Sanctuary

 

 Monday night, wrapped in the belly of the MotorBeast

I fight this blank white screen, the forgotten words. It’s been a long time since I’ve written – actually written. I’ve been feeling incredibly ungrounded, absent, disconnected. It’s time to come back.

In a beautiful way I feel like I am back at The Enchanted Forest in Austin, no internet connection, writing on Word words to be posted at another time… wrapped in the comfort of my new sanctuary. It’s been too long. Any amount of time is too long.

 

I look around this small box and all I can see are the possibilities and I feel an exquisite peace beneath the frustration of how I’m going to get it done. I listen to the peace, ignore the frustration, I’ll get it done.

Tonight is my first night in my MotorBeast, an odd vehicle that has been destined for the junkyard twice (known) and rescued once from the person who I got it from, and once from me. If I remember correctly, he said that he intended to take this beast there a few days before my email, but not so strangely on that day they were closed.

She was destined for me.

 

I’ve done quite a bit of work on her already, mainly on the interior. I can rip shit out and clean for almost no money, and I needed to give Bobzilla his space back before his new roommate moved in. I had some wonderful help yesterday by Nilambari and later Tyler, which I value greatly as my left leg is, once again, fucked up, and I could barely walk without excruciating pain due to a muscle that got screwed at the Misfits show on Thursday. Yeah, I’m forty years old and haven’t been in a pit for probably about seven years (except for the lovely time in Boston at a show where Sarah & I started a ballroom dancing pit – hey, I can’t help it…) and I’m out of shape and… and, well other things – but there’s something inside that makes me need to do this. Not sure what it is, it’s sure as hell not searching back to my past, although that may be a very slight underlying reason – I just need to. There is an aggression in me that comes alive and is released in ways – in a pit, or in words, in performance – it’s always there… Whatever, I had a friggin’ blast, and I’d do it again. Maybe I’m an idiot, but also – maybe I just want to experience every fucking thing I can, while I can.

Still tons of work to do on the Beast – interior paint, organizing, carpentry work to make the thin plank of wood into an actual bed and creating the most optimal storage for the back of it, and getting soft squishy sit down and lay down stuff. The wood ain’t too comfortable on this beat-up body.
Then, all the other stuff. Finding a sendingunit for the fuel tank, figuring out all the switches and electrical and gas, cleaning out the fresh water tank and getting the shower working, and everything else that it will take to get her running and carrying me off to wherever I want to go…

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Gods, it’s good to type on Clotho again. It’s good to have my own space, as incomplete and somewhat uncomfortable as it is right now, until I get this narrow plank of wood built out and find some decent cushions to let me sleep well, let me dream.

I finally made it to my main doctor the other day, and tomorrow (Tuesday) I hopefully get my script for meds, and start taking them again after two years, three months. These infections in my leg have made me worried. I really don’t want to not live.

 

There is a very clear distinction between the fear of death and the fear of not living, in the way I think – the way that perpetually haunts me…

I want to live, in this life, long enough to change just a wee bit of something – and I am terrified of not living this life to the fullest.

But – I don’t give a fuck about death. I made my peace with that long, long ago, and frequently welcome it…

 

But perhaps that is why I am still alive, perhaps that is why I live when at the time I was diagnosed beautiful people were dropping left and right because no one knew anything.

I have no idea why I am still alive – but that’s not necessarily the truth.

 

It’s been twenty years, and by all rights, I should be long dead. By all rights, anyone who I have met in the last ten or fifteen years never should have known me – because I simply wouldn’t be…

 

My my, that’s an interesting thought. Glad I somehow stuck around. I’ve been blessed with the most extraordinary life, and have seen so much exquisite beauty and have met and learned from the most incredible people that I can’t even fathom not being around…

 

This thought breathes a new life into me, reminds me of how precious each minute is in our lives. A lesson in living in the Now, of opening my eyes and heart and truly seeing how beautiful it all is, even through the darkest of times. Yeah – even when things seemingly are fucked silly and I feel like I’m pretty much done with it all, that is probably the most important time to realize that each moment I have here is a blessing and a gift.

 

 

I guess there must be something for me to do.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

So here I sit, in an odd and ancient vehicle that is crippled, a sanctuary, *my* sanctuary,  but still not something that offers too much for comfort yet, and I dream of the places we’ll travel, and I smile at the thought of friends coming over for cocktails relaxing in the comfort of my mobile living room, my sanctuary – and all is good.

 

 

 

Apparently the new meds I get on tomorrow have one main side effect – they have a tendency to create incredibly bizarre and vivid dreams. I’m looking forward to this.

And I’m looking forward to getting my health back on track.

 

 

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