I am dying

what is all this work really about?

I have been so set on my task.

do the emotional work, and get the rewards. I didn’t even notice that I was running on such a reward base.

in this day and age, nothing is useful unless it gets you a goal. and the goal is always utilitarian because that is the pyramid scheme we all live on top of. but what if the goal is to survive the night? will the work resource us deeper than the productive line?

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a state of anxiety. pure desperation. what the fuck am I doing what the fuck am I doing what the fuck am I doing? with everything tumbling down on me like the fall of Rome, I flee outside, to the night sky. this house feels too small and my baby protests too much. there are too many screens and the floors always look dirty.

I stand outside, barefoot in the cold grass so I can tame my screaming mind with something real under my feet. what is left of the real world - wet green grass kept in a concrete square that is still mine to stand on as long as I pay $2390 a month to the dying old couple next door.

my mother is dying.

I am dying.

I am not where I want to be but where is that?

I am scared.

for my son.

for me.

for us.

I don’t know what I am doing or where I am going.

I stand tall, place my hands on my heart and womb, desperate to hear a guiding, steadfast voice. coax me to safety, I beg the palm tree. hold me like you do sometimes, I ask the women in purple dresses who live in my primordial womb. where miracles occur. where life started.

it unravels first as a sob. the tears fall, but not fully. silently, contained. but my mouth is wretched and pulled open from the despair.

my shoulders pull forward and I heave and moan and then they come; the women. they come to me. they hold me.

you are not alone, they say. you are never alone.

I let the night breeze wipe my tears away. I pick up my earphones, cover my ears with their soft leather, and get ready to breathe properly for the first time today.

it is not ecstatic dance; not in the way you might think. it is flowy and ancient; an old practice that has found me recently that helps connect the dots to those purple wearing women and me. my linage; my ancestors; priestesses from the ancient times.

I dance and dance, almost desperate. I open my eyes to the sky and look upon the tree that has held me for over 4 years now. my dear friend; you ask nothing of me but are always here. I devote my life’s work to you.

I flow and dance and the women come to me again, dancing with me, in a procession we have done a thousand times in different times. our hands create symbols and our hips serenade. my birth right; my role in the bigger picture. a priestess of devotion; of nature, of women, of love, of nurture, of pleasure.

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as the dance becomes collective, it becomes trance-like. the music speeds up, and I feel like I am pushing through timelines, racing through pasts and futures, unraveling and unbinding and unseeing.

the song ends and I am here again. small feet in wet grass, with a woollen red jumper that eats my small body whole.

the crying and movement and praying to the sky is my devotional practice. I practice with discipline, hoping to see changes in my life. transactional changes.

but I realise this work is here to hold me, at my lowest, and charge me. it is to keep me safe and steady through the night; it is so much more than a ‘project with goals’. because I don’t need to achieve anything to be worthwhile. I was born valuable. so were you.

this is devotional work, to myself, my ancestors, and to nature. and just like that, I remember who I am, and where I am going.

all my love xx

Structure is what pulls things in. Like a spider web that catches the spoils, our bodies are our structure. When we are vibrating from being present & tending to ourselves on a devotional level, we ourselves become magnetic. Join me, to activate this magnetic structure ~ Mermaid Mary’s Transmission

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