The Quarter Life Crisis

Thirty still stares at me, just from the left rather than the right now. It's like the stony face of an elegant cameo that is lovely but silent. The specialized commodity it holds has already proven to be of more wisdom, sophistication, and unpretentious simplicity. I once thought this decade would be my undoing as it brought the death of my youth. But alas, it has given me the gift of contentment.

Though I sit here confident in whom I've become and what I want for my life I'm far from having it all figured out. Last year was my initiation to this era and it was a beginning stage full of growing pains. I had one foot in the past and a hand gripping the edge of that closed door to the twenties. I tried to stay there, attempted to make it fit my new world, thoughts, outlook, body. But try as I may no new piercing or lingo could fit me back into that toothpaste tube once I had been squeezed out.

So, here I sit with a knowing smile that silently laughs at how that year must have looked from the outside and how it felt desperate in so many ways. But what I have gained is a seat at the table of women and men that fit into their own skin. We are a community of adults who have mostly gotten the wiggles out and surrender to the fact that we will never have it all figured out. The difference between us and the skins of ourselves that we have shed is the acceptance that our light shines from within. Oh what a journey it's been trying to light up our eyes, hair, asses, and smiles with things that make us shine. I'm not sure if it's travesty or brilliance that knowing the difference requires failure and pain on a level that involves dying to our very selves so that we can begin to shift into the beings we were always meant to be.

Illustrious grandeur
Is a muse hard to kill
Once she's tempted
And you have seen

All that she appears to offer

The vapor of purpose

Does any of this
Really matter?
Will our passion
Be remembered
As our imprint on history
Sinks a thumbprint deep
Or is it all for not
Moments dissolving
Like disappearing ink
Without the proper light
To display its story?
I hope some of this matters
That someone remembers
Because it hurts to imagine
That it's no more
Than sand awash in the ocean

The hardest things I've ever done
Involved dying to my own pride
Becoming meek in the presence of devastation
And strong in confidence
Of the things that matter
And make up my being
Like forgiveness
That is so vast it surpasses natural reason
The kind Jesus afforded everyone
It's strange how fighting the current
Of what we've always been taught
About self, privilege, and what we are heirs to
Is one of the hardest things we will ever do
Because the hardest things
Are a forge to make us a stronger
More beautiful
And pure
But nothing was ever transformed
Without giving up
What used to be

Sister Moon

It's cold here, but not for the reason you may think. I wait for you, and hold those who are dear and lost to you and the air loses its warmth with every passing moment. Time simply drains the burst of energy until another of my children come home. It is those days I remember when I was like them and why I have chosen to guide them through the fog. Together we watch, and we remember. I see those left behind looking for ways to hold on. It is they that pain my spirit, and I wish for the peace of closure to cover their refusal to let go. My dear, I am not a dark force as I've been painted to be, on the contrary! You may think it trite to proclaim, but I am indeed sacred, you just can't see it because those you have known and loved have lost perspective of my purpose.

Centuries ago, I was welcomed with reverence and respect. My arrival is never one desired (at least by those who remain). Yet, in the days of ritual we had an understanding. I paused, hovering over those that processed and fought so that I may embrace them with a breath of tranquility until they finally accepted my place with their lost love. You see, despite what you have been taught I do not seek to leave behind any of my children. I am their keeper in the late and sacred chapter. You cannot fathom their weariness when they come to me- you are not meant to see it. Yet you are meant to trust that they are safe with me until you can join us. None of them leaves before it is their time, but my clock is not always in sync with their own. For those that feel robbed of memories and moments I seek to help heal and realize what lies beyond as the hourglass runs out.

In days of the Vikings, there was a beauty in the departure of a boat burning into the horizon. When Egypt ruled I was welcomed only once a process of preservation was complete, and I was happy to oblige. Whether in a home surrounded by days of mourning and love, or at the foot of a pillar that finally burnt to the ashes on the ground I have always been a willing woman in waiting.

Yet here we are- me, you, and your blind denial. Why do you fear me so? When my sister pulled you into the light, the first breath you drew sealed a certainty that we would someday meet. I do not choose when I am called, I simply show up when I am beckoned. I love you as only one who dwells as an eternal guardian can. I want the most elegant, authentic, meaningful end for the significance that was your life. Whatever that looks like, I will be there as a witness and walk with you into the light that welcomes us beyond.

We have yet to meet, but my sister she tells me you are quite the beauty. She treasures your laugh and the way that those who encounter you remember your eyes that twinkle with joy. I won't get to experience this until after your final work is done but I do long to know you as a friend. As such I just wanted you to know that you needn't be afraid. Prepare for that day, but don't dwell- it won't delay or speed it along. Above all else I ask that you tell those you care about that our relationship doesn't have to be one of fear or pretending you are still there. How it pains me to see new friends painted and stitched and made to look as if my sister is still witnessing their light. It does not influence their exit, other than to make one last stance of denial that I exist.  

We will meet, my friend. But when we do I will be gentle and we will not go until you are ready. My only wish is that your monumental exodus would be infused with the sacredness and ritual that defines your magnificent self. You are so beautiful! So, remember that all that is confirmed in this life is that you will meet my sister and I, and those that surround you will hold in their memory the impact of each of these fateful events. Be sure your heart is honored, lovely, because ours is the only ritual of the two you can orchestrate- may it be as truly memorable as your heart.

I woke up today
And my arms were covered in tattoos
I picked cherries from our tree
Drove to work with last nights smoke
Still in my eyes
I danced last night
With my free bird inspiration
It felt new and old
Colorful
I felt old
And it was beautiful
The sky let go enough to breathe
Gentle drops of celebration
My chest pounded
With bass too strong
And it felt alive
The air filled with vibes
Our ears feasted on luscious sound
It was afternoon when my eyes cleared
My pants were tight
My boots high
Today I woke to my best friend
And Two dogs stretching wildly about
I looked in the mirror at my hair short
And I smiled
Because I was alive
To live last night
And greet this new day
I see color again
Im so glad I fought to be here
I forgot how glorious it feels to live