Ocean Missing-Musings

Midnight oceans hide more in their depths than dare be fathomed.

People come in waves... they ebb, flow, and crash-thrash against the rocks of Time. I sometimes marvel at the tumultuousness of appearances: the erratic splish-splosh cameos on any given Sunday. (Or Monday, for that matter.) What signal-beams am I sending out that magnetize, ignite, cauterize, stigmatize these Others...? If only I knew. Another layer of awareness to sift-shift, and sniff through. Stifle, silence, subdue... it's usually unintentional... But now I am tired, nearly weary, and somewhat wary of it all, *them* all, everything/one besides an Inner Circle that, for the most part, is very very distant. So instead I ache, and whimper-whine a bit in the direction of a black moon who proffers more comfort than any white-bright night-light hyped SuperSized SuperMoon. Because really? I like the Dark. I like the Shadows. The slink, the murk, the mossy-mayhem that hide-resides all that goes "BUMP...shhh...". Goodnight.

367 days and counting...

First and foremost: 

Dear Bloggity Blog, I miss you.  I apologize for the severe neglect I've subjected you to and I wish I could promise it's all going to be better now, but really, I'm tired of making promises.  And I'm very sleepy.  Regardless, I *am* typing now, so that surely must count for something, even if that something is filed neatly under the "too little too late" header.  Sincerely and with more formality  than usual: Sushila.

Second and subsequently:

Holy crap when did my life get so joyously, unsettling-ly, achingly busy?!  The 22nd marked my one year anniversary of being in the Land of Ports, and two years of being separated (now divorced) from my Husby... the prior week Chloe Belle celebrated her third birthday with too many cookies, and Widdershins still feels compelled to battle-cry as he flies through the air, usually onto Chloe's head-- or my stomach (but only if I'm sleeping).

Needless to say: I am processing a lot, the least of which is why it was snowing on the first day of Spring... not that I mind-- I've a soft spot for those fluffy flakes, and, although it's snowed a good handful of times here-- it still delights my heart, sends me into throes of awe, and causes me to run outside to catch those lil bliss bits on my lashes.  No.  It doesn't matter if it's 2am or in the middle of my work day and the phones are ringing incessantly.  I will go outside.  I have my priorities in order.  Chloe has adapted.  Well, to the snow at least-- though I do miss watching her attempt to trace each wisp down to the ground and snuffle it til her lil pup snout is snuffling from snow-huffing.  Now it's just so passe.  She *is* much more mature now, it's true.
I, apparently, am (happily) not.  I think she'll come around, though-- I mean, mud is still way high on her list of favorite things, which we delved into quite readily at the Doggie Park yesterday.  So there's still hope. 

I'm only happy when it rains...

This is Portland.

Or so everyone seems to tell me.

And yet, I'm not convinced.

I'm not convinced the quirky, whimsical city of wonderful absurdities I visited last year is *here*.  I mean, really...?  Sure, I now know more trannys, carnies, roustabouts, ringleaders, emcees, musicians, goths, groupies, dancers and dominatrix than should really be contained inside ONE city's limits, true... But I think, maybe it's because I'm not currently infatuated with The Unknowns:  Unknown neighborhoods, unknown friends, unknown suitors... now things are becoming familiar, and Oz isn't quite so Emerald.  I mean, don't get me wrong-- everything here is green... did I mention my new love affair with dogwoods and tulips and roses?  Yea.  Quite possibly worth the move just for the flowers... Chloe and I spend our (multiple) daily walks sniffing and snuffling the effulgent flora.   But it's just not... the escape I still adamantly refuse to admit I was seeking.  I wanted to find the Wizard and be granted clemency from Reality.

I'm finally ready to fess up:  I've had an intense two and a half years and battle scars to prove it and I just needed to get out.  I'm tired, I'm tender and I'm in a state of utter turmoil.  Surprisingly, I'm okay with it.  Not "okay with it" the way I was during these past few years, where I wasn't really "okay with it" at all-- where I held a stiff upper lip, smiled on cue and focused nearly all of my energy on anyone or anything else in an effort to not have to admit my world was being torn asunder... but "okay with it" in the way that I realize now, it's time for The Tower to come crashing down and to truly begin anew.

I thought I'd transition easily and flawlessly to Portlandia.  I thought I'd move here with all my lil duckies in a row;  they'd waddle off into some proverbial puddle of perfection and I'd live happily ever after.  Two and a half months later...and...  Nope.  Everything fell through.  Everything.  And for someone who simply usually normally(?) has to merely "think" it to "make" it, it's been a doozy.  I mean, really, Universe?  You want me to actually WORK and put EFFORT forth, for my heart's desires?  Pssshft.  I call shenanigans.  Apparently that's how Portland operates... sure, you can eek by in a matchbox room with food stamps and a bus pass, spewing how you *love* embracing the Bohemian life and you'd never sacrifice your freedom of creative expression that can be found busking on a downtown corner (when you're not thrifting at the Bins) by selling your soul for a real job (the HORROR!  steady income-- *le gasp*!)... but really, that's just 'cuz real jobs are like Unicorns in this land of ports... most don't believe they exist, let alone do they consider them obtainable.  All y'all artists are just bitter about it.  Yup.  I'm calling it:  Shenanigans.

With that being said-- I did manifest a "real" job (maybe I haven't lost my mojo!) and I'm still living my tarot slinging, reiki wrangling, shimmying dreams.  It's work, though.  It's absolutely mind blowing to me how MUCH work it is... and I'm loving and appreciating it so much more, because of that.  So, thank you, Portland (with your Vitamin D deficiency, relentless rain and inundation of pale men with paler follow through)-- you may not have granted me my Wish, but you gave me something better: the push into the Void to figure out how to do it myself.

Spring has Sprung

Goddess awakens, stretches Her limbs and shakes the snow from Her hair... Winter settled like a blanket while She slept.  Her toes curl, wiggle: disrupting the rich soil far beneath the ice.  Verdant shoots issue forth, pressing towards the dawn-lit sky: a dappling of green amidst the winter white.  Smiling at the blossomings about Her, She gently traces Her fingers through the snow... rivulets form and follow Her fingers' trippings, undulations down the hillsides.  Paths towards the River, paths toward Life. Life paths.  And so it has begun.  She rises, the first breaths of warm air issue forth, carrying the hints of cherry and apple blossom-- sweet, heady, inspiring.  Her rising forth harkens the song of lark and robin.  The curiosity of newly birthed fauna.  The beginning has begun.  Potentiality has sprung. 

packing and playing and procrastinating (with alliteration, nonetheless!)

It's been one of those weeks- filled with love and reiki and way too much ice cream.  I know this because my heart is full and fluttery, and my freezer is empty, and I have a yummy buzzy feeling that compels me to eat like a linebacker which can only translate to a lot of energy flowing and a lot of processing taking place (hence massive ice cream consumption).

I leave in the morning for Portland.  I'm so excited- I feel like a grown up.  Travelling to a new city, unaccompanied (well, at least until I get there and the lovely Caedmon can whisk my under his wing and tour me about town!) but really, very grown up, indeed.  Who needs escorts?  Or chaperones?  Really?  Well, I probably do, actually, which is why Le Caedmonstere is stepping up to bat.  Without even officially knowing me, he knows me oh-so-well.  Hugs are highly anticipated at this point.  As is a nap.

Apprehension set in last night- the "what are you doing?!" kind that creeps up out of no where when you know you've packed too many shoes and are compelled to bring yet another pair, just in case you wear that outfit that you didn't really need to pack, either.  I am lucky I have small clothes.  I can easily pack 2-3 times as much as a man in the same space and be able to bat my lashes and say "what?  I barely brought a *thing*, my bag is FAR tinier than yours could ever be... who cares if it weighs a ton?"  But again, no escort this time, so I'll actually have to lug my own bags, seeing as there's some silly "rule" about not asking strangers to do that for you at the airport.  Chivalry is SO out the window when you're in a terminal-- I've found it's every man (and petite, overladen woman) for himself.  Maybe I should actually lift my bags and see what I've gotten myself into.  Or not.  Seems like it'll make for a far more playful blog entry when I return if at least ONE thing goes wrong, right?  Damsel in distress, anyone?  Hmm... feeling one of those "life metaphors" coming along... baggage, carrying around too much stuff, wanting someone else to carry the burden.... I need to repack and rethink this whole thing.  Damn it.  When did vacationing become so exhausting?  

late night ramblings

Dreary, fog-wet mornings cause me to contemplate elsewhere-- where such happenings are the norm.  Seems peculiar, this strange weather.  Unheard of, uncharted, undecided.  Curiouser and curiouser and the rabbit hole winds down deep; mayas on the hips of some confused Goddess of indiscreet deeds.  Hours traipse past, unnoticed in their swinging glass... wonder where I'll land?, in this topsy-turvy mess I've made... triangulated in the northwestern-regions of my mind's eye, my heart's ache and my body's pulse.  Just wanting to say goodnight: a darkness whisper, a barely-breath, a soul caress.  Instead a muddled mess. Clacking of keys in the earliest hours of tomorrow, instead.