Archive for January, 2017

Of Tigers and Feathers – Day 153

Listening to Something Wild (Andrew McMahon and Lindsey Stirling) and having all the teary feels. I remember feeling the same way at the beginning of Up, when the girl and the boy were adventuring together.

Gentle reminder that everyone needs that warm, confiding hand, the soft word, the trusted one at your back. Everyone needs someone to look at their treasure map and agree that there is indeed treasure worth searching for where X marks the spot, despite fang and claw and raging storms.

“If you’re lost out where the lights are blinding
Caught and all the stars are hiding
That’s when something wild calls you home, home
If you face the fear that keeps you frozen
Chase the sky into the ocean
That’s when something wild calls you home, home”

It’s near the end of January 2017.
What maps have I drawn?
What hopes have I hung on?

Day 153 of this thought experiment of being attempting self-awareness, of dissecting need and desire, of trying to apply the tenets of minimalism to my emotional home.

What paths have I strayed down and wandered away from?
What tears have fed what roots and what sun has parched which shoots?

All I can hold onto to is the promise that I am indeed stronger than I know.

What wilderness lies within that calls me safe harbor? What beasties do I provide haven and sanctuary to?
What wilderness sings to me, promising more warmth than the concrete jungle ever could? What dragons fly just over the horizon, with wings of dream and eyes of hopes from nightmare?

I’ve been distracted by school and everything that entails and so I haven’t been doing much of anything this new year. Not yet made concrete resolutions. Not yet had a chance to look back at 2016 and my resolutions then to see where I have grown and where I’ve stagnated. Not truly looked at the terrain of my life to see where the holes are, where the dragons roam, where the wolves run, and where monsters live.

Good thing I still have Chinese New Year coming up.

And after that, I have my solar return.

And after that, the sun still shines anew every dawn, a reminder that with every cell division new programming can be done even if it should be hard.

Cast the circle with spirit instead of salt. Call the elements with nothing more than air whistling between sacred flesh. Pray to the gods with no other offering than pure adamantine will. Build an altar with fiery intent and set faith aflame rather than incense and ghost money. Every wisp of breath a prayer, our hopes written for the heavenly immortals to read.

There is magic, and that magic lies within us.

I don’t need to know where the wind goes and how the wind blows. Sometimes the answers to our prayers is indeed no.
I remember wishing upon endless falling stars for him to love me, for our love to blossom and never fade.
Some days I wonder if those stars wept at the waste, the travesty, the bonds turn unwilling.
Other days I think they smile at the folly of youth and the beauty in innocence.