Life On The Edge Of The World

I am Yankee born with a Southern education and I have exiled myself to the Pacific Northwest.

The mountains called to me first, and I left the bluegrass for the Selkirks and Cabinets of north Idaho. The safety of the valley did me well I think, but soon I needed more. Soon I needed the turbulence of the sea. And so I came to the most volatile place on the coast. The place where the Columbia River meets the ocean. The Graveyard of the Pacific. There is nothing settled about the energy here and the restlessness has seeped into my bones along with the dampness that never quite leaves the air.

I feel chaos building inside of me.

My carefully constructed facade is slipping and the crazy girl I try to hide is peeking out. She’s giggling and whispering nonsense that’s making more sense than it ever has before. Paint your face she says. Paint your body. Wear clothes that make people stare. Force them to look at you. Force them to see you. Scream your words but keep your secrets close. Don’t give away too much. But don’t hold back either.

And so I make art. And I write. And I dream of elaborate costumes to compliment the masks I’ve made.

I dug out a pair of heeled boots from my “to donate” bag the other night and now I’m scheming a trip to the thrift store to create new outfits the wear with them. I think it’s time to stop being cute and start being sexy. Or at the very least I need to up the mysterious. Alluring might be a good objective. Maybe even seductive.

I’m not sure if I really know how to achieve any of these. But I’m going to try.

Moon round with secrets, stars hidden by clouds...

Hair dyed the same red I used when I was 18. Same hair cut too, almost. Is this my do-over? Do I get to go back to that girl with all the wisdom I have now? Except the wisdom isn’t very profound. Isn’t really there at all in fact. So much I could tell her, but would it matter? No. She has to learn it for herself. Just like I did. Just like I’m still doing. But not very well, it seems. The same mistakes. The same lessons. Over and over and over. And it’s making me tired.

And so I research corset patterns.

Or maybe I just need a breastplate to protect my heart. A breastplate and a sword and some sort of micro chipped radar that allows me to detect potential heartbreakers. But everyone is a potential heartbreaker. I guess I’d just like to avoid the ones who feel the need to ignore me. The chicken shits who slink silently out of my life in the hopes that I won’t notice they’ve disappeared. But I notice. I notice.

And every single time it confuses me.

How did I let this happen? (Again.) And why do I keep attracting the ones who are so self involved that they would never be able to care for me even if they thought they wanted to. (Which they never seem to do.) Why am I dazzled by creativity and wit? Why does the smallest hint of their attraction to me break my resolve to play it cool? Why do I give too much too soon? Why can’t the nice ones keep my interest? Why am I never enough, just the way I am?

Why? Why? Why?

Because I AM enough, just the way I am. They just can’t see it. And if they can, it somehow scares the crap out of them. Which is another mystery to me. The idea that I am terrifying in any way makes me giggle and roll my eyes.

What is so scary about me?

more dream drawings.....

Enough

I should be working on my novel. I should be cleaning my apartment. I should be making more progress on my art piece.

I should...

I should...

I should...

“No,” I hear the wind whisper. “You should lie on a towel on a sandy dune, with the sharp grass all around you. You should stare at the shipwreck on the beach and listen to the tide come in. You should bury your toes in the sand. You should let the sunlight blind you.”

I should...

I should...

I should...

But so many pieces of the past six months have not gone the way I wanted them to. I have to figure out what happened. I have to fix what’s wrong.

“So what?” the wind whispers in my ear. “So fucking what? Look where you are. Look at this amazing place. You are here for a reason. Don’t forget that. You knew you had to come here for life to start. So let it start. Stop trying to force it into something it’s not. Let your life begin and let yourself follow where it goes. Stop trying so hard to fit yourself into other people’s lives. Let your own life be enough.”

Invisible

I have mastered

the art

of invisibility.

I don’t know how

to handle being

seen.

I think it might

be time

to learn.

How to be seen.

I want

people to see

me.

I want

YOU

to see me.

But—

Who am I?

And—

Who

do I want

to be?

broken

I used to believe that breaking made me stronger. But these days I feel that all this breaking has simply left me broken.

Broken heart and cracking mind. And a spiral that spins me back to places I’ve been a thousand times. But different. A slightly new perspective every time I spin around. But the results are usually the same.

I want too much so I give too much.

And then I give more than I have inside and I bleed myself dry. With my heart pinned upon my sleeve, I am always confused by the mess on the floor. There has to be another way.

And it all leads back to breaking. Or it starts with breaking.

I am broken and don’t know how to fix what’s wrong. But I’m not entirely sure that anything is wrong. Just broken. And maybe broken is right. Maybe broken is where I need to be right now. Without answers. Without knowing what comes next.

Sometimes death comes first and it’s the pain of loss that sets us free to live.

mise en place

From the French, a culinary phrase defined as “everything in place," referencing preparation and layout in kitchens.

It is time to put myself in order. It is almost a new year. It is almost another new beginning.

One more box left to unpack. Clean the clutter off the work table. Stock the cupboards with food. Make soup to freeze. Wash the blankets that have stayed hidden over the summer. Bring out the knit hats and mittens.

I made a schedule yesterday of before work tasks and after work tasks in an attempt to remember my pilates and yoga. I have pared my wardrobe down to five basic outfits with interchangeable parts.

I still have too many shoes, but that’s one vice I refuse to give up. One of two vices. Bourbon hot toddies do help in the winter months.

Cold weather gear will be ordered this weekend, along with boxed postcard sets, stamps, and an immersion blender. I have set up my glass jar savings accounts. I’m as ready for winter as I’ll ever be.

It is time to strip my altar and start over. Time to pause and begin again. Time to seek stability in trees.

Next week I go to say hello again to the Octopus Tree. Maybe this time I will climb the do not climb fence and ask her face to face for the help I need. Help forming the questions that should have been asked long ago. Help hearing the answers that are most likely already rattling around in my head.

I’m dressing up as a witch for Halloween. But I can’t decide on my hat. Do I sew one? Or knit one? Or buy a cheap one that might last the day? Do I copy the image of what a witch looks like to others? Or do I dress the way I know my own Trickster Witch looks?

This afternoon I figured out what I’ve been doing wrong every time I’ve tried to knit in the round. A small error, really. But one that kept things from joining up. One that kept the piece from being a connected whole. But I found the order of it. And now I’m three rows into my very first hat. Quite possibly my Witch’s hat. We will see.

And everything will have a place.