Blue Skies and Butterflies...

I officially miss summer.

Vision Fast, Truth Telling

Its slowly getting dark, and I am afraid. I am sitting in the south gateway, inside the medicine wheel I've built for myself behind my shelter in this aspen grove. Its been raining on and off today, and the damp chill is doing nothing to make staying awake and upright more appealing. I brought nothing except a lighter to make fire, and it seems like tonight is not the night. Its taking a lot of willpower not to just crawl into my sleeping bag right now and get warm, mercifully turn my brain off for the day. I'd like to make it until at least three stars in the sky, same as we tell the students. My feet are pretty cold, and I keep catching myself starring enviously at my citronella candle, burning next to the alter with the last wisps of Utah sage.

A ho, great spirit, I'm calling on you. Oh great spirit, what else can I do. Please open me up, so I can receive, please open me up so I can believe. Oh great spirit, I'm calling on you.

I pray tonight for patience, for courage, and for faith. I pray with all the love in my heart, with all the compassion I can muster, and with the strength of all my ancestors, living and dead, who I ask hold me on this journey tonight. Bless me teachers, be compassionate, for I have troubles.

I keep forgetting that I'm fasting, and semi-automatically reaching out for my p-food. I haven't been that hungry yet, and haven't really had a full meal since Thursday lunch at the office. My only worry so far food-wise is just not having the calories to help keep me warm, and soon not having the energy to move around much to get warm. I meant to eat dinner last night, but the sweat was so crazy intense I kind of didn't have it in me by the time we finished around midnight.

The sweat was strange--thermodynamically, physically, socially, emotionally. Each of the two rounds started out super super hot, and quickly. Then they got intense and beautiful, with lots of music and prayer and a lot of various personal commitment and discoveries. I felt awkward, self-conscious, and uncomfortable sitting mostly naked and sandwiched between Evan and Nicholas. I think the greater truth is I'm not really comfortable naked.

The lower the light, the thicker the mosquitoes.

I don't remember much of the first round, besides it was really long and cold by the end once we ran out of water to pour. I know I was pushed, and said some pretty crucial things for myself, but I don't really recollect the specifics.

The greater truth is in the second round. One that even thinking about writing down on paper makes my body contract and cringe involuntarily. And my mind swivel around looking to see if three stars have appeared magically to free me from this task for a little longer. Sadly, no such easy way out quite yet.

I lay sucking dirt for a while and stewing, while everyone else either seemed to be having these wonderful transformational experiences, or left the lodge in apathy, impatience, boredom, or disgust. I felt for Emily, who got into this huge emotional argument with Nicholas, and then got so worked up she had to leave. The whole time though, my head was telling me how stupid and minor the conversation felt, and my heart kept screaming at me that I had big things to say. I opened my mouth and the greater truth sort of fell right out into the naked darkness.

The truth is I think Noah raped me, that night at the end of freshman year. Given how my body is reacting to the admission, with flashbacks and nightmares and shakes and a whole lot of numb disbelief, I judge it to be true and real. And my vision quest full of darkness and demons got a fair amount larger and deeper last night. I feel a little bitter for it, and a lot of fear and curiosity. I never wanted it to be like this, never wanted rape to be something I identify with, so I convinced myself it wasn't true. That I wanted to sleep with him that night (I did), and that I was in control of the situation ( I wasn't). The truth is I was wasted, drunk and high, and he was sober. The truth is I don't remember if I said no, and I certainly didn't fight very much. The truth is it hurt, and he kept going. Kept going 'till my sheets were bloody the next morning and my neck was so bruised I wore scarves for more than a week following. The truth is I blame myself for baiting him, for putting myself in the dangerous situation in the first place, for not fighting enough, and for lying to myself for five years.

Darkness and Light

Tuesday again. Wilderness therapy has officially ruined Tuesdays for me. I think its funny, I remember this feeling from long ago, I remember the emptiness in my stomach of wanting to sit down and write, and not finding the time and space to do so. I remember this from way way back--in the pink room at Tailcoat, which must have been maybe third or forth grade. Its weird to me how pieces seem to keep falling together, how long lost reminisces which I never even imagined are conspiring to bring me here to the precipice of this journey. I think its also funny how strongly I'm fighting it, how fervently I keep searching out for others to dull the edge of the mayhem I feel, for answers, for direction, for prayers, for protection, ultimately all things I am quite capable of doing for myself. I mean, I just googled "vision quest advice". Yesterday I spent a couple of hours at the bead shop in town making myself a talisman necklace, with the help of our local crystal magic lady. I want so badly for someone to show me the way, to reassure me that I will come out of this with certainty and grace. I want some concrete reminder and explanation, I want somebody to give me the faith and acceptance which I lack.

In so many ways my life has been leading me here for very much longer than this last month. I've been coming to realize how much I sleep through, and what a profound affect that has on my existence. I realized a bit of the greater role of my exhaustion I remember junior or senior year at L&C. How the more depressed I'd get the more I'd simply pass out, turn off. And then the more I'd fall asleep, the more coffee I'd consume, the more caffeine in my system, then the worse I'd feel. Even then though I never realized the sort of greater metaphorical implications--I want to be a woman who is awake--to the world, to myself, to opportunity. It goes back so much further than college, too. I remember middle school dances, being so uncomfortable that I sat on the stage, put my head down and went to sleep. I've always sort of prided myself on my abilities to fall asleep whenever and wherever possible, though now I wonder if its the healthiest of hidden talents.

I'm worried I'll just sleep through the quest. That the weight of hours and the dragon breath of my demon travel partners might just prove too overwhelming and I'll just seep the day gone for the sake of the passage of time. I don't want to waste this experience, I want it to be thick and meaningful, yet I question my physical ability to stay conscious and present when the truth of life is so draining.

I remember reading some of Bill Plotkin's book for that ecopsych class, way before I knew anything about Durango. I remember reading about his first vision fast before starting AVI, and thinking "why in the hell would anybody ever do something like that?!" I am trying to take comfort and some solace in the synchronicity of this experience, how blatantly and clearly it seems that I am supposed to be here, doing this thing. My fears are large and diabolical, and I kind of want to just go and get it over with right now. I know I have the physical endurance to make it through, its just the mental and emotional stamina that I question.

Looking to my darkness still feels really counter intuitive. I spend so much of my energy and will doing the work so as not to be so sad, fighting off all that dark with all the light I can summon. Purposefully looking the other direction, intentionally moving towards that sadness instead of away from it feels like a betrayal of sorts, an abandonment of the battle, a resignation to suffering. I am coming to know that in fighting to get and be well, to pull myself out of that heart wrenching dark space I began to ignore that it ever existed. My greatest fear in life right now is being that depressed again. It scares me so much that I've glued my eyes shut to the reality of it, ignore the possibility of it, and have forgotten the balance inherent within such darkness. I want to face that fear not with the hopes of vanquishing sadness forever, I don't believe that's possible. I want to learn to coexist, and in doing so open myself to a more full expression of emotion without fear of getting overwhelmed.

I take myself to the woods, both the polished and the tarnished. I take my compassion, my curiosity, and my sense of adventure. I bring stars for perspective, my hands for company, and my feet for grounding. I bring my hopes to the woods to birth and hopefully some demons to put to rest. I bring even that persistent fluttering in my chest yelling...

Vision Fast, the Beginning

If I could right now, I'd say to myself to sit down, stop distracting myself, and chill the fuck out. My black whole which this swan is circling timidly is all of these emotions that I don't ever stick more than a toe of myself into. Because any emotion invites them all, and that opens me to the sadness and anger that I sense so often boils just below the surface. The undertone that I feel everyday is just enough for me to fight against. My worry for this journey, this adventure is that I can't resign myself to experiencing all of those things, that I don't have enough faith and acceptance to make it safe to go there. Any emotion it seems like is so thickly tied to depression. I know this is supposed to be about going to those dark places, but I can't help but be afraid to let down that final wall. I've known those dark places, that dark almost killed me. I don't trust that I have the tools and the support and the knowledge I need to venture there, and to find my way back.

Straight Joyful

I'm feeling so much joy in this moment. Joy to have slept for more than ten hours last night, to have woke up to sunshine and clear skies after days of rain, joy to be sitting in the sunshine in a meadow full of wildflowers watching elk. And a whole lot of joy and giddy energy for this group of girls right now, all light and committed and hilarious. I left last night to go on break and they were teaching each other breakdance moves. My heart feels excited when I think about the possibilities, and also a little apprehensive when I think about the inevitable crash that will come.

On my mind I'm finding the vision fast, potentially moving to the boys' group, another intake in a few days, our little miss F, and the giant rain cloud slowly gathering off the eastern horizon. I think if working through the winter taught me how to sit with being anxious about cold and dark, then this summer will teach me about cold and wet. Right now the incessant storms leave me with a sense of foreboding and anger, but it also makes me realize the metaphor in it, how very literally the sun will come out again tomorrow, even if I'm pissed off and cranky in the meantime. We are laying over here today to manufacture some kind of wannabe solo experience, and I am still avoiding thinking about my own. Much less the suggestion that maybe I think about a shift into other groups besides the ladies. I mentioned to Ellen how lately I've been feeling resentful of the folk I know working with the guys or the adults for what I perceive as an easier work experience. The reality is, I'm resentful because we've had such a rough go for the last couple of months, and I get angry when I hear about others easy time of it. I've never worked elsewhere really, so a lot of my resentment happens because I don't really have any knowledge of the ups and downs of the other groups. I also don't really know how to handle my reactions to the tough groups of kids, I tend to internalize too much and get way too caught up in the outcome that I want and imagine rather than the process. I'm just not convinced how leaving would teach me any of those things. Though judging by how frightening the prospect sounds in my brain and in my heart right now, it would probably be a good thing, or the right thing.

Future Talk

Its Wednesday and this adventure is slowly winding down. It is both wonderful and super strange. I'm really glad the weather got a bit less fabulously awesome in the last couple of days, otherwise I'd really start questioning why on earth I ever left this place. But its cloudy and cool today and pretty humid, enough of a reminder of the last five winters to make me appreciate Colorado and Durango's 300 days of sunshine a year.

It's not that I miss Portland (I do), but being here after being away for so long has definitely clarified some things that I want in my life. Or, at least whatever turns into my next step after Durango. And I guess the heady realization that there will be a next step after Durango, Durango will not hold the next step itself. My next life will involve public transportation and culture. And I will be involved in culture. My next life will be closer to water, though I wonder how much I'll miss the desert when it's not part of my life. I'll bike regularly and use my car pretty exclusively for weekend adventuring. I will feel that I belong in the next place I live, not like I'm just blending in with the tourists and the transient college kids. There will be opportunities to use my languages, and affordable ways to learn about new things in my next life. There will be better bookshops and libraries and room for life outside of work and work folks. I will feel like I'm engaged in the place and in the process. There will be striking views and striking people. There will be things to do and access to wild places. There will be lots of green in my next life, or at least lots of wild and natural space. I wont feel so isolated.

Public Health

What is the draw?

I want to be doing more multicultural stuff, but with some real meaning behind it. More than just on paper, more than just general race/ethnicity relations with no teeth and no backbone besides just good intentions. I think public health is at the very core--social work. Health care, or inadequate access to it is terrifying, and a huge financial and sociocultural burden. Even more so if the hurdle is linguistic or cultural. Health just seems so much more concrete and basic, fulfilling a basic need on the way to more global understanding and harmony. I think mental health access even more so--and all the more culturally complex. I see that I mean every day even at Open Sky--how inaccessible even our program is if you are anyway outside of what they conceive as the cultural norm.

When I imagine myself years down the road I imagine having worked abroad with refugees, and then being back in the states somewhere doing community development work in public health in some capacity, serving diversity and multiculturalism. I picture being a case worker for someone like Catholic Charities, working hand-in-hand with individuals and families. I picture using other languages and cultural background and experiences to make myself more accessible and appropriate. I picture myself living and working as part of the community, most likely and realistically a Spanish speaking one. I see myself living in a town probably bigger than Durango, with access to culture and to wilderness.

Homecomings of Sorts

I spent another beautiful, albeit relatively sleepless night last night tenting next to the Rogue River, just inland from Gold Beach into the Siskiyou National Forest. A pretty awesome compromise, scenery wise anyway. I am beginning to loath my tent, as every night lately that I've used it I'm kept awake by incessant flapping. I usually just throw the rain fly over pretty halfheartedly and call it good in the name of mosquito killing. But I got up three separate times last night to secure the damn thing. Bivy-ing is so much quieter, but I'd forgotten that the magical land of ferns and 64 shades of green is also the magical land of insects. So flapping, plus the first round of lumber trucks and boats at about 5:30 made it another early/late morning. I wake early then argue with myself/doze for five minute increments for another couple of hours and its halfway to lunch time all of a sudden.

It always fascinates me how returning home, wherever and whichever home that may be, brings up all this desperate need to project myself and appear different than when I left. Bigger, more advanced, more mature, more together. Most definitely with better clothes and a stronger sense of self. Today this meant sitting in the car and plucking my eyebrows in the rear view (as it often does with impending arrival for some reason). Only a wee bit horrifying because I am sitting in such a beautiful place surrounded by hundreds of miles of more beautiful places on my way to a supremely beautiful place where people love me. That my insecurity can be so profound that this shall be how I shape what they think of me. Not the books that I've read and loved or the places I have seen or the shape of my adventures and my heart--but the shape of my eyebrows. It makes me wonder what I am trying to hide, and whats the worst that can happen.

I think deeply forget everything that I've accomplished and witnessed as time passes and the space between widens. I forget so easily what I learn--I think that's a big reason why I cling so steadfastly to writing down my days in my bones. In the last year since I left Portland I learned about being afraid. I learned that my fear is perpetual, and sometimes I manage better then others. I learned that it can be a good measure of my inspiration and spontaneity--being outside of my comfort zone so necessary and so counter--intuitive. My fear can also be a great measure for exhaustion and complacency--when my stomach stop twinging I get into trouble like at Birch Trail. I learned I can stick to a dream even if I'm not instantly good at it, that some things can click on the 378 try instead of the first or second. I learned a lot about communicating directly, and about how conflict avoidant I am. I learned about how much it rattles me when things go unresolved. I learned I love been a dirtbag but I'm probably not destined to live out of my car anytime soon. I learned to say and instead of but. I've learned to love the desert, and smalltown living, and that I crave big water and culture all the more and even still. I've learned that people will surprise you infinitely, and most often the ones who you thought would be in your life will run the other direction, and the ones who you mourned may just stick around for awhile.

Shit, shit shit shit shit too much coffee makes me feel like my heart is going to combust. Silly buy one get one free mocha-deals, why yes, don't mind if I do. Oregon is making me feel sort of sensory overloaded anyway, I mean they have MOSS here, like grow from the ground green cushy fungusy moss. And old-man's-beard. I had forgotten such things even existed. So strange.

I'm almost to Lincoln City, chilling out at some highway wayside and taking a quick breather. The closer I get to Portland the more overwhelming it suddenly seems. I kind of want to stay another night by the coast and postpone more people time. I really like stopping wherever I fancy and staying and exploring as long or as short as I like. Being in charge and responsible to and for no one is a great and long dreamt about experience. I think I may come back out and spend another couple nights on the water at the end of the week.

Torn

Breaking temporarily this early evening at another roadside beach just shy of Crescent City far too breathtaking to pass by. The redwood drive tried to steal my heart but I have a long way to go in the next couple weeks before satisfying my thirst for big water. I'm torn even right now over paying big money to camp beach side in some state park, or driving inland for cheaper on the National Forest.

It still fascinates me how intimately I associate feeling any emotion strongly with wanting to sit down and write. Also, it's still a little mystifying to me how that's my only signifier for experiencing emotion--the certainty that I'm freaking out in some direction, the stirring in my gutt and the squeezing in my throat, and the almost overwhelming desire to sit and spill it all on pen and paper. It took me a couple of hours of driving today to figure out exactly what my emotions were connected to, after Ellen called and told me that two of my girls ran away last weekend and still haven't been found. This has never happened before at Open Sky. I felt instant panic and fear, as waking up and finding students gone is up there with all of my worst nightmares, if not the worst professional one. I felt a bit of vindication and relief, as I'd predicted exactly this with those very girls going down when I left last week, and really really really glad I'm not there to manage the aftermath. I feel sorry and concerned for staff going into that mess today at changeover, and for those involved from the get go. I feel a bit perplexed and challenged by the outcome, and my attachment to it--curiosity and my perpetual need to have everything wrapped up and packaged in the end are doing battles in my mind right now. Its feeling hard to be away from the rumor mill in Durango right now, and I am pushing myself to set it aside for later and not get involved.

This coast and the color make me want to write poetry.

Road Trip

I'm feeling a bit intimidated by writing this week. Even sitting on a totally empty Pacific beach, next to the ocean I've so been craving like a drug these past couple of months. I kind of feel like I have nothing to say. Or worse, that I don't have the powers to say the things that need to be said. I know I can already feel my pulse slowing down just sitting here, and my mind quickening with the possibility of all the big and wonderful things in my heart. I love the way my breath sort of subconsciously matches the ebb and flow of waves breaking with the halfway joyful primordial recognition that I have been here before. My next life must have water in it, and more than the misbegotten half memory of past millenia.

Things I am realizing this adventure, again or for the very first time are so many. That I miss adventuring. That I am just a little bit lonely. That I crave intellectual stimulation. That I embarrass far too quickly. That I really miss riding buses and trains and other such sundry things like getting harassed by homeless people on city streets that wreak of piss which reminds me of Russia. That I walk way more than the average person. That I am avoiding my dream of working with refugees abroad by convincing myself that its not feasible. That I am really scared of grad school and in particular going back to the NW because of the chances it will make me again perpetually gloomy and forlorn. That I'm secretly really intrigued by the UW Seattle program combining Peace Corps, Social Work, and International Public Health. That thinking seriously about a career in mental health freaks me out given how much even just Open Sky is affecting me emotionally. That I am still feeling so torn between the parts of me that need to be outdoors like I need air to breath and the ones that need language and culture and conversation. In that sense I'm no further than I was a year ago.

If it comes down to a choice between Seattle and the world or New Hampshire and the wilderness I may just choose complacency and say neither and fuck another hard decision.

The percolating plan--for the sake of calming my fiery mind--work another year for Open Sky, at least another winter and fulfill my commitment. Start applying for Peace Corps, searching for grad schools, applying this winter for fall 2010. Do year one for MSW/MPH (maybe more, depending on MPH application). Start Peace Corps service in South America fall 2011 through 2013. Complete grad school 2015ish with MSW and Master of Public Health. HOLY SHIT I'd be 29. Craziness. That's so intense to even imagine the rest of my life in that manner. It kind of makes me feel better though, even just thinking about those intentions. I want to travel more, but more than that I want to be abroad again in a more meaningful way. I cant in good conscience be a dirt bag till I'm 30, the lack of purpose will begin to make my heart heavy. But I also can't be trapped inside again like I was through much of the last five years. I will suffocate like a bug.

High Country Impressions

Colorado feels a whole lot different than Utah did. None of that creepy undertone, no halfway other presence hiding just around the next juniper tree. Less apprehensive and solemn. I think I'm going to really miss the ruins in the sage. And I'm certain I'm going to miss the sky and the perspective. This base camp feels kind of cramped in that sense, theres no where to see the sky or the mountains.

Highlights of yesterday evening include getting lost trying to find the bearhang (yes, we do that now). I led a decent CAIG, of relatively low virtue, and that was it. It feels weird to be stepping up and straightening out a little, and actually doing stuff in the shadow of no one. Nice.

New Horizons, Maybe.

I suppose this is a good way to start off the shift, awake, done, and chilling out with time to spare this morning. Paul should be here in a few minutes, and in the meantime I'm just trying to slow down my brain a bit and convince my heart that yes, it really and truly will survive this shift. It seems so counter intuitive to be going back, I'm fighting a lot of my fight or flight instincts right now.

I want to set some intentions for the week, as effort to calm my heart and sooth my mind. I intend to use the morning time for myself at least twice this shift, hopefully more. Even if I'm exhausted, and think that sleep would be more beneficial. I will advocate for breaks on some sort of consistent schedule, and for myself when needed. I intend to be gentle with myself this week, and to accept and forgive the emotions that I'm experiencing. This will happen through art, writing, and conversation.

It's 6ish, tonight, and I am potentially lost at the new Colorado base camp. Not lost exactly, I would just be uncertain which direction to run in a hurry if I needed to. Which is a little unnerving. We've been here a total of maybe four hours, and right now the week feels like a long one. I've already managed to trigger two ladies pretty good. It feels heavy here, or they do anyway. Heavy and hard and burdened. Just putting up the group shelter here today took hours, and everything is an argument. Its making me kind of wonder whether I have a week of them in me right now. I feel worm down and on the verge already, mere hours in.

I do this to myself. I do this to myself because I hate shying away form the challenge. Well, I love it, but hate myself for it. I do this today because showing up is infinitely more admirable than conceding. I do this today, with most of the bravery I possess. Because it makes me tired and worn about and even so I know that I showed up and I am making an attempt. I do this to myself today as an act of forgiveness. Because last shift out was terrifying and exhausting and that cannot be the strongest image I have of being out here. And because I must forgive myself for feeling terrified and desperate and overwhelmed. I do this today because I know in some buried corner of my brain that the banal conversations I have tonight with these girls serve some greater good. Because ridiculous tonight may lead to meaningful tomorrow.

I do this to myself because I have a heart capable of holding some burdens bigger than myself. I do this to myself because today and all days I am human. I am human and anything greater or meeker shall be forgiven.

Roll call...

I'm worried today, and embarrassed and awkward and more than a little bit ashamed. I hate that I'm having this conversation again, I kind of hoped that Keven would be the last one. Or Noah, or to some extent Jack. I hate that getting pissed drunk seems to be the only way I can connect physically with a man. At least the sex itself is no longer what makes me feel shameful, it's the drinking. I feel bad that now I may have to go back there and break this boy's heart. And that I didn't really know his name. I feel angry, when I think about how many times I've ended up in this predicament (3? Ok so it seemed like a lot) and how much I end up victimizing myself. I keep sort of wondering what the missing piece is, what I am doing to be attracting the wrong kind of people in the wrong kind of places. Or maybe the right people in the wrong ways. I feel like I'm better than last night. I regret not just having the evening end as a crazy night out with the girls. Now I'm left with way too much drama fodder for my relatively unoccupied brain.

I've been sitting down by the river for a couple hours now just zoning out. I'm kind of dreading heading home a little bit, wondering if he'll be there and I can't just laugh this whole day off as another one night stand. I'm sure the girls will understand, I'm just not sure he will...

The Day, The Meltdown

Last night got real bad real quick. I struggle to even write about it, only because I'd like to keep my head out of the experience. Or keep that judging analyzing part out of it anyway.



What I know is what I experienced. Feeling tired and used up, drained before grad dinner. Talking to Heather briefly about C, her mentioning whether C reminds me of myself. Sitting down to dinner with the girls, feeling awkward and not quite successfully managing to flip the switch and turn back on. Wanting desparately to just sit each girl down and tell them exactly what their problem is, or smack them. Wanting desparately to get up and run far away. Walking up to the top of the parking lot, running into Derek and Addi on the way to the hospital, walking back down toward the meadow, feeling like a wave rising from my stomach that stalled in my throat. Walking across the burm and my vision tunelling and my heart racing. My breath speeding up, and knowing I needed to be on the ground. Lying on the far side of the burm, holding on with my fists in the dirt. Alex calling on the radio, startling me. Picking myself up, heading back towards Cleo, making it as far as the trailhead. Stopping at the bottom, feeling crazed and physically frenetic. Holding on to a juniper with two hands, bowing over heaad down. Climbing into the juniper itself, wedging my butt and torse up into the branches. Starring, overwhelmed, trying to conjure all of the saddest things I could imagine, trying to cry, looking to release some despair, feeling stopped up. Craving some company, willing Heather or anyone to come walking down the trail, then when she did feeling simaltaneously grateful and embarrassed. Talking to me, and tears finally welling up. Not wanting to look at her, feeling ashamed and totally certain. RElenting, walking and talking and loosing track of where I was. Sitting in her truck for awhile, talking and fighting to control my breathing. Another radio call, answring hesitantly, and transparently, hoping desparately to magically hide how upset I was from the timbres of my voice. Feeling selfish. Slowing down fianlly. Being annoited, and trying to talk my way out of the freak out. Hours passing in conversation, then Emily appearing, looking worried. More shame. Swallowing my pride, telling her the abbreviated story while she walked me back up to Cleo. Listening, glazed, as she tried to reassure me, and retaining approximately every third word. "I'd be worried if this DIDNT happen to you"... Alex appearing in his underwear, realizing it was way later than I'd thought. Attempting to play things off, Emily starring me down and keeping me honest. Telling Alex I'd got overwhelmed. Moving my bed off the platform, hoping nobody would realize. Laying down finally by the fire, exhausted, but not sleeping for eons. Watching the stars change color, and the sky brighten. Giving up about daybreak, getting up to stoke the fire, sitting down attempting to meditate, ending up just starring through the flames. The awkward how am I doing questions, knowing the monumental previous night and fine falling far short. Waiting for the question, wanting to be asked secretly, and not wanting the awkard explanation, being horrified and angry when they suggested that I ask to leave the field. MOre shame and embarassment. The girls waking, "Oh, Peggy's back" breaking for the morning. Meditating mostly succesfully by the grad medicine wheel, lying in the sun in shivassena pose, feeling ground again. Wanting to flee, deciding to fess up and ask. Walking back to cleo, falling into breakfast prep, natural., Wondering what I had left in me. Wondering if I could go there for another day, knowing I could suck it up physically though doubting my emotional stamina. Wondering how stoicism serves me, feeling pulled in all directions.

And that was sort of it.

So Over It

I hate tarping students. I hate Mondays at base with therapy and I hate the lethargy I feel looking at the whiteboard with so much to get done. My fantasy lately, has been just lying in my bed for like two days straight watching bad TV on my laptop and eating soup. Not even real food, soup like Progresso from a can. I think I'm rapidly reaching the end of my endurance for working through sick. I'm over it. I'm tired, tarping kids makes me sleep like crap. Particularly C, she totally puts me on edge. We put her on run watch last night after she tried to blow me off while taking her to the bathroom. Sort of an instinct more than anything else. I'm proud of following through on those instincts lately, but today and last night more repulsed by the results.

I feel blah and pissed off. I imagine I feel blah because I'm mentally drained and physically tired, which keeps my emotions from going anywhere thrilling, or very far at all. In the future I hope I can take better care of myself physically so as to more strongly experience whatever comes up emotionally. I imagine I feel pissed off because I sense I'm being manipulated and have my defenses lower than normal for being ill and tired. The particular students that I'm pissed off with or about I can't voice my frustrations to either, which makes it seem bigger and worse than it actually is. In the future I hope that I can use my anger and frustration therapeutically, and better learn to let go when I can't do so.

South Style

I'm feeling frazzled and worn out. We bumped C back up to high suicide watch this afternoon on the way back to base. I'm not even involved directly this time with her, and even I feel manipulated. She seems to enjoy the whole process in some sick sort of way. It seems like shes testing us, saying that we're not taking her safety seriously enough with the modified watch and she was going to hang herself with her shelter cordage last night but she fell asleep first. It's like, "You guys don't love me enough, so I'll just go and kill myself now..." or at least thats how I took it. Pretty tiring at any rate. She seems so wrappedup in being crazy, it's almost become an identity stronger than any others for her. Any divergance, fun of any sort, n o matter how brief takes her away from that sense of self. I guess I'm triggered by the passivity, and a little annoyed to still be playing this game. She's overwhelming.

Other than that I guess its Sunday and I'm making it through. I'm having a hard time putting the work into building rapport with this new crew of kids. I've made some connection or atleast had an extended conversation with almost everyone, which I'm proud of. Staffing dynamics have been the biggest challenge for me this week, even more than just feeling physically shitty. Alex and me aren't clashing, but we are definitly not clicking, and I'm finding that hard to sit with. Chris I'm just intimidated by and want so badly to please it's tremendously off-putting. And Torrey just hasn't been around. I miss Kara's south energy a lot...

Face-off

Lurking just downwind should not be considered a break by any means, in any form. I'm physically dragging though emotionally and spiritually buoyed. We made it up to Cougar's Crossing this afternoon in great form. I'm proud and excited to have survived my first real sitter stare-down, and had a big part in ending the stale mate. Jo got pretty close to breaking on the haul up from Old Base Camp, and threw a hissy fit at Alex. She was still on directions after a talk we had at lunch where she told me she didn't care if she rejoined the group or not and didn't give a shit what any of the girls thought and anytime she looked like she did it was all fake. And a lot of crying. I want to believe I made a connection in that moment, I figure at the very least it seemed to be authentic her, but I don't really trust that tie. She strikes me as somebody who uses people for the sake of not being used first. At any rate, after blowing up at Alex and refusing to move halfway up this pretty epic climb, when I went down and talked to her she got up. I don't know if I was the magic or not, but I was expecting to get a great big fuck you and anything more was just bonus. I'm always petrified of those decision moments when I call a student's bluff, and am constantly amazed when they don't challenge me. If I were them, I'd challenge me, and push me hard.

It's been a strange balance of weird dynamics so far this shift. Definitely different with just me and Alex, for the most part. I'm having a hard time both being supportive of him and taking more initiative for myself. There seems to be a big disconnect between those two intentions that I wasn't expecting, which kind of rattles me. I think he has a hard time stepping back and letting go of control even just a little bit. When I have taken steps to assert myself and show some confidence, he always seems to show up or step in somehow. I feel like he doesn't trust me, and that's irking me a lot. And then he mentions feeling tense around me, which I actually was pretty surprised and taken aback by. We tried to discuss it this morning, awkwardly, but just sort of talked each other into a knot. Now I sense just some simmering weirdness which I don't deserve, and don't know what to do with. I want to know as part of a team that I can be depended on just as much as I lean on others, and not sensing that makes me feel anxious, defensive, uncertain, and just a little invalidated. (There it is again, that never feeling good enough)

Should be another awkward feedback session in the morning. I'm happy the weather has shifted, we have no one on directions, we're headed back to base tomorrow, we get four staff back tonight, and can take real breaks. It's Saturday almost over the hump, I have a cold and am not totally psychosomatically ill. The sun is setting on mostly clear skies, and the next two days should be pretty mellow.

Famous last words.

My body is feeling full in the head and my nose is chapped raw. My mind is sleeping, my heart is uncertain, restrained, and ambitious. Like I've got a lot to prove. My soul is observing.

Here's Hoping...

Breaking, sort of, another evening at the Gallery. Alex and me plus five angry females went on a bit of a challenge day hike today, and now the wind kicked back up and he put of of the ladies on directions for sharing food. They know better, and I kind of just want to smack 'em. Two staff, one on safety watch, and two on directions is kind of an unnecessary lot. So I'm hiding in the juniper next to the kitchen eating chocolate and wishing it was more than Friday. I think I made myself sick again, unwittingly, from stress about the move and exhaustion after four shifts in. The last two days have been super foggy for me, and headachey and nausea and lightheadedness and vertigo. I'm not totally convinced its all mental, but at any rate no fun and no good for the job. I'm tired and two more shifts before a break right now seems pretty insurmountable.

Here's hoping the wind shifts and the weather breaks so the next six days are sunny and warm as promised...

The Truth, Take One

I'm angry, like proverbially, and I don't know why and where from. I'm angry with my parents for showing me that thoughts trump feelings and the only way to be is calm and collected and in control. I'm angry that my Dad told me he doesn't believe in unconditional love. I'm angry with Noah for sleeping with me even though he knew that I was piss drunk. I'm angry with my brothers and sisters for screwing up and leaving me to be the good child and the successful one in the traditional sense. I'm angry that no one listened to me when I told them I was sick and didn't want to be alive. I'm angry that I've forgotten how to write with soul. I'm angry that my mother allowed me to parent her, and made so many excuses for Dad's rage. I'm angry that he has always been so volatile, and that I see so much of myself in him. I'm angry that I can't forgive my family. I'm angry that I've made myself invisible. I'm angry with Jack for using me, and Chris for not having enough guts to love me. I'm angry with Dad for getting sick, and for telling me I had to get published and find love before he dies. I'm angry about not being trusted and not trusting myself. I'm angry that I've been an adult since grade school, and now don't know how to get loose without drugs and alcohol. I'm angry that I've chased color from my life. I'm angry that I'm so afraid, so perpetually. I'm angry at all the people who look past me unless there is something to gain from me. I'm angry that I'm so refined that I can't cry, can't drum, can't write, can't scream with wild abandon. I'm angry that there is never good enough. I'm angry that somewhere somebody told me I was fat and ugly and I believed them. I'm angry that my life is in pieces, dichotomized, and right now I miss the smart cosmopolitan parts. I'm angry that I don't know how to be nice to myself. I'm angry that I can't say no, and my boundaries are weak and easily circumvented. I'm angry that I am so often afraid.



I'm scared so much of my day that I think I've learned to ignore what it feels like. I'm scared I won't find love. I'm scared I will be found out as a fraud. I'm scared that I don't deserve to be here. I'm scared to be abandoned, and that I won't find the connections that I crave. I'm scared of the next adventure. I'm scared that I won't have enough, financially, physically, spiritually, emotionally. I'm scared of the blank page. I'm scared of not knowing, of not being able to make everything make sense. I'm scared of not having a plan or six. I'm scared when I camp by myself. I'm scared of falling short, of having nothing to say, of doing the wrong thing. I'm scared of forgetting, languages, experiences, past lives. I'm scared of displeasing. I'm scared of settling. I'm scared of being overwhelmed. I'm scared to death that one day I will wake up in the morning and not want to be alive again, and that I won't realize what has happened. I'm scared that I am not strong enough to keep myself well. I'm scared that my brother will drink himself to death before I ever really know him. I'm scared of open space that can't be filled. I'm scared of confrontation. I'm scared when I think about what will happen after Open Sky. I'm scared of limbo, being stuck and in between. I'm scared of loosing control. I'm scared of the things I can't just explain away. I'm scared to give feedback. I'm scared to show people how I feel. I'm scared to tell others that I love them, scared to get burned. I'm scared that if I don't learn I'll never get what I want.



I want wild abandon. I want color and fire and passion and boundlessness. I want adventure, and I want fearlessness. I want sunshine, and I want to be outside. I want to be part of community, I want to know where I belong and that I am part of something. I want handwritten letters and long train rides. I want to know that I am loved and that I am enough. I want to love myself and believe it. I want to be comfortable being compassionate, more than being fair and just. I want to look beyond the book. I want to know what my greater good is, and how how to ask for it. I want to wake up in the morning and be grateful. I want a love that is nurturing and genuine and challenging and comfortable and open and that I don't question. I want to be grounded, to own myself, and to know that I am doing good work for the world. I want thinner walls, so that I learn to not take everything so personally, and so that I feel safe and secure. I want to feel at home, no questions. I want to allow myself to dance, to yell, to make music that no one has ever heard before. I want to be barefoot. I want to know who I need, and who to let go of. I want to skip the head more often, and go straight to the heart. I want to grow my own food. I want to travel more, and learn from the cells outwards. I want to know that I am using myself to my utmost capacity. I want less apathy, and more excitement. I want to terrify myself so I know that I am doing the right thing. I want a plan. I want to fly by the seat of my pants. I want a dog. I want right now to be enough. I want a story to occupy me. I want to play more music unabashedly. I want better posture. I want to be giddy and ridiculous. I want to not worry about money. I want to find a way to travel, to live abroad again while making money. I want game. I want to not want. I want the stone between my heart and head to go away. I want to reach out, and have my challenge returned. I want to be inspired and inspiring. I want to embrace the next big adventure. I want to not be afraid anymore.

At Home Where There Are No Houses?

Apparently its that time of year again where things are opening and closing in all directions. So strange that winter has passed, yet the freak snowstorms seem to continue biting me in the ass. Even stranger that I graduated from college eleven months ago. I'll be in Portland almost one year to the date. The time of year where I get restless and reckless and overdramatic, rather habitually.

Currently wrapped in housing drama, as per usual. I am totally torn philosophically, at this point over even finding my next place or not. Paul put the seed well I should say watered the seed already in my own head of just saying fuck it and committing to full time vagabondery for the summer. I'm frustrated with the process of selling myself to potential home-mates, don't like the place I'm seeing, and can't afford the places I covet. Between May 1 and July 1 I only anticipate sleeping in town for about 14 days, as opposed to the usual 15 nights per month.

I am intrigued and repulsed simaltaneously by the idea of elective homelessness. I'm intrigued by the adventure of it, physically. I often feel loss and let down after coming home from the field and moving indoors. I feel that emotionally more than physically I think, way less grounded, motivated, and purposeful. I have this fantasy about the adventure of it, waking up in my tent someplace beautiful, being forced into all the ideal parts about work without the stress of it. Reading and writing and doing art and being free and rooted all at the same time. The reality I'm sure is far from it. I'm attracted to saving money, $40 a month for storage versus $400 something for rent. I have this theory that not having a room to come home to might encourage me to expand and engage my support systems, and to seek out the people/places/things/attitudes I want as part of my life. Towards my own greater good. I'm attracted to simplifying, at least for a little while, and living out more of my wanderlust instincts.

I'm not sure yet how much of this freaking me out is new and wise terror, and how much is my usual fear of the unknown and new trying to strangle those outer impulses. I know I am very attached to having my own space, some niche somewhere that is mine to return to. I know this helps keep me grounded and relaxed. I know that depending on other people makes me uncomfortable, and that I put a lot of stock in being in control. I know that my brief stint homeless in the fall stressed me out a lot. I know that most of my off shift life lately revolves around baking, napping, watching too much tv, hiding, doing too much internet, and other such associated vegging out. These are all things that would be challenging without a home base.

The part I can't place in a particular column is how different I am since October. I'm scared of doing all of this and committing to the gypsy life because couch surfing in October was really hard for me. I'm grateful for the lessons I learned and the people I met, particularly the ones about trusting that the universe is well intentioned and puts me where I am meant to end up. The thing is, I am so much more grounded than I was in October. I know people in town now that I can fall back on, instead of trusting in the goodness of strangers. Work is so much less overwhelming than it was in the beginning. I wanted to write less crazy, not the case. I just handle the crazy better. The weather even would be more easy going. I'm scared though, because even so I don't know if I can do it, emotionally and spiritually...