wings

Lifetimes ago, I called to you, called, and finally

you looked, noticed how my wings glistened with light

and reached to take hold of my hand.

You were blind to how these wings were scarred, wounded, broken,

or you just didn’t care. You saw something that you thought you could fix.

You reached down, down far – and almost fell

almost fell – for me. Some things I just won’t let happen. See where the scars come from, see why I use what I do for paste now, and don’t judge.

Out of bourbon and fire, fire and ashes, ashes and dust, dust like thousands of words and the tears of joy and sorrow that created them, out of these things I make my paste. I make my paste out of the same wind that carries them away. I make my paste out of the strength of the blood of my heart, of mine, not yours. You want me to be my best, my best for you. I want to be my best for me and only that because that is what stays. I know me better, I know what I want I know who I am and who I will be and that is not your creation. Even in your love, it can only be made by mine of myself. Only I can make me, again, and again, and again – and I do. You haven’t known me long enough to realize this. Let me be and love me and let me always become. Try to mold me and I crumble in your hands. Love me and let me be if you’re strong enough.

If you’re strong enough, I will be stronger for both of us.

Advertisements

time again.

NYE, 2015/16. 2:07 am.
The night I was conceived in passion & beauty, 48 years ago.
Or maybe intoxication. Need to remember to ask. If my Mother ever calls.

Figured it was best to enter the new year clean for the first time in a while – no flesh hanging off of me, no blood to slip in, none of the poison that’s been in my head for the past 6 years, just wanting to end me.
It is important. Even though the new year is just another day – it’s what we MAKE it that makes it something new, something special, a place to start getting better, healthier, apply yourself at the job you hate more like a good little under-appreciated pawn  – or break out of the mess, and follow your dreams.
Regardless of what the dreams cost – they pay back tenfold. That job NEVER will… so maybe now it’s time to be who you always dreamed of being? Do what you’ve always wanted? Realize how GOOD it feels to get past the sheer terror of actually LIVING?

I dare you to.

I know 2016 is going t be insane. Things I haven’t been able to do, I now can or soon will be able to – and I fucking WILL.

It’s been 6 years of dreaming, 6 years of hope. 6 years of “Gods, if I live, I’m going to…”

And now it begins. The dreams I had when I was dying – or just simply lethargic & spiritless to the point that the act of getting out of bed was exhausting – NOW it is time to make them “reality”.
To create. To make. To help… to WRITE.

To jump off the cliff again.

This time, I don’t have to look over my shoulder.
I know my wings are there… the ones I’ve rebuilt with paste, bandages, and your generosity – and it’s time again to fly.

Happy New Year… and thank you.

better than I am, I am.

I read the me from a year ago & realize in dismay & frustration how little has changed.
Lately – for weeks, if not months, I’ve been feeling like all I do every day is pound my fists against this chrysalis I’m in, feeling as if I’ve been stuck in here far too long. I am formed & waiting to stretch my wings, but have somehow created walls in my mind that prevent me from breaking through the shell & feeling the air lift me again.

I begin to resent myself – partly for letting me become this way, partly for my inaction, & partly because even though I *know* how to break out of it I have myself become one one of the types of people I tend to scorn – those who talk and seldom, if ever, act.

That is unlike me, who has jumped into everything most of my life – from moving blindly to cities where I didn’t know where I would sleep & knew no one, to creating an online magazine, to driving across the country & changing the weak plans I had to live in a tent for four months, volunteering for Katrina refugees in Austin… and so much more.

So who is this person now? WHAT is stopping me from moving forward… except for simply moving forward?

I never have before, but now… I think I need someone. To help, to meet with & inspire me to get this book & bio & description done, to bounce words off of, cheer me on, and hold me accountable… but I can’t seem to find them. Everyone else seems too busy with their own things. Their own agendas. Their own lives… and while I can completely understand…

it sure does get lonely.

I simply used to jump off the cliff and wait for the wings to unfold. They always did.
These days however, I don’t seem to be able to find anywhere to jump from.
I just need help to get running, to start moving…

and to change this fear into excitement.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~
kSea Flux
December 4, 2014 ·

I look at old videos that I took while in Maitri. Things I haven’t seen since recording them, “footage” that no one else has seen, nor likely ever will unless you ask – and I don’t think you want to.
Better to hide behind the hint of truth that you already know.

These are the things I need to remember when I see other friends going through the hells that they do – so few of us tell the whole story. We’re afraid to.
We aren’t looking for sympathy, not looking for “oh, you poor thing…” We know. We know how you feel because we feel it more. We feel it more because we have that badge sewn into our flesh. Trust me, this is nothing against you… in fact, I hope you never do understand. I hope that you never have the capacity to empathize on that level. Your well wishes *are appreciated…

But what we truly seek is understanding. A person to cry *with* – not someone who cries for us. Only in those (thankfully) few people can we find some sort of twisted kinship.

Please don’t get me wrong – I love you. GODS, how I love you, for your caring, for your support, for the way that you *don’t* understand…

But I watch the videos, and even I, who have lived through that time, am disgusted at what I see… the decomposing flesh, the blood, the “fluid” that stained everything I slept in or wore, frequently soaking through the three layers of gauze & bandages to the pants Nd dripping on the floor of the cafe… And for the greater part of five years (the decomposition began *long* before I went into the hospice) – that was just another part of daily life. Brush my hair & remaining teeth, splash water on my face, peel the dressing and flesh from my legs try not to scratch because GODS they itched from the poison seeping out… and what do I need to do with CultureFlux that day?

THis seems like an entirely different life, the one I am living now… an entirely different person – finding my Birth Mother, being solid and “stable” enough to at least let a dog “think” that everything is wonderful… – even to the point of daring to offer my heart to another…

And remembering how wonderful that feels, even in the pain that it has brought.

Recently a friend said to let go of the past and focus on the future. I understood what was meant, and in many situations the person woulld be right – *IF* my past – this *particular* past were holding me back from myself and who I continue to become – but as I said to the person after a bit of thought – “In order to see where I am going, I cannot be blind to where I’ve been.”

We all go through what we need to, so we can give the lessons we have learned…

and I think I pretty much lost my train of thought… if there was one to begin with.

Perhaps the most important thing however – as grim as it may look to others, keep fucking smiling – and to everyone who *can’t* understand… please keep it that way.

You’ll find out enough about it in my book. That’s as close as I *EVER* want you to get…

I love you.

kSea Flux's photo.

anywhere and to her

Wake up, start the water for coffee, shower the remnants of yesterday’s heat off of me, wondering what today will bring. To let it or make it happen. I don’t like not being able to control if I see her, and for that I feel childish. I wonder if I should feel childish, not getting my way and letting it upset me – but this is more than just wanting a trinket I could do without. Pour the coffee. Complete the base ritual.

She thought it was about her. Of course it was, but not about her. She is only the reason for voicing my frustration, making what I feel all days impossible to push aside, accept and ignore until things work out right and I have the freedom of going anywhere and to her. She is the exclamation point, not allowing the ease I have learned to push this need back and I notice my crippled wings.
I have worn them far too long, waiting for their repair and the freedom to fly again, to anywhere and to her.

I miss the roads. Is is wrong to say that I need the roads? Need to drive? We are taught not to need, that it is a base and unenlightened state. Just another material thing. I don’t need it. I tell myself I don’t need it. I try to fool myself but I know better. I know because without the roads, without the freedom, without the wind I feel caged. I’m able to pretend everything is find until I I am reminded of the bars that surround me.

again, me.

Right now I am imagining myself in a small forest. Living in a 10×10 tent with all that I could ever need inside and all that I love outside but not separate from me. Only a zipper and a flap between us when I or they come looking for companionship. A friend.

Right now I am creating the future by reliving the past. I know what I want. I will have it.

Right now I vividly see my dog, the Grandmother Tree, our fun, seriousness, my lovers and friends.

Right now I need this. I am doing all it takes to remember.
In my notes I find a gift to me:

“I find it hard to breathe in your arms. it has less to do with the urgency of your embrace, the strength in your slender sinewy limbs… more the relentlessness of your self. i find myself outnumbered, surrounded, because you are starving, ravenous, for life and love and laughter. 

and these things i have, like candies spilling out of my overfull hands 

i hold them behind me, not to taunt you, but unsure that i can surrender them without loosing fingers. 

you are no tame bird”

and this reminds me to again take wing.

You could have no idea what 18 months of physical captivity did to me. You have no idea how many times I thought of taking all of the morphine I had saved for the one single purpose: to die, to be free.

It would make it all so much easier.

In a few weeks or months you would forget me, save for the infrequent glimmer in your mind, or perhaps the half-taken gasp where you thought you saw me for a fraction of one scarce moment.

Right now I am fighting just as hard as you, just as hard as we need to to stay alive. I do not give up, only let go of the things that I have learned are not worth my time.

What I went through did change me, this is true. How could it not?

But I am the same me. As full of love and anger as ever – and more.

Right now I am becoming myself again – full of passion, love, rage and the pureness of wonder.

It has taken time. There was a lot to think about. There was a lot to digest… and I made mistakes.

I am stronger now. I have learned.

My wings are again unfolding.