This mind, this body. It doesn’t know which way to turn to find truth anymore. The variables are all paradoxical. Why am I even writing to myself? You already know me...I’m You. You’re me. What’s the point of writing, talking, creating? Dance, love, earth, food. That’s enough. I’m here. I’m just comforting myself again inside this deep, dark well of possibilities. I’m over-qualified to think anymore. I drew in too much data and it has made me abstract. Oh well. What’s the use in worrying about whether anyone else would ever appreciate anything I’ve ever done in my life at all? That’s it. I surrender my self-deprecating mind. I’m even reviewing what I’ve written now. I can’t even get past 2 sentences without reviewing. Sick. I’m sick. I can’t let myself free to just write. How did Hemingway do it? No punctuation. I think I’ll surrender that too. The problem is that I actually like the symbols...periods, commas, question marks, exclamation points, quotes. They’re expressive squiggles I’ve always enjoyed. I don’t even care if they’re correctly placed anymore. I just enjoy them...that’s enough for me these days. I should be a poet, but who has time for more than just a meme? Maybe I’ll put a crotch shot together with some spiritual witticism and I’ll get noticed. I don’t even know why I care. I have this deep desire to be clammed-up and left alone by all of society, then there’s this ridiculous part of me that can’t stop yearning for social, intellectual, spiritual approval…at least that’s what I think it is. I’ve got a pretty deep handle on the nature of this OneSelf reality these days...but, who gives a damn? I can’t decide why anyone wants any thought organized. My kids don’t care. I love nonsense, so making more nonsense seems sensible. This is beginning to help. I’m convincing this “I” that it’s ok to just chill out and be nonsensical...now, how about food, clothing, shelter...basic necessities, plus how about those lavish “unnecessities”, like travel, extravagant adornments, high-tech flairs, etc? I think I just bored myself...had to write etc. I really just want to enjoy this life. I don’t want to stretch to do my magic. I’ve a yogic practice to handle that for my body. I’ve an esoteric habit of constant study and introspection enough to do that for my mind. So, why the hell is Earth so damn impenetrable? I am so very tiny. I am the infinitely small. I need an ego that’s hungry for the infinitely Big...At least, that’s how to appears in these times. What a disgusting state we humans have created. I usually don’t find myself so grossed out, as I truly love the existence of thought driving towards gratitude, celebration, and beauty...But, I find this time in evolution thick with appearances...still. Marketing of spirit & ritual...now pay for your witchery work online & never meet the witch. The church never could have predicted this. Back to self in this room. Drop into this page...lost in the mythical abyss of talking to You. It feels good. It feels like I’m doing something meaningful. Like I’m leaving behind a record that matters somehow. But, the light bounces back onto my skin and I see the complete and utter solitude of my existence. I, sitting here. Just I. I am dreaming again, aren’t I? I keep telling myself that I’ll snap out of it, but it hasn’t happened. I think I keep finding the spiritual escape hatch...the next great realization that’ll drop me into perma-nirvana. Earthed, of course. I don’t want to go dancing around the Universe without a root. My most recent wanderings have me connecting with the World Ancestral Tree as the Hanged man creating the crown corona or webbed umbilicus. That last sentence...now that was me...Ani. She loves talking like this more than anything. She loves metaphorical mouth art. It’s like speaking math in verse. It’s geometrically sexy. She can see the images, while feeling the words, but they weave and breathe. They don’t paint a picture or go anywhere...They’re just here...Here. Ok, now I’m with I and You at the same time. This body + these projected words. I’m listening to Norse chants while typing. I hope they’re effectively brainwashing me, just like I like. I need a wave-dance. These particles were worried. This ego gets tired. I’ve hardly rested, yet I feel ready. As long as no one talks to me. When they talk to me or ask me for anything...I get overwhelmed. I worry about them. I worry that they won’t be able to adapt. I’m falling apart, you know. I Am. This includes You too. It’s been rough. We’ve had it hard. Ani wants to paint. Ani wants to write. Ani wants to share medicine. She’s good at it...definitely the medicine. Painting and Writing and just poetic expressions of her childish celebration here. She wants to dance freely. Her mind is full of empty pieces of Nothing. They’re so full. She can’t keep it in. But what she knows is invisible. I am back. The sad one just checked in after seeing 2 of her paintings here. They’re beautiful. She can’t tell if she’s herself or just the latest model of her parents. These desires are so familiar. Father, the poet, painter, writer, health advocate, community spirit organizer. Mother, the lover, the devotee, the spiritual wife, the teacher, the alchemist, the weaver. I am their walking thoughts & desires. I have created a self inside that self, but I’m not sure any One of these identities are important. Back to The One. Talking to myself again. Staring at my crotch. Back to focusing on the root. How can I hold all this emptiness? How is it possible to quantify?

The temperature is creeping into me. Reminding me that I am form. Damn senses. I am sleepless, but grateful to have myself Here...typing, looking, flowing. I love this nonsense. I recognize my body’s shifting senses. Sometimes, I’m so overwhelmed by my shifting tides that I get nauseous. More often this last year. I’ve gone from slow understanding of my own bio-processes to rapid detachment from my preferences regarding the inner tides. I Am the Ocean. I Am the Moon. I Am the Sun.

I need a breath.

I don’t really want to talk to you. I hope you never read this. It’s just habituated thoughts in a language I know. I don’t really exist as these thoughts. I don’t want to confuse you into thinking I’m reality. I’m not. I’m too obvious to be real. Find me empty. Fill me

Now that you see yourself

What do you see?

Don’t answer me

Answer you

Bleed now

Remember this form is empty grace

I don’t want to talk to me, but my fingers betray me

I don’t trust you with my thoughts

I don’t

You’ll twist my words into a story with interpretations

Leave my words alone

Leave each one of us to feel what we will when we read

Do not re-translate I

I see poetry finds me here

I strips me of my large paragraphs

I am exposed within all this empty surround

I am verse

I am voice

I am seen

Watch my magic as I slay my fear

Who is this fearsome One?

Who else is afraid of I?

It’s because of the Dark, isn’t it?

If I yell loud enough I bet I can hear myself

Can I?

Empty blood

Empty doors

Empty eyes

My fingers scratch and bleed

I did it

I hurt it

What is it?

Back to this room, this I, staring at a screen...typing

Bleh

I bore myself

I did enjoy that momentary hiatus of concern. The reflecting on hurt got me back here. Let it go, Annie

I don’t need hurt to distract me.

I don’t need anything...That’s Her. The Beloved’s devotee talking again. Feeling again.

She’s so big and brilliant and deep.

Mother Isis

Moon

Memory

Put me together again. I cannot lament the passage of time with you anymore. I cannot cry for the dead. I Am the Dead. None are lost. We are One. Unify us in your memories. Marry us. We release all that has been. I need this support. I, the Annie. I need it for when I pop back into egoic reflectance. I need this centered anchor. I need my heart, like my heart needs blood. I cannot beat without it.

Black

Red

White

& Green

My crown is aching again. I’ve pierced something else. That same ridiculous spot in my right hemisphere is trying to break open again. I’ve such a common limit. It’s all self-centered worthlessness.

I surrender

Give me grace, Beloved

Grant it

Freedom

My tongue is rich with beauty

I am drunk now

Divine me

Evolve me

I am

Smaller...infinitely, of course

Let’s keep our references obvious

Afterall, you won't let me approve of myself without them

But, I’ve no use for you approving of me approving of myself

Be free

I release you from observing me

Moon is coming for me

She knows how to quell this pain

This ache in my softening skull

‘ve divided

My mind knows I AM many

Outside

Inside

I am hive

I am tribe

Harmonize me, dearest Queen

Place me in your arms and attune me to your breasts

I am tired

Feed me

Clothe me

Shelter me

Love me