when heart speaks it sounds like…

amber, geranium, and egyptian musk: the blessed bod be blend.  homage to body.  my body.  this body.  swimming like a salmon upstream, away from all fate makes happen.  climbing over emerson’s wall of fate, making real live in the moment creative destiny happen.  obsessed with this idea of how my broken heart is feeding me strength.  it’s like shark medicine.  not resisting the strength found in defeat.  and how it’s helping me move on.  and how a dear friend always shows me what i am capable of, by squaring me.  i am capable of moving to a beautiful home in nature near the city, having an animal companion, growing plants, and taking slow quiet time in the grass or by the water.  i am capable of bringing warm exuberance to any work establishment and having a new second home.  nothing replaces the vaj. though.  never ever will.  nothing will make the grief go away for leaving the hill.  i love the hill with every cell of this flesh and breath of this soul i know to be me.  yet it is time to leave.  and to buy a car.  and to work with a new body of people, to go with my new body of water.  i wonder where that will be?  this feeling of letting go of waiting for true love is liberating.  even though my body cries out for his love, i am free to move to about the world as i need to.  not in a mental cage anymore.  not a glommer anymore.  not delusional like i was, when i thought i could let go of the biggest parts of me in favor of security.  blinded by love.  or was it?  i know it was love with the one from last year.  i know it because i still love him.  love asks us to do so many things.  one of them is to let go.  got no idea who the guy is who is supposed to stick around.  i’ve never domesticated with any man, aside from those three months in the group house so long ago, and three months of being crammed in a studio with a man who went from boyfriend to friend in that interim.  i got no idea what it’s like.  but i don’t feel naive.  it’s just something i haven’t lived yet.  in a way, i am a weirdo.  but only when i compare myself to others.  everyone’s got their path.  everyone sits in their digs.  i feel pretty confident that each one of us grapples with insecurities. no biggie.  all i know is krishna das continues to pour his sweet honey voice into my ears, making me feel made love to.  i am my own true love.  i know how to romance myself.  like for instance right now, i am burning resin, writing, drinking ice cold lemon water, as the breeze from outside blows onto my face.  heavenly.  you gotta have a sense of humor.  i gotta have an animal. i gotta get on the water.  homage to the body.  to being a big cat in an urban desert.  to being a gypsy american girl.  don’t get me wrong, there is a battle going on in here too.  sabotage hasn’t raised the white flag of surrender yet, but she will…once she realizes that she is….