this month, this year.

all i can do i ride my bike and be thankful. yesterday, at 5:30 i rode from downtown to my little home in east village and thought over and over again, what is this feeling springing up in my heart over and over again? its as if my limbs are waking up again after sitting for too long. is this hope? is this joy?

all i can do is let it all go, hold on to grace and let go of all explanations. i recognize that in the process, i've lost friends, a reputation, perhaps respect. i've lost love and safety and so few people know why.

but this is what i do have - i have courage, a sister, and hope. it has been so long since i've had such a clear sense that something good is coming.

what is that good thing? when i got to my neighborhood i rode over the FDR into the 6th st projects. a father and his son told me i had a nice smile and a little girl on her tricycle liked my eyes. that good thing is a home and a family and the most beautiful neighbors.

its a little whisper telling me, there is so much more to come. hope expectant, for the first time in years, hope expectant.

losing

Over here i keep mentioning that i've lost, which is really how i feel about life right now. daily i walk through the streets of new york feeling stripped and barren. or, like right now, i run back to connecticut to hide and take cover. even now, i am covered in blankets and quilts and the comfort of a little new england cottage sequestered in the woods.

in the morning, my mother and i sit in our back yard watching frogs jump in and out of our little pond, sipping our coffee, discussing the day that i'll get married on this little hill. there will be rose gold and pearls and a handful of people who have become a transplant family. it will be private because we are private. it will be simple because we are simple. there will be love.

this is a conversation i always have running through my mind. when i was young, i would walk through our corn fields and our garden trellis and sing a little wedding song to myself. i've never wanted to begin a new home away from this old one. i never believed there could be a greater accomplishment than to spend a life loving one man.

all of this now strikes me as odd. i have no pearls, and i have no love. in fact, at this exact time last year i gave them up and wept and wept and cried out to the L-RD, you are the greatest pearl, and then lived for twelve months giving to swine what he had already purchased.

that's too aloof. these conversations strike me as odd because i am so aware of my aloneness and vulnerability. since the spring, i have watched, one by one, things and people i care about go away. its loss -that's the only word for it.

i built a home in those californian hills. i carved out a life and a space and drove away from it all, promising myself that family matters and there was more of a life to live. the sweetest bearded man is gone. we didn't fight each other. he looked so tenderly at me and believed in me and said goodbye. i wonder what would happen if i had just turned around and come back and laid my body at the foot of his bed until LA was ours.

since new york, i sit quietly in my room feeling shaky, but not enough to weep. i was afraid of these streets for so long, afraid of traveling north along the east river. friends have left, jobs have left. some of them i kicked out, some of them chose it. either way they are gone. i am quiet about it - afraid to acknowledge that i miss them or long, unable to fight someone's decision or my own. the low tide is so strong, i put my trust in the gravity of the moon; i put my trust in the L-RD. i have to. i have nothing left to hold on to instead.

my insides are weak. my veins and my heart are drooping. i walk meekly, i bow my head. thinking that after all this loss, there must only be the prayer: i have so little, i need so much.

therefore i will block her path with thornbushes;
i will wall her in so that she cannot find her way.
she will look for them but not find them.
then she will say
'i will go back to my husband as at first,
for then i was better off than now.

make it stop

I've been reading this and this. all while listening to this and reading this.

over and over again I hear the voice of my brother, in all of his wisdom, "silence only serves patriarchy".

despite being inclined to damn all patriarchies, I'm not willing to just yet. instead, perhaps its enough to say "silence only defends evil".

where abuse exists, our voice must be loud enough to make it stop.

what I thought about after watching the dark night rises is that recovering from a broken heart is hard work. difficult after being so depleted. how does one get their spirit back? their heart? I have been trying for three years, coming up empty handed, still at a loss, still so empty.


I have so much regret, so many messes to clean, so much dust to sweep. I am so sorry.

pyrrhic victory after pyrrhic victory. that it ever started means that we've lost. I've lost, so has he.

only love to you.

i did not know that one simple move could change the course of so many things. is any move simple? is any transplant of hearts and bodies a simple task? or it is against us, as i suspect, to uproot from the people and souls and soils we've planted ourselves in.

blow after blow, in the last two weeks, everything has changed. and one final blow tonight. one final connection severed; the most important one.

all i can say is: go. go in the direction your heart has always dreamed and bloom there. let me be proud. let me go as well, to sift. you, my dear, are on the brink of discovery. and while we stood at the brink of love, while we held each other's bodies close, we knew it was only for a bit. i adore you. i simply adore you. but go, go make music and dream dreams and have thoughts that you need to have. do not follow me.

and simply, thank you. and simply thank you for not asking me to come, nor dismissing mine. and simply, in the goodbye, my heart only swells one more time to affirm: i am the luckiest to know that you are alive. and to have my heart moved by you and changed by you is something in only count as good even in my longing to have you come back.

at night, i will whisper 'come back,' but i will not beg or plead or beg your pardon. i will not apologize for the threadbare faith i am but only hanging onto, mock it though you do. if its only that veil that keeps us apart, than you deserve the credit for your integrity - for your respect to not ask me to take one final swipe against it and come all back into your life. you deserve my admiration, from afar. i can only say you are good. i can only say i am so thankful to have known a man like you. your kaleidoscope heart revealing itself is so many hidden ways. i love it. i do, i love it.

and i too, have paths to find, a veil to darn, a strength to rediscover. i will sing as the barren women, singing as in the days of her youth. tents rebuilt, a life restored. and thank you to you, for seeing that strength as it was seeping out of me. and only love to you, one day we will meet again. only love to you.

tonight i sat as i watched friends lives fall apart and come together over love. over a glass of wine. over fear and hate and sorrow.

i sat, mostly silent, hesitant to ever share my own stories of love and fear and hate and sorrow.

and when it was time to go home, i went home alone, wishing for hand from california to guide me back, safely, to my bed and say goodnight. but instead i recited the promises that i have abandoned. faithfulness, love, true.

i miss your kisses and your eyes and your gentleness, i do. i miss your giggle and your bright face when i walked into the room. i miss your wit and your puns and your compassion.

but in this season and in this time it feels imperative to be alone. i left you, full of regret and wishing that i didn't have to and the one who brought me home has left again. but it seems so important to sit in my own thoughts and slowly make my coffee in the morning. only to drink it alone as i recite psalm 23 one more time. "i shall not want".

but i do want. i do want to be safe, and i want to have never left a beating heart hurting and i want mine to not be so acquainted with sorrow. i do want to know how i will pay rent again and to understand the coming and going of the tides. i do want joy.

you are coming and going with the tides. you are going. i have left. when a raven dies, its murder never flies over the spot where he died again. please tell me that doesn't mean we won't meet again. so much of my hope in the world right now is rested in the golden threads woven in your heart.

this season is hard and weak and lonely. in the best way, it is lonely. in the best way, it is honest. i carry a heart full of regret.