Rise above it, rise above it.

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And just when you thought life couldn’t possibly get any more weird…it gets infinitely weirder.

Do not let your past define you. Do not let fear confine you. Love always. Love fearlessly. Get healthy. Get honest. And if you feel unsafe, get the fuck out.

The world is a dream. And this too shall pass. Look at the big picture. Don’t get consumed by these everyday potholes and ridiculous scenarios life gives you. Keep flying along. Love is always with you.

I’ve got friends I’ve got health I’ve got words I’ve got wisdom I’ve got experiences I’ve got love I’ve got light I’ve got family I’ve got home. The rest of this shit is just passing nonsense. Don’t fucking give it the time of day. Life will eat you if you let it. Just fucking devour it yourself.

The world is digging you a hole. Breathe a little prayer into it and fucking fill that hole back in with words.

Be a fucking fighter.

Thank god for my mother who dragged me to my house with boxes and helped me finish this shit. It’s a lot to pack up – a whole house worth, and I can’t do it by myself.

Let me remind myself once again that this is better than the alternative. This is better than feeling trapped my whole life. This is better than making an even BIGGER mistake, investing more years and time, getting financially twisted up in something, leading people on even longer. This is hard. But the alternative is even harder. Even harder to unwrap yourself out of. So it’s going to be hard, obviously. That’s a given. But it’s going to be hard now or it’s going to be hard later and we’re already sitting in it so let’s just get to the other side.

Let’s just get to the other side.

I think there’s a lot of assuming of who I am or what I’m going to do or how I’m going to behave based on who I was in the past…or based on over generalizations of how girls are or what have you…and that’s not fair. I’m different.

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Last night I saw Midsummer. In my theatre. This sacred box which keeps changing its parts but can never change its heart. We said these words on that same stage with our own voices 10 years ago. 10 years ago. And that is a little more than my brain can process. But there it is. I couldn’t help but hear their voices. It’s remarkable how quickly it comes back. And how the intonations, the inflections, the lines we repeated over and over, those things reverberate. The words themselves seem like old friends. Little sacred murmurs. It always means a lot to me. That big dark box of a room. It always heals me, being there. I’d like to go back into the back corner of the room and flop down on that couch and hide myself under that blanket and break down. It felt safe to break down there. Always safe. The room was always holding you. Eyes and steady hearts were always holding you. It was a cocoon, a nest. We learned how to hatch. How to hold ourselves and how to fall apart. We all learned those things together. Different times, different degrees. But we all nestled in the arms of that black box together and learned what it meant to grow. I wish I could feel arms that big again. I keep coming back to that room, after all these years. And sometimes it feels like a mother and sometimes it feels like a child but always it feels like more than a room. It feels more than a series of walls. It feels like some place where my heart is hidden. Smeared everywhere like blood and paint. It feels like a nest. Somewhere I learned to break down. To build up, to stretch out, to sink, to swallow, to speak. Somewhere I learned how to be me.

They let me light the ghostlight because they remembered who I was and they called me to the stage and asked me to do the rituals. And they danced for Kristey and I lit the light and the glow was so eerie. Because we are those ghosts now. We are those 10 year old echoes of this show.

And now we are the ghosts.

Sleep and strength and warmth and eyes. And golden shimmering teeth that rise.

I think recently a lot of my actions have been misinterpreted. I think sometimes I get myself into silly situations. I think everything between Jeff and I is dead. I think the world is much stranger than you’d even think. I think my life is getting stranger by the minute.

So much to say that I don’t know how to say.

Sometimes I press my heart up against the razor sharp teeth of the sky and I wonder why I’m still standing. Sometimes too many leaves fall at once. Sometimes I’m being too strong for my own good. Sometimes that weight in my musculature to keep my bones up is just oxygen and air. Sometimes I can’t remember where I left myself. Sometimes air is hollow and sometimes air is wide. Always though, always: love is enough.

Today I am just giving myself a break.

Remember to remember those wonderful people holding your hand, telling you you are beautiful and that everything is going to be alright.

Let the dead things go. That’s all I’ve been able to think for the past few days. Let the dead things go. I don’t think I believe in mistakes. There is nothing we’re supposed to be doing. We’re making a life, right, not a fucking crossword puzzle. Not everything fits. Life is messy. That’s good. That’s where the living part comes in. No mistakes here. We all fuck up. We all know so little. We all believe so much. We all have hearts and they are all wildfires burning hot. If you are lucky enough to be brave enough to let yourself burn alive, you get to fucking glow.

“I say: make laws against regret…otherwise you’d have to start with Adam and Eve.”

And forgive. Forgive yourself. That’s the hardest one. Forgive the world. Forgive your fucked up heart. Forgive your bundled up brain. Forgive the other. Forgive all those who have held your heart in their hands and laughed at it. Forgive all those who have lit you on fire, because now you’re burning bright. Forgive yourself. You are only a tiny piece of all that you are.

Break ups are hard. They just are. Even when it needs to happen, even when it has been a long time coming, even when it is the only thing left to do. It’s just hard. To unweave two lives. To come into a new chapter of your life. To form new habits. Piece by piece, it unravels though. You unweave.

November. And it feels like it. November. What a word. How did we get here? Day of the Dead. And it feels like that too. And somehow this year the timing of everything was so seamlessly perfect. The switching of the clocks, the changing of the sky to grey, packing up yesterday, Halloween, celebrating your demons, the darkness, the fear of the world. And now mourning on the day of the dead. It’s been perfectly cathartic.

Well last night was ridiculously fun. Except that I tripped on a wire going into our third party and fell flat on my face and banged up my leg…and then proceeded to dance on it all night long. So now my thigh has a bruise the size of my entire thigh and it sucks to walk. But it was amazing to dance. I needed to dance. It was all so good. Just what Halloween should be. Bonfire light and smoke smells and strobe light dancing and fire in your heart. Shaking the devil off your back.

I started talking to some guy and almost immediately he asked me “Are you a writer? You sound like a writer from the way that you talk.”

I don’t know how life is. Life is present. Life is coming at me and drifting away at the same time. Life is grey now. Day of the Dead is good. Remembering life, remembering death. I wish we could get more thick with this holiday. Really honor the death that is happening all around. The way the earth is letting go. The way everything is giving up. It’s not tragic. It’s part of the circle. It allows for rest, for respite, for rebirth. And the burrowing down, the shedding of skin, the winter, the dark night of the soul, these things too have their time and season and place in the year. And they are not a mistake. They are not something you SIMPLY must get through in order to get through to the new spring. They are a season in themselves, same as any other. The darkness comes, the erosion comes, the trees let go of what they grow and they know what they’re doing. They’re exhaling. And it is not absence of. It is a whole season all of its own. With its own beauties and discoveries. This is life. November too. Normally I dread it, the death, the mute colors, the aching winds. But it is the wisest of all. And I have to learn from it. And I have to accept all parts of the spinning wheel. The great wheel. I have to accept this too. And find that beauty. And the light in the darkness. And the darkness in the light. And I have love the earth for all her messy parts. And I have to love myself for all my messy parts. All of us. All of our Novembers, our Junes, our Aprils. All of it. All the years.

Day of the Dead. And it’s a celebration. And it’s nothing to be afraid of. And you burn yourself alive and you do not fear. This is so much of what modern Western society is missing. We do not embrace the darkness. The way every society throughout time has. We make Halloween a spectacle of polyester and sugar and plastic colors. We laugh at it and we mass market our only opportunity to celebrate the darkness within us. To look at it. To honor it. To honor the dead. We sell it like we sell everything else. And we leave ourselves no time to honor all those jagged places. Let them breathe, let them live, take them out into the light and thank them and then let them go again. Let the leaves fall to the ground.

I am kindling a fire to bring light to my shadows.

Change your life, I promise you will get to the other side. I promise.

And every time you are born again you are born again brighter. With hotter fire, deeper love, faster fearlessness.

Fear. That’s what this is about. Approaching fear with black fire hands and looking it in the eye. Standing inside of it and making friends with it. Engulfing yourself so that you can be free. With fear, without fear. Fearless. We need not make an enemy of fear, but cherish it, let it inform us, and let it go. And burn brighter. Fires hot with flight. Fearless of the night.

Begin again.