It's the last day of June, a half of a year of 2021 flew by. It is the future and it's moving fast.
I sit on my couch taking in the speed of time, and also how easily time stops when I'm in flow, and also how long it feels when I am in dread. Time is malleable, like a piece of play-doh. You can stretch it long. Or cut it short. Time is boundless. Infinite in its ability to change. How cool, to be time.

As I sit and meditate on the meaning of time... and put my thoughts into words, sometimes worthy to be written, sometimes not... I suddenly realize the only sounds I hear - aside from the click-clacks on my computer's keyboard - are the sound of water from my cats' water fountain signaling to me it may be running out of water soon, and the sound of a candle on its last leg. A Eucalyptus & palm scent, if you're curious. Crackling Fire and dripping water. Fire and rain, synchronized in their song. A background song to my meditation on time.

How fitting that the elements would appear as I attempt to delve deep to a concept so elusive even the greatest minds of Einstein and the likes didn't fully grasp. TIME. We take it for granted, we live our lives thinking we have allllll the time in the world... but in actuality - we are mere puppets of time and it is our puppet master. Elusive and tricky, always surprising us with its sudden shifts and turns. It is a mysterious Puck like character. But rather than playing Cupid on us - Time plays us like a ticking bomb.  The only thing we know on time - is that it's limited. Death is absolute. It is finite. It is the opposite of time.
Or rather, perhaps it is Time's purpose: To end.   

Today in my beloved workout regime - 'The Class' - at the middle of some serious sweaty can't-take-it-anymore move, I found myself dreading the notion of even one more squat. As if the instructor (Shaman? Guru? Healer?) read my mind, she blurted out this time-stopping mantra:

                   'You are always only one breath away from presence'

Apparently this brilliant simple mantra was from the heartfelt mind of Natalie Kuhn - another fantastic The Class instructor/shaman/guru/healer. I can go on and on but this mantra speaks for itself so in the full spirit of it I am gonna just leave it here and go... TAKE MY NEXT BREATH. 

Dear Procrastination,

Thank you.
Thanks to your visit today, I lowered my storage on my gmail account from 78% to 74% (this took HOURS), I did two loads of laundry (hurray), did some tidying up the place and ALL the dishes in the sink, binged on some mindless youtube rabbit hole, cleaned my desktop, posted a photo on Instagram (a tedious task, for sure), ran long-awaited errands, scheduled dentist appointment, vet appointment, physical therapy appointment because - well - I have health insurance so why not? Did Day 9 of a 30 day yoga challenge online with my beau and yoga partner, spent some useless time jumping between Clubhouse and Greenroom social media audio apps, listened to an entire podcast series about 'Mommy Doomsday', listened to some of my crush 'Conspirituality podcast', looked up mid-century homes on Zillow that I cannot afford because a girl can dream, read synopsis of Operas because it's awesome, brushed my teeth TWICE and it's not even dinner time, and even played a fun association game. 

Thanks to your unabashed presence today - I did all that.
A day of rest from something, is a full day of - well, something else. Somethings. And I gotta say - I had FUN going with your flow today, I indulged in you, I soaked you in. With no shame, and no guilt. And for that - I am thankful.

But with all that you gave me, dear Procrastination, you also took something away:
I didn't write. 
'Thou give it, and thou take it away...'

The gift is the punishment, isn't that so, Procrastination?

Until the next time you'll be on my path...

Your receptor.

I once was yearning for connection.
The kind that offers pure protection.
A bond, a merge, a link,
A partnership, a group think. 
Community was what I tried to find
I ran towards it eager, even blind.
Blind enough to lose myself in the search
To lastly find myself at a church.
Sure, I found a home among the herd
And was touched by a preacher's word
But little by little the home became hot
And with a flame I got tangled in a knot
Before I knew it, I got caught in the burning fire
Imagined an end so tragic - it was dire.
But like the best survivors' tales, I made it out
And graced myself with a prideful sense of doubt.
And out is where I learned a single truth,
A notion that is often wasted on the youth:
'One only yearns to connect when they are divided
And even a follower of God can be misguided.
So don't yearn to be one of many but rather be many of one.'
And just like that my search to nothing at last was done.

Go into mystery. 
You're there? Good. Now go deeper. And deeper. And further. Further in. To the depth of mystery. To the inner Y in mYstery. Go in without expectations. Go in without stops. Go in not knowing what mystery you'll uncover. Go in not thinking you will uncover a thing at all. 

Writing is all about going into the unknown; the mystery. Okay, okay... sure - sometimes it is about fulfilling a task, or 'getting it done' or pocketing that paycheck, but all other times? ALL other times - if you can - make writing be about the unknown. Discover it. Be open to unwind into something. Into nothing. Is there any difference between the two anyways? 

And if writing isn't your thing, go in the mystery of your day. Do the thing that scares you. Do something new every day. Eat the thing you used to hate, see if you had changed. Say hello to a stranger in the street. Dance in your kitchen. Sing from your balcony. Play a video game. PLAY anything. Go IN to a state of discovery. To whatever mystery is to you. Dig into the Y in mYstery. It hides in plain sight and all you have to do is open your eyes and go IN. Go into it. Go intuit. Go into your intuition. Go into your instinct.
Just -- go.  
You're there?
Good. Now go deeper.

My invisible ink knows me better than I know myself. 
It sings to me in my sleep, it speaks to me in all my waking hours, and it shouts at me on the blank page. It fills the page with an avalanche of feelings, yearning to be SEEN. The invisible ink runs through me in every fleeting moment. And it also runs YOU.
You, too, have an invisible ink following your every breathing move. It may not speak to you in the same way as mine does. Yours may shout at you on the road, and reveals its RAGE to you unconsciously, or perhaps it shows it's wondrous self in the meal you cook to yourself, or maybe you are an artist drawing their soul, or a mother weaving her best tactics putting a toddler to sleep, or a lawyer crafting her case. The invisible ink is a shared bond between all of us. And no matter what ground we hail from, or what gender if any we identify with, or what are values are - the invisible ink speaks through us with every fiber of our being. It is life force, the inner life force, showing itself - yearning to be visible. It's the blind spots we all have to ourselves. It's our most inner selves. It's the invisible ink of our being. 

Art makes the invisible visible. The invisible ink is the playground and the clay for an artist. But it is not only for the artist. It's for every human. Are YOU human? Great! Then go write in a journal! Or have a date with yourself! Or make music! Or make dinner! Or make love! And carefully listen to your invisible song, and look closely to see your invisible ink. 

Dear Insecurity,

Hello again. 
Can't say I'm the happiest to re-connect with you. 

You bring along a shaky feeling in my stomach. My body wants to collapse into the ground.
My voice is suddenly three octaves higher. I age regress when you are around, dear Insecurity.
I am a five year old again, an eight year old, a teen, a tween, a young girl feeling insecure.
When you are around, I think the whole world judges everything about me. I am well aware that the world has better things to do than occupy itself with my lil' ole' self, but the self-indulgent belief persists. And then I turn my judgment on myself: I am shit. I am a loser. I am nothing. A pile of garbage. Inadequate. Imperfect. Insecure.

Being insecure is like not knowing one's self at all.
It's lonely with you, Insecurity. It's lonely when you join me. Because when you join me - I go and separate from the rest of the world. You are like some cult leader pulling me away from my family. A cunning and very charismatic cult leader. The cult of 'Insecurity.'
Clearly, you are intertwined with Ego, Insecurity. You disguise yourself as a victim but we both know that you run things with Ego in the lead pulling your strings. I'm on to that trick, Insecurity. I SEE you. I see exactly what you are.  
You are a mistress of illusion: you sweep me away from my center, my core, my grounding, my KNOWINGNESS. You pull me to be all consumed with self-judgement, fear, self-doubt, you name it. You shove any inch of my deep self-knowing away like it was a plague. 

But you know what?
There's something else about you that makes me kind of okay with all of that: You are TEMPORARY. That's right. You are a state, and in a moment - POOF! You will be gone, just like that. You are a passing sneeze, an itch, a pimple that is irritating as hell but GOES AWAY QUICKLY. You are a temporary nuisance, dear Insecurity.
And you got nothing on me. 

Sayonara, bitch. 

Your temporary vessel. 

This tune is NOT getting out of my head today, so you're welcome. :)

I'll resume creative writing tomorrow, but today I'm all about 'traveling at the speed of light like a shooting star leaping through the sky​, so don't stop me now 'cause I'm having a good time - oh I'm having a good time! I'm burning through the sky, yeah, like a tiger defying the laws of gravity!'

~I wish I was as still and inviting as a tree
For then a bird would also land on me~