i am a mess. got decimated by mosquitos the other night and they are covering my legs like a plague of itching and fear. this has also initiated a well of sorrow in my heart. for my mom. and for myself. i feel homeless and bereft. i feel angry and devastated. it’s a culmination of my mom being sick with cancer, me not having stability and being alone, this country’s racist violence on the rise with the white nationalist movement, and the end of summer, something about the end of summer is hurting my heart immensely. something about having to go into autumn with all of this going on. the mosquito bites and my feelings carry michelle around. michelle, who is this person named michelle? how will i author the story of my particular life? there is so much mental jargon seeping into every crack of my being. how i am supposed to talk, act, think and feel pouring into my skin like i am pancake absorbing syrup. i fucking hate it to be quite honest. the shadow is unearthing collectively. time to admit you are not on a mountain top, that you have a shadow side, that you are not made of pure light and goodness. i am all for it and have stopped claiming to be all good for some time now…but it’s the way the words get spoken. where is the heart? can you find it? i feel my mother’s emotional struggle and feel helpless to help her and it breaks my heart. the cancer moon. the eclipse coming up. the letting go. i am giving it all to spirit. i feel our oneness and i acknowledge our distinctions. i feel oneness with my mom and feel our separateness as two different people. i feel my own inner divide. i am hungry for essentials robbed from me before i was born and after i was born. i don’t feel victimized anymore. i just feel hungry. hungry for satiation. i give this hunger to spirit. the authoring of the story is big. i see in others how they tell themselves stories that they identify with that are not real but protect them from feeling vulnerable, protect them from their hunger, protect them from connection, protect them from longing and intimacy that would heal the wound but the wounded dog don’t know, don’t know, don’t know. but i know now. and this is why i write this bloggity blog. to share my watery shadow. to divulge my aching heart. to float my heart with words on the water versus sinking it into the sea cause i feel rejected by some false all knowing power. there is not an all knowing power in my story. there is love and i give all of this to love. my hunger, my pain, my sorrow, my decimated legs, my heart filled with shadow and light, my soul- a bird creature high up in the tree branches reminding me how short this life, how short this life, how short this life….