All is Waves

Or, bye for now!

Well, hello again.

Can you stand it? ONE YEAR of missives. I’ve been gearing up for “what’s next” writing-wise, and while these have been a joy to write (and I have been so glad friends look forward to it) I am unsure if I will continue another year. Not writing on Substack altogether, just this format. I have a week of vacation coming up and will take the next couple of weeks to make choices.

So, thanks for standing by :) As always, this is how the missive be:

Writing (What’s up with my projects? What’s up with my community and writerly friends’ projects?)

World (A quick-hit on the news and the hopelessness of it / how I plan to be of service lest utterly breakdown).

WooWoo (Witchy shit, astro, tarot, etc.)

Words (A little poem or excerpt I’ve written recently, usually with the above-mentioned writing community)

Wonder (An inquiry: a question for you, dear reader, to consider or comment on in the post).

To the details--

Writing One last winter open mic took place at Amber Lane this past Friday. I think that’s the day of the week to do them in the future (Amber Lane is closed til April, so we’ll need to find an alt. venue). But the turnout was great and I loved the pieces people brought to stage. Of squirrels and squid, horses and orcas -- it was an animal-forward night. Should I give up the missive format, please be sure to subscribe to Noho Lit Society’s Substack for updates on our community.

Open Mic Squad (not that girl in the back on her phone; I don’t know her :P)

World Well, you know I have to say her name: Renee Good. As I write this I’m heading to a protest downtown soon to shout about ICE. I really don’t know if my body being there does a thing. But this is some George Floyd shit all over again. The militarized state must be dismantled, God damn it.

Another crazy-making item re: ICE and racist garbaj from Substack this week: Sherman Alexie telling native people to get real IDs and protect themselves in airports from profiling. Again, for the love of fucking God, where are we and what year is it? They were here first.

WooWoo Yesterday, I spent the day with my dear friend, trippin’ on shrooms and getting aligned with the big All of it all. My sensitivity is certainly heightened and I hand-wrote 6 pages of observations this morning. I hope these will inspire my next creative pursuits, but even if they don’t, my soul is both a buoy and an anchor of lead on this day. We are so very ill as a society, and we need to get back to human intelligence. Our divine design and connectedness. And you can think that’s true or woo-woo AF, but I say, in this section of the missive--why can it not be both?

Words

“All is Waves”

In meditation, I sensed my grandmother holding me.

In dreams, my cousin lived in a beautiful place with sad people and a jolly blonde dog.

The backyard peeling open to a golden beach, then a sun-licked bay, which churned with the fins of awful Orcas.

Because the mind and body are connected to all minds and bodies, this earth, all is waves.

The sudden remembering that we were carried, held against the tide of another’s breathing, vulnerable. Fear rising with the blade of a dorsal fin, the menace of a brown-amber eye the size of a melon.

And coming to the surface for breath, I rest my hand to my chest, sense: “Hi, Grammy.” And waking, rolling over, sliding hand over soft, opposite arm, I find a skin not shining rubbery black like an Orca’s back, but something very smooth and human. When I remember to remember, I am quite of the earth, riding on a floe of roots or ice or water, yet unswallowed by waves.

Wonder Can you find your place in humanity this week?

Kay