we spent the evening gabbing our brains out about how to show up and be present for everybody, how to put others first, how to organize, what is needed, what is important. we were on fire and by the time i hit the pillow i was out. waking up to a lavender sky i want to find softness. i want to find peace. i want to find a centered surrender into what reality is now and who i am becoming being a resource for love and not an egoic me me me thing. the calling is like a flame that sometime grows into a bonfire and other times feels like a little match flame waiting to give heat and life to what shows up. i feel the surrender large like the sea engulf me and know the old is slithering down the drain like dirty shower water. it’s over and the new has begun. don’t even know what i am writing right now because my brain is tired. i feel lost and found at the same time. amazonite beads helping me to arrive without needing a location other than love. but my love is tired. truly..my love is tired. how i wish i could separate touch from the connection i seek and find comfort in massage or “loving the one i am with”, so to speak. but none of that will do. i only seek the touch of one. it is what it is. blah blah blah. i continue to transmute desire which looks like ice turning to water turning to steam turning into a new dream. what i crave and what i am surrendering into mix together and create something entirely different than what both desire and surrender were to begin with. my mojo is complex. in other news i am understanding disorganized attachment in how i treat and love myself and it’s been ground breaking for me to see with vivid clarity the internalization of an external narrative. re-writing the story is my imperative. michael white may have coined narrative psychology but the concept of re-writing one’s story is far older than him. seems so ridiculous how we have to put out names on ideas. like owning land and water, owning ideas is not natural and leads to corruption. we are not the owners of ideas, thoughts, land, water, or even love. though we do own our bodies while they are alive and we become them like breath making wings flap i am stream of consciousness ending blog frog random acts of smog ruin the the clean breath amen and nevertheless lose the mind and find the heart for just a sec.