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Elmira

WHAT WE DO


Here I am, on the flip side of a full moon, with Mars returning direct, and a shit show of a major astrological storm that has left me bruised up, raw, and all kinds of shades of indigo. My experience of time has collapsed to a crawl. Here in this place where the dead is dying and the new has yet to be borne, everything is weighted. Every day is significant. Every interaction loaded with either destruction or potentiality. It's fucking exhausting to have to consider every single decision, choice of words, or thought with such scrutiny. I am ready for a shift. I am ready to transition from the grinding labor contractions to the glorious release of rebirth. And I am practicing affirming my own worth more fully as I make the proclamation that, "I am entitled to this shift. My transition has been blessed by the same divine energies that cause the flower buds to push out their fruit. I have done all the work here that I can do and being in this place will not serve me in fulfilling my life's longing."

But, eww. That felt awkward, and uncomfortable. The concept that I am entitled or blessed to anything is foreign and sits lumpy in my brain. But I'm trying to hold the tensions between this belief that others have driven into my head that I am not entitled to a damn thing and have no worth, alongside this new practice of affirming for myself that there are things that I am indeed entitled to, and that my worth can be measured in tons. I affirm for myself that I am entitled to things like relationships that don't hurt and traumatize, lovers and partners who practice care and consideration, a climate that suits my cloths, and sweet lemonade to drink.

The truth is, I've got stores and stockpiles of lemons that I've been sitting on, for decades now, and they've all gone rotten as I've waited diligently for that magical recipe to be handed down to me and guide me in turning all them lemons into lemonade. I was never given that magic recipe, just the fucking lemons. Here in this post-Lemonade world, I've been wondering when the fuck I'm gonna get it, or if I even ever will. And the thought of sitting here a moment longer with all these lemons lights a fire in me and I make a decision to write the recipe my damn self, if I have to.

From that place, comes the step by step directions. Clear as crystal. And as I slice and mix, the symphonies of hope and possibility begin to play in my heart again. I have done the heartbreaking work of releasing what will not be, and embracing my next best alternative. I have chosen to evaluate what I can do to improve my situation independently of another persons choices or actions, and I am making that move.

In this mid spring frenzy of buzzing bees and blooming trees, I sit in my garden and let myself take in the land at this point in the cycle, for the last time. I watch the garden beds that run east, towards the rising sun, and remember the labor spent to turn this patch of weedy grass and compacted dirt into an enchanted food forest where strawberries are plucked by little hands, and fairies and ladybugs are given luxury style hospitality. As I sip my coffee I offer up prayers for the next nest we land in; please, please, please, give us more of this. I've lived within a 20 mile or so radius for the last 23 years, and I am both terrified as well as ecstatic to be leaving Portland as I pursue desires and life arrangements that have been perpetually eluding me for years. Layers and layers of trauma have confined me. Piles and piles of socially constructed bullshit have weighed and tethered me to places I never wanted to be, and in situations that I never asked for but yet never stopped showing up for.

Sitting there in the garden watching this sun soaked peace of earth, I decide that this is THE day. The day that I decide to start showing up for myself and say, I deserve to be treated better than this. I deserve to be in relationship with people who can see my worth. I deserve to have my loyalty as a friend and partner met and reciprocated. I deserve to have partners who understand with all their heart that it is not the incompatibilities between two people that cause the demise of a relationship, but that rather, demise or success of a relationship is brought about by how those two people navigate the incompatibilities between them. Fairy tale versions of romance and infatuation offer no pathway to the kind of love or partnership that I seek. That situational and fleeting way of relating is lovely to share with side flings and lovers, but won't provide the stamina needed to get through the feelings of wanting to bail when egos clash and interests conflict. Sustainable relationships take emotional labor, lots of it. And who knows if it ever ends. The supply of tense dynamics that surface in relationship seems to never dry up. There is always more to unpack, turn over, or challenge. I feel confident in saying that if this work isn't happening in a relationship, it's because one or the other of the parties involved has resigned themselves to, or has been socialized to internalize the tension and accomodate, rather than confront it.

From my experiences, relations with others require a commitment to process and conflict work, as well as a capacity to not abandon or forfeit the work in favor of something more flowery and fleeting. Hopefully, each person can offer the other enough space and room to regenerate, to nourish that part of ourself that longs for ease and playfulness, but I don't believe that meeting that need should come at the expense of a partnership.

Ground yourself dammit. Who is it that you belong to? Find them. Stand by them. Show up for them. Honor their complexities. Listen with your heart when they offer you the gift of reflection and feedback. Contextualize your way of being in the world with the historical narrative that you tend to ignore, and thus bind yourself to. Learn the difference between abandonment of the work and taking a reprieve. Take the fucking reprieve, but don't abandon.

I stand here as the strongest version of my self that I have ever been. An intuitive, intelligent, outspoken, unflinching woman in her 33rd season who has birthed three humans, who has survived unspeakable tragedies and shattering heart break and has found a way after every collapse, to build again. I know my worth and I do not shy away from owning it or speaking it any longer. The wisdom in my bones, the hard wrought lessons seared into my memory, the treasures gleaned in the aftermath of each personal apocalypse. All of these things add to my value, not diminish it.

I have been to the dark edge of my soul, that place where all of the sense we make becomes senseless. I have surrendered to the pull of the south, fell back and let the fire consume me. I have phoenixed, and returned from my south a much stronger and fuller human.

And it seems as though I have become a "too much woman",

"Oh, that “too much” woman. . . too loud, too vibrant, too honest, too emotional, too smart, too intense, too pretty, too difficult, too sensitive, too wild, too intimidating, too successful, too fat, too strong, too political, too joyous, too needy—too much."

"Forget everything you’ve heard—your too much-ness is a gift; oh yes, one that can heal, incite, liberate, and cut straight to the heart of things.

Do not be afraid of this gift, and let no one shy you away from it. Your too much-ness is magic, is medicine. It can change the world."

Yes this too much woman will ask you to challenge your beliefs. I will ask you to hold my hand while we step into the work of bringing in our awareness the historical cycles that will inevitably surface between us, and rejecting them. It will be hard, laborious work, and we will all benefit from it. Our children will be blessed and the spirits will be fed. I will love you with my whole heart, and not be satisfied with anything less in return. I will ask for your integrity and loyalty in our process, which is not for one moment to be confused with sexual fidelity. Can you wrap your head and heart around that? Or does its meaning elude you. I might be too much of a too much woman for you, if you can't make sense of this.

The sun rises high in the sky now and I hear the sounds of my child waking. I gather my thoughts, and as my bare feet walk the path towards this house that wasn't quite able to be made into a home, I know that me and my baby gonna be all right. We gonna live a good life. I am ready and willing to scrap the map, and to follow the sacred. We will miss our home, and our life as we've known it, but we deserve better than what this place has to offer.

I pray that you will wish us well, and keep us in your hearts as we move towards making home and hearth.


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