Dangerous Compassions


I’ve been dreaming again.  Wow, thank you, mind, for handing me these weird-ass movie kinda things I don’t have to pay for.  I appreciate it, I think!

Yesterday I got a lot of sun.  It was amazing–sun bath, sunning.  Midday, the sun felt different–harsh.  Like it had changed from the winter sun to the summer sun, all of a sudden.  Maybe on Imbolc.

But I wanted that too muchness.


I wish Ming’s gesture of happiness wasn’t also the gesture of surrender to cops and trying to avoid racist harm.  Oh, sweetheart.  Please be safe.  Ming is Asian-American, but some people think he’s Native, maybe because of the long hair.


I surrender to God, light, sunning.  What do you surrender to?

Then we went out again, for a second session.  There was a thin layer of cloud, and the sun felt mellow again.  I had another sun sit, and the elotera gave me a second look.  I didn’t realize I looked pantsless, from pulling up the legs of my shorts, to expose more skin, to get more vitamin d.


Look out, world.  These thighs are strong, and are coming out, in all their inappropriate glory.  Sorry, eloteras all.

I was thinking in the kitchen how most of us came into the world, emerged from between a pair of powerful thighs that were doing sacred work, not caring how they looked to anyone.  There was another task at hand, than being perceived.

I had my headphones because I wanted to hear some polos and try to catch up on the delightfully endless polo stream, but I got distracted with other things.

Then also friends came and brought the most delicious rosemary shortbread in the world.  Wow.  Having baker friends is such a blessing.  And distant courtyard visits from brilliance embodied.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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