8 F Y R E ' B I R D 8

this video is a welcoming of the coming of winter. a ritual offering to Morana, the slavic goddess of death and rebirth, of winter, and of dreams. a heartfelt calling to the Beloved who dwells within. winter always reminds me of my aloneness. the sacred temple of my own heart. how when i am looking to be saved, there is no one really to save me but my own self. this video is a celebration of an inward turn towards self, finding friendship there. an exploration of how my gender is ecologically defined and seasonal. this is a non-binary body project. the small beginnings of what it means to find safety in myself and metabolize shame. this body, who has been a home of sexual violation. this body, who has received without wanting to, this body, who has been tricked into giving, this body, who has survived and carried breath across generations. this body, who knows pain, and this body, who is also beginning again to re-know pleasure. this short film is a compilation of imag...

when i came out to my cis-het boyfriend as genderfluid, he asked me what that meant. when i explained it to him, he said: “that’s weird”.   we were driving in the car. he was driving. he quickly looked over at me afterwards, as my face, space, and whole being was impacted by the weight of his statement. horror, pain, and grief erupting through my eyes. tears beginning to rush.   needless to say, i broke up with him. it took me awhile, but that moment taught me who i wanted close to me as i transitioned (and who i didn’t want close to me). it taught me self-care, boundaries, and respect. it tacught me to see how ingrained self-erasure had become for me as a non-binary person, and how low my sense of self-worth was as a result of it. it taught me how deep the pain of many years and lifetimes and generations of erasure feels. i was crying for days after that incident. i didn’t know what was happening to me. enormous grief portals opened in my body. i didn’t have lan...

every day, write. because if you are not writing, here. you are writing somewhere. there are stories being told somewhere, in your being. they happen racing through your head or wake up at the tips of your fingers when dreaming. the ways you happen, and how the world happens with you is important, is important. write, because. it gives you life. it gives you a place to put: everything. it gives you a way to navigate death. the empty page does not judge or hurt you, like sometimes, the thoughts do inside of your own head. or the glances, shrugs, and distracted looks you interpret as signs from others, proving your unworthiness. write, because when you do, you fly. and flying tastes so good to your wings. your wings must remember how to fly, and when you are writing, they do. it is permission. it is promise. it is hope and despair and returning again to a place of origin. it is channeling, it is home-coming, it is discipline and challenge, death and resurr...

walk like the land can hear you like the land feels  every imprint made upon them walk with reverence walk with care remember  how your ancestors walked  before all of this  moments before, i was outside. when i was outside, i was watching the deer. and they were watching me. sometimes i can conceal myself, and so they do not know i am there. but, they are very good trackers, and they teach me about tracking. i freeze in mid-air once i notice their eyes upon me. i can feel their eyes upon me as i retreat and am walking back home.  i stumble across it. it is huge, and calls out a gasp in me. it is covered by a branch, and i fall to my knees, with a weeping that comes from wonder. i press my hands on the ground, and i start singing. little whispers of melody peak out of my mouth. in between deep breaths. i am calling out to the one who left this here. i am calling out to them, in gratitude, because they mean so much to me. i wonder ab...