Evolution is a Witch's Broom

I am, by true definition--a sort of witch. It has taken me yards, paths, falls to store this sustainably in house plants, in rows of stones, with words with the sun and the moon. Inspiration whispering from mother's tulips, dashing cardinals, every tree. The wind, goddess lily, jimmies my nerves through my pores. My mother, my aunts, my sister, sisters: we have this. It tugs us.

We have gnawing compassion. I work almost entirely among women, almost entirely with the body. I imagine one day if I can do everything I wish to do, I will both ascend and live on. I will be yin in love with a tender yang. For now, I dwell in instances of heartache mostly. I make light.

The mother earth is sort of falling apart. She can replenish herself. We can stop dying horrifying deaths. Stop the violence and rape, the poison and the plastic. Have things be so hearts jump out to do dances, to hold hands. Galactic bonfires in the wild flower fields. We may bring stars to this earth--not tragically. Magically.

Currently reading:

The Spiral Dance: A Rebirth of the Ancient Religion of the Goddess: 20th Anniversary Edition

By: Starhawk

Release date: 1999-09-22

Home Soon

I was thinking about reclaiming the elephant. Reclaiming red. About the documentary I viewed of elephants migrating, dying of thirst. Elephants that paint. Elephants in rooms. Vampires who call themselves elephants in politics.

My friend, Alexis, gave me an elephant key chain on new year's eve. I needed one because I lose my keys or generally forget them often. We are detached. Just last month after all these years, I finally succumbed to the locksmith who in all fairness sawed my knob right off and in half. I hung my bras on the other side. They lay in a pile when the door swung open. Bravo.

I lost my keys again last week, regardless. This time they dropped into a booth and despite my best effort, I could not retrieve them. My three keys and the silver elephant are buried in one of the top-ten dive bars in dc, in mount pleasant, perhaps forever.

Another dear friend, my oleander, gave me a buddha head in a box for winter solstice. She wanted the buddha at first but the buddha wanted (do buddhists want?) me. She went back for an elephant for herself. Oleander is reclaiming the elephant. I'm chaining my keys to my tongue in 2009.

Currently reading:

The Kin of Ata Are Waiting for You

By: Dorothy Bryant

Release date: 1997-03-25