ode to writing and seattle on a tuesday….

yesterday, the miracle.  my story returned.  out poured ten pages.  in the bar, so tired i thought i would fall asleep for sure, with pen in hand, second coffee pouring into lips…i kept writing…and writing…and writing.  now it’s legit.   my story, no longer and etheric entity only, makes my life legit again.  for when there is no story being written, i don’t feel whole.  writing down the story, is my soul.  deep fatigue monday, and deep stillness too.  like a certain anxiety was sloughed off, and i discovered myself deeper inside of myself, if that is even possible.  it is.  because to write this book, i need to sit twelve layers in, if not more.  before writing i was outside of myself, walking through the city streets, unable to get myself to the park, where it’s beautiful (for whatever reason).  there’s something romantic about heat, sunshine, and city…the way the heat rises off the cement.  the way city people get crazy.  i remember this again, how every spring, the crazy awakens.  those who are mentally ill, living on the streets, talk louder to their invisible posse.  teenagers flaunt their hormonal brains louder.  all creatures get louder, even the birds.  the electric air sizzles with creatures bursting from winter shells.  the romance of the city is found in chaos.  i needed to walk through the chaos, from south to north, back south again, feeling everybody’s energy, weaving a web through and around them. so long as i am here, magic will be the gossamer.  the hill has layers.  the soul has layers.  feeling all the layers.  got no summer clothes.  one gossamer robe.  t-shirts too big.  skirts too long.  need to make a painting.  black and white needs color satiating.  krishna das wake me up.  life feeling epic.  awareness can be a copper penny sighted on the ground by tired eyes.  or awareness can be the way you feel life in between the lines.  not the experience of living, but the feeling of the experience.  it’s hard to explain.  sometimes everyone and everything feels so loud.  trying too hard, turning life into a game.  too much pride.  too much sound.  competition strangling the darkness of the human spirit.  desire burns two fires.  i am watching those two fires burn.  one fire for love.  one for pain.  one for loss and one for gain.  can i get a witness?  this is the part where seattle shines hot and bright for four months, stripping us of rain.  are we ready?  hot dry summer sun, vaporize everything in my psyche that needs to come undone.  strip me of illusion.  fill me with untethered passionate love.  seattle, you and i are one.  your moods are mine, your cycles course through my blood.  four times you call me back to you.  not letting me leave.  there is no doubt anymore in this mind i got, that you are the mother-ship and i am your sea….