For our bodies are made to be

Did you know
that we are taller in the morning?

Our muscles
Having braved the night
away from gravity
   lengthened beyond its reach,
Feeling outstretched,
Limitless ...
And upon waking,
Our measure
Is tightened again,
Having
To bear the weight of another day.

It's still Cancer season

Much.

Under the soft glow of midnight moon
I think of her,
and news reports of bone dry fields burning,

as do I.

 with want and a kiss,
but she is sleeping sound,
across town,
in the bed where we slept
    apart
and nothing touched
but a freckle
and
I feel as though
I stifled the lone ember.

On friendship

"If you consider any man a friend whom you do not trust as you trust yourself, you are mightily mistaken and you do not sufficiently understand what true friendship means… When friendship is settled, you must trust; before friendship is formed, you must pass judgment. Those persons indeed put last first and confound their duties, who … judge a man after they have made him their friend, instead of making him their friend after they have judged him. Ponder for a long time whether you shall admit a given person to your friendship; but when you have decided to admit him, welcome him with all your heart and soul. Speak as boldly with him as with yourself… Regard him as loyal and you will make him loyal." -Seneca

All the news that's fit to print

Dear Pen pal,

All the growth I've mustered over the past year has been documented and it is important I look back on it, and in turn offer myself the most heartfelt compassion.

Yesterday was a bucolic, and transcendent day. I drove up the 30 to Astoria with my dear friend, whom still embarrasses me with ease, and with liberty that only an ex can do. We visited a pal who had relocated to that sleepy town. She lives in an old Victorian home surrounded by hills, and a herd of cows. We wished to live in one of the rooms and take naps on the couch. For a moment our lives were put on hold, stresses gave way to goofiness and playful banter. My pal's menagerie of pets were also part of the charm.
When we left we listened to Van Morrison and belted out the lyrics.
It was a lovely day.
And today I shared in a meeting about my current struggle on the 9th step. I'm in this amends making journey, that is neither sweet, nor bitter, only a struggle because it is a real one.
And I inch down the list. Looking at resentments of old, trying to apologize for the wrongs I've done and somehow finding the strength to do this work.
Now is the time to give it over to my higher power, because I certainly don't have any reason to think I have control. I can only be truthful, because in the end, the greatest amends will be the one I offer myself.

Thanks for letting me vent.
Sincerely,

-R

This.

Pablo Neruda - Die Slowly

He who becomes the slave of habit,
who follows the same routes every day, 
who never changes pace, 
who does not risk and change the color of his clothes, 
who does not speak and does not experience,
dies slowly.

He or she who shuns passion,
who prefers black on white, 
dotting ones "it’s" rather than a bundle of emotions, the kind that make your eyes glimmer, 
that turn a yawn into a smile, 
that make the heart pound in the face of mistakes and feelings,
dies slowly.

He or she who does not turn things topsy-turvy, 
who is unhappy at work, 
who does not risk certainty for uncertainty, 
to thus follow a dream, 
those who do not forego sound advice at least once in their lives, 
die slowly.

He who does not travel, who does not read, 
who does not listen to music, 
who does not find grace in himself, 
she who does not find grace in herself, 
dies slowly.

He who slowly destroys his own self-esteem, 
who does not allow himself to be helped, 
who spends days on end complaining about his own bad luck, about the rain that never stops, 
dies slowly.

He or she who abandon a project before starting it, who fail to ask questions on subjects he doesn't know, he or she who don't reply when they are asked something they do know,
die slowly.

Let's try and avoid death in small doses, 
reminding oneself that being alive requires an effort far greater than the simple fact of breathing.

Only a burning patience will lead
to the attainment of a splendid happiness.Pablo Neruda

The grass

caught the sun this morning

before my head was fully aware

I sat in the bright

waking

it was the blades

that were cutting

through the thicket

of light

and air

Dear pen pal,

Why am awake? I just got home. It was a karaoke night. I sang. (I just misspelled that sand and now I'm distracted by the thought of me being sand.) I had too many cokes. I dropped off a couple of the friends. They were drunk. 

My favorite part of these types of things is not talking. It was too loud to talk, and since most of my job is to talk, I love when I fucking don't have to. I'm missing the ocean.

I wanted to do more self-care this week, but this week sucks.

Self-care as in, eat more than one meal in a single day and try to drink less coffee. Maybe eat a fucking vegetable. Salad? Maybe.

It has been a week where sentimental thoughts have reminded me that I do have time for some of those aforementioned feelings. And they sure do arise. 

I finally met that person Daisy in real life. I think she was flirting with me. It's really weird when people come on too strong? I'm always like... what am I suppose to do here? So I awkwardly paid for my coffee and walked away.

Smooth.

Anyways. I need to try to sleep. We have an action tomorrow. What a weird life...what a beautiful life. 

Soon.

-R

p.s. write soon

ducks

cor·dial

ˈkôrjəl/

adjective

1. 1.

   warm and friendly.

   "the atmosphere was cordial and relaxed"

   synonyms:

   friendly, warm, genial, affable, amiable, pleasant, fond, affectionate, warmhearted, good-natured, gracious, hospitable, welcoming, hearty "a cordial welcome"

noun

1. 1.

   NORTH AMERICAN

   another term for liqueur.

   synonyms:

   liqueur, drink "fruit cordial"
2. 2.

   a comforting or pleasant-tasting medicine.

Dear pen pal,

I started smoking again. I don't feel too bad about it. It was suggested to me to also remember that I could not smoke and try screaming and crying, but I rarely have time for screaming and crying.

I had a great time in Chicago. I was particularly moved by the St. Francis of Assisi portrait that I sat in front of. There I said the prayer of St. Francis (although he didn't write it) it felt right in the moment. The Art Institute of Chicago had just changed out their Rodin exhibit so unfortunately we missed seeing “The Thinker”. There just wasn't enough time to breathe it all in.

At the conference I met the most interesting people while outside the hotel having smoke breaks. It was quite cold. The lowest it got there during my stay was 27. I had never been east of New Mexico, and seeing the Great Lake was awe inspiring. The color of that water was a shade of blue I'd never seen. I looked hard into the abyss and never saw the bottom. The ducks were unafraid, but I feared that the deepness of the lake could pull me in, even though I was firmly standing on a dock.

On my return flight (which I fucking hated because sitting still is not my forte) I received word that my boss has been fired. He had been awful to work for, and we organized to get rid of him. Now we are floating without a bottom... I'm not sure what sort of battle is yet to come, but I will accept all forms of prayer.

I got you a postcard. It is of one of the tourist spectacles. All in all I enjoyed my time in 'the windy city'. There were some folks who were nicer than others, and it was refreshing. Portland can be dull with niceties and it is neither kind, not cordial to lure others into an abyss of your inability to set a boundary. Don't make eye contact on the 'L'. 

I see that I have some reoccurring themes here.

More to ponder on another day. Good luck with the new moon.

-R

Her smile was something you longed to earn.

ESSR and Iran

4/3/18

Dear Pen pal,

I woke up this morning before my alarm went off at 6:15. I got 6 hours of sleep, but feel more well rested than I have in weeks. (The depression doesn't make you feel rested, its just a weight that keeps you in bed longer.) I got up early to go to East side sunrise. My friend Layla is leaving to Iran for a month and I really wanted to spend more time with her before she left. My growth in recovery has allowed me to go deeper into relationships than ever before. And as an added gift, as I was heading home, I saw Gradey Proctor in his car waiting for the light. We rolled down our windows and said hello. I felt big gratitude for community. Which led me to thinking about that word, community, and knowing that that is why the person I dated for a month dumped me. I must write about them, but I won't write out their name to respect their anonymity, and instead will refer to them as Jasper, which is probably a name they would like.

Jasper was scared. Jasper wanted to keep their romantic relationships separate from their friendships and their work life. Jasper wanted control. I have learned, through my experience with addiction primarily, the more you try to control something, the more you've lost control. And when I spoke of my community, and all I do to maintain it, they did more than furl, they expelled anything that might of come of our interaction. They were comfortable with getting off, and flirting with whatever idea of me they were turned on by, but as with all things, the reality of the way I conduct myself was not going to jive with the carefully curated control they have on their reality.

Now, I reflect on their person-hood, their actions, my actions, and patterns, I am unearthing this realization of how I need to write it out. This connection to writing. I've always kept journals, and even used codes to make sure I could get it out, but remain safe. And now I see I need to show myself some of the ease I allow others. I see the compassion, that I give, and I apologize for those time I judged you on your fears. Fears are SO necessary. They help us. Fears are triggers. Fears are real. I'm sorry I judged you, and tried to offer myself as a solution to your insecurities, because I AM flawed. Obviously. That doesn't mean I'm not without quality. I'm an experienced human, yes, lived real experience with MISTAKES.

I can't burn all those bad ideas in fire and look at the ash thinking it's gone. No, I can't control others. I can only control my actions. And even that is impossible sometimes. Sometimes those impulses take hold and send a text that was malformed. Sometimes I buy sugar, caffeine, cigarettes, and avoid all things good. Sometimes I roll down the windows and break speed limits. Sometimes I let the heart do what the head insists is illogical. How I long to drive and drive and drive away from my life. Those hard, hard moments. I'm not sure I can drive fast enough. And driving away from my life, away from my perception of what is wrong, will only result in me driving and finding the same thing....me. There I am.

I'm sorry it has been awhile since I've written. Work has been tough. Real awful actually. I'm not being honest to myself. And I'm holding on too tight to things that aren't working. And I'm using the wrong tools to stab through the falsehoods.

I'm leaving to Chicago Wednesday night. I'm so excited. This is my first time traveling east of New Mexico. I paid for the trip with my own money. I'll be at a labor conference but I hope to explore a bit. It's going to be cold out there. I plan on eating deep dish, hot dogs, and finding the Mexican barrio that I've been told about. I'll pick you up a gift.

I'm sure I won't find bones like I did in the desert, but I'm sure there will be ghosts. And I like those.

I'm going to sign off. My musings are starting to ramble. I will close with this thought:

Nothing is impossible.

I must go call my sponsor. A walk will do me well. I'm going to go visit that house I was dreaming about at 6 am. I will pretend it is mine, and every, window would be covered in my houseplants, and a lazy dog, and cat would be there keeping me company as I played Thelonius Monk and shook the dust off my record collection. Wouldn't that be nice?

Talk soon,

R

St. Angelica

Late
and I'm driving home.
Sad song plays on the radio, the taste of cigarettes masked by the sweetness of Angelica.
I know this is the room where I live, but it is not home. It is the place of my belongings and where I listen to the sounds of life. And in the restless hour, where voices sleep, I stare at the blue light glow of ceiling shadows, making patterns of what my mind paints.

This is mine...this space is mine.

Last
from the desert
with dirt
under nails
heard
by the dust
and this
is where
I can say
that the moon
and fools
are all under
and when it swells
it is not
without
or within
but always
just
mine.

i'm on strike with matches

                     I.

Non-alcoholic elixir of herbs and magic

ISO MOC/hard femme types . ..

for constructive arguments, witty banter,          and silence.

This abuelo has a very low-tolerance for yt bullshit.


My arms are too tired for more emotional labor, but we can tear up over some, This Is Us. I keep wondering what is better than Randall? Then Kevin comes through with something.


Let's look longingly at rivers with forgotten names,

and I can read to you, and you trace your fingers over my
                                                                                              lines, skin, breaks.

     listen
I hear
your
heart.

               II.

Dark and moody type, seeking out the same for calling out sick, and fucking in bed.


                            III.

Incredibly good external organizer with messy desk ISO fellow coffee addict. I can't really converse without it in the morning. And I generally don't trust those who don't drink coffee.
In the summer I will make too many jars of sun tea and you can help keep track of where I've left my thoughts.



     IV.

    Stubborn cancer with floating earth parts ISO a human that has a catalog of life experience and wants to fold me into her pages. Please be mildly into biting.


   V.

Good humored belly-laugher can intuitively tell when you might need a gift, a card, or nothing at all. Let's walk the Oregon coast, get cold and wet, and spend evenings by fire, exploring the roar of  . . . .

  VI.

Rock and disease coin collector ISO a dusty, neglected, lover, who is ready to spend countless hours trying to connect, but we're both too busy to physically meet up.



VII.

Lonesome human, with kindness to share ISO, one person who is willing to commit to the imperfections of life. You: Smile with your whole body; offer me things you can never actually give; quote my favorite authors; cook with the grace of all your ancestors.
Me: I love with loyalty to a fault; I buy too many cards, that I never send; I spend most days sitting in my car, trying to catch a glimpse of Red Tailed Hawks.

portrait

5 things I am grateful for today:

1. Coffee
2. Black clothes
3. The voice of Sarah Vaughn singing "The very thought of you".


4. I don't have an amends to make today.
5. Me

gravel peel faithfulness

When the route reveals you

I sing.
I am sad.
The trauma is there.
The confusion is there.
I won't use a bible verse to convey the mixed feelings of my heart.
I don't care if you ever glance my way.
Because I feel what I feel because they are my feelings. All the muck and grime of living,
and breathing.
I feel the sadness of my friends' dad's death anniversary.
I want to cry. But it's stuck.
I have this ache inside of wanting someone to make me feel whole when the world has sucked me dry. If you only knew how hard I have to work to get through.

This is my confession.

This is my priest.

I tell you I am sick. I am neglected. I am all the things real and felt. I am proud, and hurt. I am all these things all at once. I am allowed to feel.
And I hold compassion in my heart for those who suffer. And I'm also stubborn in what I give out. Because I give out too much.

---Save your receipts for the returns.

And I exist because I have kept going, fighting, loving myself.
And I do miss you. You showed up in my dream last night to be exact. You told me you love me. And I did not say it back. I got in the car with a woman named Daisy, that I've never met in real life. But I've helped keep her sober. And I got in her truck and drove away.
That is exactly how I feel. Confused.
How am I?

I really dislike the sound of my housemate's laugh. It is like chalk on blackboard. I am full, and I am sometimes petty. I have less headaches. I still don't do the things I used to do when I get lonely. But sometimes I move from alone to lonely and back again. And that is how I ebb and flow.
And I described to my therapist the duality of my being. And the tip of my tongue is not being bit off...because it is okay. I am okay. I am okay. I am loved.

and now i cry.

"It was working poorly, like a set of disjointed legos." -1/26/15

Tonight's walk on Fernhill

The remnants of Christmas' soft glow bathed the street in light.
I walked past 6114, where the dearly departed's last bits of furnishings stood in mourning, waiting for their new home ... like the orphaned belongings of a sole guardian. It was my fourth or fifth visit to these ruins. I don't know why I was so drawn to them. Maybe it was because it felt forbidden? Taboo? To casually rifle through decades of life tossed on the curb.
Rounding the corner of Holman, the sounds of the saturated grasses, breathed to break the silence.
Upon an open window I voyeur-ed, and saw the affections of adults.
I walked to reclaim the neighborhood,
trying to forever shake the ghosts of yesterday.