I love the conversations that we have about art, language, the world, trauma and learning, literature and our relationships to ourselves, the people in our lives and the world. The conversations ignite me. They stay with me for months if not years afterward. I love getting to know more layers of the people I love. We slipped into an indoor soccer venue at night to watch strangers play and/or poke and prod lost balls out of the netting by the ceiling. Fluorescent lights hitting the ultra green field turf: It served as such a sweet and fitting backdrop to our conversations of balance and connection.
II. Sunday [Unfolding on the evening of the moon named for the season in which wolves mate. We are lone, but we also travel in packs]
One of the most incredible feelings in the world is being with someone who has loved and supported you in more ways you can imagine for a very long time. There is a different feeling when someone kisses you or holds your hand who is a person who has inspired you, treated you with thoughtful respect, made you laugh, made you dinner, and has supported you both in what you are aiming for and in what makes you feel safe. Respectful words, respectful actions and the simple truth of looking out for you.
When that same person buries their head in your neck, runs their fingers across your palm, slides their hand on your leg, places their mouth on the corner of yours - it changes you. Each and every time that it happens. It instills a self-love to leave situations that don't include the foundations of these things described, here. (It also allows for some of the most vulnerable and incredible sex, ever. It is within this trust, this love, this knowing that we can drown in the most beautiful of ways.)
I feel thankful of this, tonight.
It is something of reverence.
III. Monday
Redaction in its sanitization sense (as distinguished from its other editing sense) is the blacking out or deletion of text in a document, or the result of such an effort. It is intended to allow the selective disclosure of information in a document while keeping other parts of the document secret.
I could live on the past 72 hours for a lifetime
and
on a cellular and blueprint level
I fully intend to.
be well; be loved
k.
(title: a play on Raymond Carver's book What We Talk About When We Talk About Love. A book that, once I read it, was entirely underwhelmed by and, to this day, feel is overrated. Dig your hands into the soil, my love. This love is not one of observation and reporting; it is one of engagement with our minds, hearts and passions fully in tact.)
(image Une Semaine de Bonté (A Week of Kindness), 1933, Max Ernst via secretcinema1 tumblr)
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