Beckons from above: airplane prayers

Yes sweety, push your face into that double-paned plastic glass and see the world out there!

Watch your body fly by the planet at 350 miles per hour and watch the bodies below rest and wait for something to change that never will change.

Let yourself marvel, and wonder, because that’s you baby girl.

Your heart wants to see — always has and always will — so let your eyes feast in the now and never regret a moment of being “that girl” who is almost 30 and laughs like a toddler and wonders like a mystic and dances like a harlot.

Do you — ALWAYS — because the you YOU are is the YOU the universe meant for YOU to be, and the YOU you are has a specific and perfect role to play.

So be you, please, I pray, no matter if you’re met with wide sideways snears and upturned noses, what-the-fucks from friends near or far, or complete disregard from professionals or peers in your field.

I beg you, go to bed with a head upon a heavenly pillow that beckons your rest in a state of ease and contentment, settling in the inner knowing you’ve lived and loved another day for you.

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The buzz the buzz the buzz of life at Midway… [Airport Flowetry Poetry]

I love airports, but more so I love watching people and the whole human experience play out in these buildings built for movement and transition.

I love watching a full-grown man make FaceTime or snapchat faces into his phone to a child or wife or mistress on the side…

I love watching new friends become new friends over a burger and a brew without ever exchanging names.

I love watching the business travels unwind, a woman hanging a stiletto from her toe while the heel bounces and her heart races in the presence of a well-dressed man with two hours to kill in flirtation.

I love watching the littles trail behind their parents who carry pillow pets and mini pink plastic backpacks and creased lines on their foreheads.

I love watching the international first-timers, often paralyzed with fear, as their first experience of Americans startle and shock their more simple knowings, and I wonder if they regret the leap of faith they must have taken to cross the waters and land in this land.

I love watching myself open, gaze, settle, surrender into the flow of movement and momentum and only chances as I ask for what I want and put it all on the line with a one-time encounter with a woman I admire or a man I’m instantly infatuated with.

I love watching life unfold within the glass and steel and marble and plastic and invisible technology waves beaming through the air…

I love watching.

Because I love being watched.

I love being a part of the whole.

As I, so very much, am a necessary part of the whole of this crazy beautiful life on earth right now.

So are you.

Come fly with me?

me-sept-2016

What the fuck… Is this what it feels like?

I’m at work. And I should be working. It’s a deadline day and I’m full of angst and anxiety as I try and imagine how the hell I’ll ever get everything done.

But, I’m feeling something in me that I haven’t felt in a really really long time.

And I’m terrified.

And I feel like I could vomit. And cry. And scream. And run.

And turn to mush.

Tears are coming as I type, and I’ll sacrifice sleep later to finish my work… Because right now, this is my work.

To feel. This.

At the risk of being too open, too vulnerable, and utterly ridiculous in the eyes of anyone who knows me (or doesn’t), here I go.

I don’t want to fall in love.

I don’t want to risk saying goodbye to the fire in my heart, to the dancing queen in my soul, to the get-up-and-go that makes me who I am. I don’t want to leave behind all the things that make me the me I love the most. Free spirit. Artist. Unconventional bohemian babe who teaches yoga and heals with her hands, and also swears like a badass sailor bitch with a shot of Jameson, another of Patrón, and a sweating Busch light on the bar before me. I want to climb those trees in the furry-filled fuzzy Northwest, and those mountain peaks in the sacred Himalayas.

I don’t want to make decisions using my left brain.

I don’t want to say I’m sorry, and really mean it, when I realize I was less than considerate of the man waiting in the truck.

I don’t want to cry when we’re an hour away from our departure point.

I don’t want to have nausea, those fucking butterflies that come, or the weight gain or weight loss that accompanies an emotional experience us humans aren’t blessed to have enough to make sense of within our minds.

I don’t want to fall. Fuck. I don’t want to fall.

I’ve been running and running and running, with fear of falling, and I don’t want to stop.

Because stopping hurts.

Really. Really bad.

Because stopping means staying.

And that’s not my style. Or hasn’t been, on a heart-level, for 6 years since my heart last broke, which broke bigger and bolder than I’d hope any heart could break.

I want to cling to my path, one that has no rules, that believes everything is gray — never black and white, ever — but is a foggy gray filled with regular doses of tye-dye and psychedelic hippies and EDM. A path that sings to Bieber and Johnny Cash. That is full of naked swims at sunrise in the Sawtooth mountains, and naked golden-hour dips amongst canoers and fallen birch trees in the Upper Peninsula. It’s a path that lights my life up bigger and bolder than any path I’ve tried ever could…

But damn it. DAMN IT. Damn it.

“What’s the worse thing that could happen?” he asks.

I roll my eyes, and laugh at how silly it sounds, but I tell the truth…

“For me, honestly… fuck… The worst thing that could happen is he could be my forever person and I could change course and get married and have some babies and live in the woods amongst the fawns and fairies…” I laugh. I cry. So does he.

So while I sit here, typing away, and the texts and messages from the other fellas greet my morning, I cringe… Oh but, them… I like them too, don’t I?

But they don’t make me slow my roll and cool my jets.

I’ve feelings to feel, that I’m feeling, that I haven’t felt in a very very long time.

This hurts, so I know it’s not a crush.

This hurts, which tells me if I want to see what this life thing is all about, in a way that may satisfy the dreamer in me, maybe it’s worth looking at a bit longer…

This hurts, because it’s so not me.

I’m not vulnerable. I’m strong. I’m willful. I’m free.

And, if I’m being honest, I know the reason I’m most terrified is because this is truly uncharted territory. So much so, I’ve no clue how to put one foot in front of the other.

How does one do this, really do this? How do you just be, without a heady head spinning and swirling with option and adventure? How do you just let go of any agenda, any roles, and not keep one foot out the door?…

You just be, I suppose.

And let life happen, I suppose.

And feel the feelings, I suppose.

And cry and vomit and let yourself be sick.

In love.

Damnit.


“To know Godliness one has to be defenseless…, one has to drop all armor; one has to be vulnerable. And it is not only the condition to know Godliness; it is the condition to know all that is beautiful, all that is poetic, all that is musical, all that is  contained in the word “love”. ” -Osho