think it takes the attention away from them when they force others to look at someone else. I was the someone else. I was the target of whole school buildings because I was different. I was the reason they didn't notice (or could at least ignore) the differences in each other.

I recognize now that I was abused by my peers. There is no other word for it. I was used as an outlet for their emotional stress, without consent or regard. Children in my school who knew nothing about me beyond the fact that I was a target taunted me with everything they could find, to the point of physical abuse. I struck back, defending myself, and I was punished by the teachers and administrators set to give us a safe environment to learn, encouraging the situation. I was touched, I was pushed, I was cut, and I couldn't prove it beyond simple accident. Some of my teacher eventually found my constant complaints a nuisance, brushing me aside for my 'important' matters. I was called names I will not repeat, hair was pulled, even cut, because I was too light to be black, but the hair was still there. I was called troll by faces I never knew only because they could. They were told they could by those who had come before them, and they laughed because they thought it made them like everyone else. Short, fat, smart with bad hair, I was beaten down to the point that I didn’t want to burden my family with my issues. At 11.

I do not wonder why students have brought guns to school, unable to take the strain anymore. I too lashed out, biting, beating, breaking anyone and everyone who got close enough, wanting nothing more than to make it all stop. But even then, my abuse had no end. It knew no limit, my tormentors making a game of finding new ways to hurt me, hurt those like me, because it was fun. Even when I changed school districts, I was different, I was DARK, therefore I was a threat, and I was a target.

These two boys experienced that same kind of abuse, and they cracked under the weight of it. I did not, by the grace of powers greater than myself, and because of this hell that was my life, I grew into someone compassionate, understanding, and a defender of those around me. I can only look forward now, the scars covered but never gone, to a future where schools are safe again, safe from bigotry, safe from hatred, safe from abuse.

And is it too much to ask that the fucks who tormented these two boys get brought before their mothers to answer for what they contributed to? Find these children, and have them justify themselves to the mothers of these boys. Let them explain why they thought this was ok.

And in their turn, once they understand what they have contributed to and why this cannot be allowed to continue, let them be forgiven. They are children, after all. Let them learn, let them understand, and let them stand as lighthouses amongst the disgusting darkness that is socialization in schools. Let this be the last time.

Zero tolerance isn't the answer. Understanding of the situation and combating the lack of compassion and the lack of understanding IS.

It has to end.

Diss America

Let me start off by saying I have to give her props fer speaking her mind. She said what she had to say on National TV, and that does takes balls. Good for her.

Now, about her being a misinformed, publicity-seeking, sore-loser of a bigoted COW....

I have to hand it to her, she's managed to get more publicity for herself and the Miss USA pageant than she EVER would have had she actually won. I'm sure the Pageant people were very happy about that, right up until the moment she said she might sue for losing. Seriously, bitch? You lost because you voiced a closed-minded opinion not shared by MORE THAN ONE OF your judges, and you're going to SUE? Really?

Honestly, she's nothing special. She's a California girl with an uninterrupted tan, perfect hair, a mega-watt smile, and cold stew for brains. But she opened her mouth, stupidity came out, and now she's an instant celebrity AND a loser? Remind me to get up on the mic the next time the Westboro Baptist Church morons come to Chicago so I can verbally stir-fry a few wingnuts and get my place on Larry King. Nothing in the world like getting arrested on National TV!

Oh, wait... I promised Mom I'd never do that. Damn...

Awkward Moments, Moon Jams, and Musings

So I ‘m an idiot. Try to contain your shock. I blew off dinner with people I actually wanted to see (by blew off I mean I totally forgot about it) to have dinner and a movie with a quasi-ex I hated seen in a while. No, not THAT one, but close enough that it was quite awkward. Both of us not meeting the others eyes much, talking was stilted until we managed a neutral topic, neither of us bringing up the past. We always crossed that bridge at dinner, but thankfully not. I don’t’ think either of us wants to dredge that back up. And so to a movie we both loved to hate, and then a parting of ways where both of us were politely running. He did it to get out of the house, I did it to test the waters. They are toxic, though not hopeless. But no swimming or fishing here, ladies and gents. Not ever again.

The full moon jam was incredible. I wasn’t expecting half that many people to be there, but it was beautiful and moving and powerful and I got to see so many faces I hadn’t seen in a while, and few faces I didn’t associate with the Jam.

I love this community so much. It works so hard not to take itself too seriously and yet be open to the moment, and to every face within it. So many beautiful people, so much love of life. As I walked through and met up with one person after another, I realized something truly humbling.

I don’t have to be afraid anymore. I’ve never been good at making connections with people. I try too hard, wanting so much to share in the joys of life that I put people right off, making them uncomfortable. It was my existence for so long I didn’t think anything of it, so I never noticed when ti changed. It changed without my knowledge or say-so, and yet here I stand, in the glorious wake of it, wondering at this sudden embarrassment of riches. I never saw before the connection that were forged with people, and yet as I walk through the night, lit only by fire dancers, to the heartbeat of drummers, I realized that I have a community that cares for me as much as I care for it. I was sought out by face sint he crowd, held warm in their arms and hearts by their will alone. I never knew, but I do now. And I am honor bound to do right by them, and serve in the best way I know how.

By song and story I shall go, by brush and by note I shall show. I’ve always had so much to give, and now I have a place and people to share it with. I am humbled that I am so welcomed, and I open my own heart to them with everything I am. A perfect way to end a full moon.

RENT!

Oh my gods and goddesses alike, there are no words. But since I am both verbose and waxing poetic, I’m going to anyway. No day but today, right? Wow, cheesy. Anyway…

It’s been a LONG time since I’ve seen live theater, so my expectations were honestly non-existent. I walked in only knowing the music by heart and the story through and trough, but not really knowing what my eyes were going to be seeing. Dizzy. Dazzling. And my ears were trying to overlay the music I knew to the show before me. Dreams lie so hard. What was before me was more than music and light and movement and message. It was soul. Pure, unadulterated soul. It still takes my breath away to think about it.

One room became a city populated by more people than I really want to think about. And within it, a family. A series of people connected, by choice and by chance, but connected none the less. It reminded me of something I’d set aside. Not forgotten necessarily, but definite put aside or buried or whatever. The whatever is the problem, but I’ll get to that.

Family. Friends. How they become intertwined. Intermingled, essential to one another. A family of choice becomes extended, fractured, sprained/strained, healed but by the grace of Will with a capital, “Look, man, I love you even when you’re a cunt. I love you even THOUGH you’re a cunt.”

Yet sometimes, the cancer must be cut away, for chemo hurts as much as it heals, which SUCKS….

But in the end, it is said, ‘you can’t choose your family.’ Fuck that. I got mine: George, Theo, Shivian, Frank, John, MeganRose, Tessa, Lisa, Kir, Treesha, Katie, Julie, Sherrie, Sarah, Lois, Karen, Chris, Taylor, Thistle, Chaldean, Little Buddaha, Emily, Preston … I could go on without even leaving Chicagoland. Love cannot be tamed, cannot be denied. And gods (pick one, hell pick several) damn it, I’m not trying anymore.

It took the end to show me why the beginning began. It’s not as it once was and truly never could be again, but it is not quite as fractured as I had once thought. Sprained, strained, but healable. Given time. Patience is not my best virtue, I recognize that, but at least I know it can heal even these wounds, if I back the fuck off and let it happen. I will not say the “O” word, but whatever. A healthy shift in view, slapped in the face of yours truly once again, in time for spring. If it ever stops FUCKING SNOWING….