Thirty – Erosion – An Opened Portal

During his inauguration, Obama mentions Stonewall, and gay rights, so I began to listen. He mentioned Dr. King’s proclamations, stating, “our individual freedom is inextricably bound to the freedom of every soul on Earth.”

And in this talk of soul, I wondered, what of “Spirit.”  And in this mention of our physical plane, Earth, I continued to listen, and in fact, replayed, waiting for a sign, an order, a call to action.  I then heard him state: “We will respond to the threat of climate change, knowing that the failure to do so would betray our children and future generations.  Some may still deny the overwhelming judgment of science, but none can avoid the devastating impact of raging fires, and crippling drought, and more powerful storms.”

And yes, I agreed that we “cannot resist this transition,” that in fact, the time of raging fires, crippling drought, and powerful storms is upon us.

earthI couldn’t help but wonder, was Obama reading my blog?  Was it a coincidence that I would use the same words to discuss turning 30?

Since 30, it’s only been a week, since 30.
Happy birthday to me.

Erosion can be summarized as the process that breaks things down.  We are in a state of drought, unavoidable storms, and in a way, for the attention of every soul on earth, I again, can only turn to spirit, reaching for those who have yet to return, who are on their way.

My 30th birthday was on January 15th.  In one week, I’ve had prayer and stretching, love and laughter, family and friends.  I’ve also experienced something that’s never come to me before.

I’ve been running into things, people, and energies, dark, crawling, grabbing, cold, jittery, spontaneously moving shifts of energy. A rain cloud heavy and heaving hovers over this energy, and it is present. Perhaps it is the new year, the weather, the President’s inauguration where he said he wanted all Gay people to have equal access, then, as I listened, the man in the Jamaican restaurant cries, “he just screwed up the speech,” and I, with a new pang of resilience respond loudly, “this is everyone’s country!” beginning a sort of confused silent and mumbled anxiety among the Jamaicans in a small room on Nostrand Avenue. Does this mean Saturn has finally returned? Has she left me?
But there are more instances…

One example is while I was on line at Mammouns in the East Village to get a falafel:

I’m just standing there, waiting for a friend or two, idle, minutes pass
and a man skips me
gets in front
and starts to say that I skipped him

his eyes orbiting around my face
“can I move!” he is enraged
and I challenge him back
“ I’ve been here for ten minutes,” no one substantiates me.  I stand alone.
it feels so ugly, so I just leave the line

unaligned. But placed, mysteriously placed there, in this place on another person’s plane.  Knowing that I have been placed, situated, uncomfortable, my stomach cringes.

I had a similar encounter at a pizza shop:

where I asked for Parmesan cheese
the counterman refused, no, it is not possible
then take the pizza, I don’t want it
but you’ve touched it

so that’s it then?

take it and go! So angry, so harsh, I came in with a smile, and we started with flirtation, until I asked for cheese to spread… I gave the pizza to a man walking with a beer in his hand, my stomach burns.

and of course it’s me, right

like, I’m bringing this on; perhaps it is food, and my intake, my rampant need to eat, to consume, to absorb something, while simultaneously on the go, running, about to leave, enter, open and close…

but it’s not me

I feel generally pleasant,
I never get this kind of negative energy
so, I’m wondering, what it is that I have “opened” to let in these serpents?
and then, I realized two things, I’ve invited a previous lover into my life
and she’s been gone for about a year and a half
just suddenly she’s reappeared
and it has been nice
but I’m concerned about her impact, and the memory of a realization of who she was to me.  I had a year and a half of silence, relinquishing myself of the sight of demons and the death of palms.
so, is she a part of this new place where I am tackled by others anxieties, the world where I walk into the dirty train, where the dog barks in my direction, the world where I go to see a potential house, and the basement is filled with caca de gato… Is it her presence?

And still, I don’t know if it is her, per se
so, I thought about what else it could be
my conclusion is that perhaps I actually AM pregnant
I’m becoming pregnant


I’m wondering if my body is preparing to receive the birth of a spirit, and in that regard, a portal is opening, and other spirits are somehow, sensing the opening, trying to get in, but my child’s spirit, is fighting them, to get in first… and so, I can only hope that the wrong spirit doesn’t get in first, and worse, defeat the child that is supposed to come

or worse

that the spirit has entered, and it is demon
or more likely
that the spirit has entered, and it is the enemy of demons
which means, inside of me, is a spiritual war
there is resistance on the other side to not make this spirit come to life; I feel newly fragile, vulnerable, and utterly human.

If I were having this conversation with my brother, he would say, “why do all people think their child is the angel?” Perhaps my child’s spirit is hovering over me, screaming in my direction, she is rushing my flesh to buckle up, take heed, prepare, for it will be painful, and torturous, I should remember my final days.

Perhaps women experience this feeling since the beginning of time, and call it motherly instincts… it’s true that I’m feeling the need to seclude, to be silent and protected, and away from danger.

This must be it; the burning, the sounds, the surprise, the anger, the dodging, the new encounters; a portal is opening, and so the universe is shifting here, in this direction.  The pace is like no other, how fast the world turns.  This blog took 17mins to write; as the portal opens wider, so does my body.

My body…

My body is thirty.  My spirit is readjusting.
Every time an opportunity appears, I encounter a friend on a morning commute, an ex in passing, they are reappearing, but how do I differentiate between my kin and my foe, how do I trust or know? If the demons are crawling, slowly, clawing long nails against the gates of my coven, slithering their way in, aware of the opening, making me sweat at night, jittery during the day, inching closer toward my sphere, playing tricks on what I hear and see and know, how then do I rid them?

Since I’ve turned 30, only seven days have passed.  Already, I’ve kissed loved ones, received a new family member, counseled a bereaved, considered a new house, laughed with my parents side by side, cameo’d my brother’s radio show, held hands with community, shit in a public bathroom, cuddled a child, drew a picture, sang real loud, danced among straight people, watched a woman transform over a single hour of prose, considered and regretted, yet and still, I am the most unsure that I have ever been in the history of my life.

My stomach burns. And likely before I arrive home, something striking will happen.

Here goes,

thirty.  Where “I” am most vulnerable, thirsty, so dry, and so thirsty…
my body, my soul, my spirit, in conflict, being torn down, weathered into separate parts, an erosion in need to break things down, to make room for another body, whose soul is close, but spirit is somewhere in the center of warfare, wrestling with the planet’s indecision, finding my opening, this portal, this opening, this space.

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1 Response to Thirty – Erosion – An Opened Portal

  1. rb says:

    ican’t tell the cherubs from the demons either. or if there is such a thing. i have found lately, that breath leaving the flesh of my loves has made me doubt the existence of anything “extra”. i suspect it has all been as a bunch of fire lit tales told to long haired people in skins and caves, shrieking as flames crackling punctuated particularly nasty interpretations of god’s wrath. i’m tired. tired of believing in things i can’t see. and holding on to love and faith and sometime-y kindnesses that are mostly unresponsive. oh, yes, i’m the demon. i’m gollum. once human, now transformed and hissing, snatching after anything i think shimmers like my precious ideals. death has changed me in that i can not believe in life the way i used to last year. i’ve clung to santa and rudolph, the tooth fairy and jesus in the same stupid way. because i have no choice. because somebody older than me told me about them when i was small and faithful to all my imaginary friends. i’m tired of seriously wondering if the demon was me, or the woman whom i once prayed beside and watched sleep, but a police report tells me left here without saying goodbye. the woman whose blood i put on my own hands when i had been no where near her for 50 days when it happened. it happened and i had felt it coming. was i powerless in another state? i blame myself for not rescuing her from her mother and her therapist and all the outside people who had no idea she was hearing and seeing death in her dreams and her ears. i have finally loaded one of several rifles in this house. i continue to wait for her courage. then at least i will not be anybody else’s damn demon.

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