Most Dear Ones,
For the first time in 5 years, I missed my first post! Well, for the first time in five years, I missed any posts.
I'm so sorry.
Last week, I was out of range at this intense and worth it weekend retreat called "Disentangling Patriarchy." You know, nbd. We had it all straightened out by Monday.
What I'm going to share today is a spoken word piece I wrote soon after the election. It's still unpublished, and you, dear readers, are its first loving audience. Just as it was meant to be.
Onward to light.
With great love,
Allie
The Entangle
or
Hineinu
or
Hineinu
Dearly Beloved,
We are gathered here today,
together, staring
with catlike interest
over the precipice of a fever
dream alarm bells sounding
off in symphony
not knowing what to say.
Me neither.
Maybe I’ll just stand
here
for
the next four years
and
read you Leonard Cohen lyrics
off
my phone.
Here,
hear—
Here
is all the darkness.
Here
are all the cracks.
Hear
us, concussed and singing
Hallelujah
for
the numen of the pitch
Hallelujah
for the
cutting storm
Hallelujah
for
the gold spidering the veins
as
if this place were one big piece of pottery from Japan
terrible
and old and more beautiful
for
having broken.
In
the graveyard,
Spirit surveys the freshly turned
earth
heaped
over
that now-
dead,
bluish
thing.
It says:
“Choose life.”
The
Live Oaks and the Bays,
respiring,
murmur to themselves
(because
we aren’t listening),
“Every
end is a beginning. If they choose it.”
And,
facing the repairs,
a
composer of disjointed symphony advises,
“Begin
anywhere.”
Pearl
to pearly pearl, inkling to inky hunch—
this
is how we monkeybar
our
way into the future opaque
as
Deep Space, darkness
thick
like no way back, onward into
the mysterious
black stupidity of it all.
Just
bake that brick,
lay
that brick,
and
step.
Resourceful,
resilient—freakishly
so,
we coax feasts
from
a stack of stale
saltines,
a nub of desiccated
cheese,
a bitten into chocolate
bar,
and a browning apple
half.
Save the seeds. We slug
our
bodies up, early
in
the multi-dimensional darkness
just
to sit them down again with a steaming
cup,
just to puzzle through
the bad
chemistry of an equation
that
won’t balance, that indicates even if
you’ve
earned it, deserve it,
even
if you’re less than half as
threatening
and more
than
twice as good, if
they
see you playing
with
it, they
will
take it from you.
Grief
sex,
soft
bunnies, and dirty
Martinis
invite mourning
to
be itself—that weirdly
wild
and swinging
thing.
Merge
bodies. Jump-
start
the raw electric of human
connection.
Rest there, in the free
flow
of energy between two circuits.
We
find solace in the flux.
In
the solace we find flux.
Work & friendship & activism & art, you know?
The
Redemptive Frisson: an accented,
gray-haired
stranger
in
the checkout line.
The Offering:
one exquisite, salt-slathered,
oil-lacquered
potato chip.
The Irrefutable
Fact: we live in a 24-hour
world.
Somewhere there
is always
someone dancing.
When
the shit comes
down
in the here and now, it
all
the sudden comes real clear.
All that
matters is every real,
heart
pulp-pumping intimacy
we’ve
ever had. Far above
the
tree line, there at the bald-stopped
peak
of Freytag’s Pyramid, slights
vanish,
disappointments vaporize,
grudges
rapturously combust, leaving
garments
crumpled empty in the streets, and if
the
choice comes down to isolation
or
entanglement
—and it does—
we
choose the Entangle every time.
Even
when it’s idiocy, even when
it’s
inefficient, even when
it’s
so clearly
opposite
of wise.
I
love that.
Hineinu, hineinu, here
we
are, in the lightening
field’s
fulcrum,
here
together, struck and turning
hot
coals over in our mouths.
Manic
> Magic
Grief
> Relief
Hate
> Create
Liberate
Educate
Elevate
If I
get real quiet, I can hear
Deep
Reality singing.
I
can almost taste her
voice
silken
and
bittersweet.
The darkness
The darkness
The darkness
is
never just
one thing.
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