Dangerous Compassions

the symbols that appealed to me, life projects, a public apology

I was working on cleaning my desk yesterday.  I went through a ton of envelopes.  I felt tender toward some envelopes with the little windows, like for sending in bill payments.  They seemed vulnerable. 

I want to do some art project with them.  But the world is full of not made, half-made, or unwanted art projects, maybe.

Ming has a bunch of paint to write more icons.  He has plans too.  His seem more legitimate, that he’s a real artist.  But yeah, art’s just a human thing to do.  Birds sing–people dance.  Right?  And paint on cliff walls, or etch art into that layer of desert stuff.  What do you call that stuff.  Desert varnish?  I wanted to say patina, but I think that’s antiques.

Dudleyas have farina–epicuticular wax.  I like coatings.  There’s a fork in our silverware drawer that looks like it’s made of brass that’s showing through, brass with a layer of silver something.  Is brass ok to eat with?  Life is full of so many problems, and I get that fork rarely.  Seems pointless to worry about.

I really prefer spoons–I’m anti-fork unless I really need one.  Spoons with their comforting roundness.  They seem safe and kind.  Tines are too pokey.  You know I hate safety pins, pins, knives usually.  Scissors are so useful.  But spoons are my patronus.

A long time ago I carved myself a big spoon out of some wood.  And I carried it around with me.  Some old thing about nurturing, wanting to nurture myself and others.  I got that down.  I used to wear fertility symbols too, every day, this lady who didn’t want to ever have kids, but it was symbolic also.

I was working on that a long time ago.  Then I was working on learning to listen to myself, then slowing down and not being in a hurry.  Then speaking my truth to others, unblocking my throat chakra–my friend said they think I talk just fine, now.  I really respect their opinion.  But I talk a lot to them specifically.

Now I’m working on looseness, letting go, and how to do relationship in ways I really want to.  But maybe I do too much intentionality.  I don’t know–controlling not-controlling is a weird idea.  Like maybe I need to let go of letting go.

Ming and I used to argue really bad about locus of control.  Well, I was wrong.  Sorry about that, honey.  I feel responsible for a lot.  But what’s all that chaos wafting in through the window.  I didn’t do anything to be disabled.  I battled that all the way, so hard, and it happened anyway.

Sorry, you were right.  I give up on my quest for hardcore responsibility, prettymuch.  I love you.

In this pooling water on the roof pic, I see the palm tree that must be making all those palm tree babies in the courtyard.  I never noticed it. 

P swept the water off the roof, and I was afraid he would fall through.  Too much jank.  Oh well.  He was on the roof, not like a reindeer of santa, more like a helpful water sweeper.  Thank you for that.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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