8 F Y R E ' B I R D 8

4.12.20 who i have been, and who i will become, hovering in this present moment like the humming bird i saw quivering outside of my window this morning. humming birds, in their beingness, remind me of joy, joy perhaps at the arrival of spring, or joy for no reason at all but just because.   i’m learning to relax my shoulders. as i’m learning to relax my shoulders, i’m learning to also let go of what is not mine to carry and leave the responsibility of changing others behind. it’s not my responsibility to change how others will navigate this moment, or the next, or how we will even transform society together. it is more about: me, being me, and changing myself, for that is really the only thing i have control over, and if that inspires someone else, me being me, than so it is.   to be on earth in these times. i do feel that i chose to come here for a reason, and i can feel the ancestors hands beckoning, and i feel the weight slide off as i remember bayo’s words: ...

gentle bird, bring that wander-lust in.   mend and restore   what has been broken.   so many years, of broken,   many shed tears & cries of confusion war in bodies,   across centuries.  gentle, gentle, gentle bird   calm the fangs of blood  aimed at yourself rest and reflect on these stories   in your body,   and remember   to circle above   and see from there too.  all is convening   to come together   and give you a chance to put down that heavy   weight   and   move   on  

tonight, i am choking up a fire, tonight the water in me burns and somehow this happens, inside me, making no sense, making only the sense, the sense ripped away from my lungs, my body decaying, how can i hate you and love you both at the same time, paradoxes dwell in me, i suppose this is like when traveling the rocky road home (to oneself) i tell myself to comfort as i push my foot farther down my own throat, yearning for some kind of intensity, some kind of relief from the pain of missing you, of missing me, of not knowing if i can trust myself on the night rides home, always knowing that i can trust something like my capacity to feel such extremities, such extreme seas, always getting closer to the one who i call Mars in me   tonight, i am remembering warmth and my ability to move with it, to move with the raging rivers in me, and not be drowned, somehow keep my head above water, my ear cocked to the horizon, knowing whispers that remind : hiding my queerness is survi...

i often notice that november can be a challenging month for me. the season of fall brings a lot of letting go, of slowing down. a surrender to darkness as teacher. akin to the luteal phase of menstruation, my energy starts the turn inward. I move a lot slower. My healing is heavy with letting go of anything that I do not need for the bare, silent wisdom journey of winter.   i get panic attacks more often in the fall. my nervous system tracks the descent into colder, darker days, and my soma slows down. My body gets more heavy, I want to sit near fires and not do as much. i’m interested in how i have been taught to believe that my body is not mine. as a body that has been invaded, i am curious about how my body becomes a war zone. how me against myself has been implanted and fed in me by social forms and systems of oppression. i am so interested in how the ancestors teach me about beauty amidst struggle, outer or inner. kindness and gentleness towards myself, truly, holding spa...

we carve mountains out of our spine because that is how the earth taught us.   the earth taught us some things.   the earth taught us about poetry, about being gentle, about being fierce.   the earth teaches us about time.   about when to express and shine   and when to be hidden and withdraw withdrawing one’s energy into oneself   and becoming darkness is sacred   our world does not remember this   our world is only fruiting and harvesting   there is no awareness of “death” in our world   i want to be an awareness for death in this world  

echo memory :: june 19, 2018 :  i am sitting here, in the mountains and i can smell the alfalfa near me. it is not growing. it is tied up, in a bundle. this bundle is for my use. it is for the practice of archery. i have yet to transport it to the forest for this purpose. the smell of it is nice. it lingers. it reminds me of fall, which reminds me of my childhood, which reminds me of my birthday. as i was transporting it, it shed many pieces of itself and they ended up collecting along the edge where the wall meets my deck. i liked this. i hope it liked it. i kept them there. for the lingering scent, but also for the sight, of something beautiful. of a chaotic, kind of beauty that i feel happens the most in the fall, when things are letting go and finding themselves strewn about everywhere, in a surrender to death, to change, to transition, to life.   the rain is trickling, the rhythms of it can be heard against the trees and the rooftop. playing with each other. the...