You are my mirror image.
You are low currents in mid air stream.
You make it easy to ride this wave.
But you are work. So I avoid phone conversations with you every so often.
You are sister circles and safe spaces.
You tongue twist in unspoken tongues and you still speak tongues.
And tongues speak you, Spirit.
You are unafraid to speak, Spirit.
You are sex talk to talking about sex, unabashed.
You are naked conversations and willing explorations that tip the scale.
You are a libra though.
And libras are conscious of their presence.
Libras are aware of their image.
We act like we don’t see the mirror, we don’t like the mirror, we ignore the mirror
but librars are actually mirrors.
We fight against the carnal.
We fight against the contortions.
We fight and fight and
then we walk away because the fight is not worth the fight.
And still, You Are.
Precious mothering…oh how you fight again/against titles like
But work through that shit, Mother.
I am removing the word fight.
And although it has been a minute since you’ve played,
You still play, Twin.
You are a playmate.
You are playful.
You are fun foolish and frightfully frank in your play.
And you play the role well.
Bare boned, brawn, brown, beDazzled
Yes, You Got Back, Babyyy. [Wear dem jeans!]
But when flesh is figurative in its stance
when it becomes unimportant because we are un-central in this story
when we no longer worry about the story
when we don’t know what the story is
And we forget titles, talking, even tongues
when we sit quietly
when we listen to silence talk
The scales will then balance themselves out.
It won’t matter what’s going on in this world.
It won’t matter.
And you, P, get that.
You understand the power of playing this out in its most natural listening form.
I have trust issues.
Not exactly the best way to open a blog, but I know myself.
I’m getting to know myself.
I’m learning about the self and who she is becoming.
I’m getting to know her.
She is working on her trust issues.
She is I.
Not a confession. Not a vulnerable moment of clarity. Just a personal truth I want to work on.
Trust issues became apparent to me on the 1-hour flight to North Carolina this past Friday morning.
Side note, I have flown quite a few places in my life, and the flights have been rather long (as you already know if you’ve been following my posts). So why would an hour flight bother me?
Answer: I just don’t like flying. But I LOVE traveling. It’s in my bones.
We were on the runway for about 20 minutes, not because Dorian was working itself up the east coast to the Carolinas waiting to wreak havoc like it did in the Bahamas. (Please continue to send positive light and prayers for those who have been affected by Dorian). We were behind 9 other planes. I was coming in and out of sleep consciousness, thinking about the adventurous reunion I was about to have with people I haven’t seen in years.
We took off. I felt the lift and then the sway and rumbling of a small plane. Taking off into the air is like the start of any roller coaster. It feels safe at first because you really haven’t gone anywhere, BUT YOU ARE ABOUT TO!
There was turbulence halfway through the flight. I know turbulence – it’s unsteady airflow; a chaotic shift in the airwaves. I’ve been in rough air before. I know about hitting pockets, grabbing on to neighboring strangers, praying in tongues in midair and being reminded by some know-it-all who has flown a million times that turbulence is a good problem to have in the air.
But when turbulence comes, I still jump. I still grab my neighbor. I still look outside the window to see how deeply slanted the wings of the plane are.
On this plane ride I inwardly-outwardly heard, “Trust.”
I said, “I am trusting.”
I heard, “You aren’t.”
I said, “Don’t tell me what I am not doing. I know me.”
I heard, “Close your eyes.”
I said, “No.”
I heard, “My point exactly.”
[Btw, don’t ask me who “I heard” is. Just follow the conversation].
And then I closed my eyes. The turbulence picked up, oh so slightly.
I heard, “Now feel. Feeeeeeel. Feel everything around you, but whatever happens, do not open your eyes.”
And the plane slanted to the right. I felt it. I moved centrifugally to the right.
Then the plane shook lightly.
Then there was another shift.
Then there was a slight drop.
Then my stomach felt a quick queasiness.
Then smooth and straight. And all was well until another pocket – another shake – another drop. The seatbelt light came on and a ding-sound indicated to us, the passengers, to fasten our seatbelts. The flight attendant announced to buckle and tighten them up. I don’t ever recall in my flying years a flight attendant telling us to “tighten them up.” This was a first.
Then another shake.
I had the aisle seat. I sat next to someone who had put the window shade down before I initially closed my eyes. I wanted to say, “Don’t do that! I want to look out the window.” But again, I had the aisle seat.
I was tempted to open one eye, but I heard, “Don’t. Trust you’ll get to your destination. Just feel every movement of the plane.”
There were moments when the plane would smooth out and I felt nothing. There were moments when it felt like it jumped. I started to take deep breaths, which is what I always do when turbulence occurs. The inhale-breath feels safe. The exhale-breath rushes through the process to get back to the inhale-breath. Then there was an announcement that we were preparing to descend and land in 20 minutes. And the shaking picked up.
“Don’t open your eyes.”
Shake. Shift. Descending plane.
“Do Not Open Your Eyes.”
Slant to the right, slightly ascending, speed increases, slanting and now descending.
Constant shake. Then suddenly smooth for a few lengthy minutes.
I hear the wheels unfolding.
It’s taking so long to land. It’s taking sooooo damn long to land this plane.
“Don’t You Open Those Eyes. Just feel.”
When will we land…uuuuuugh.
Touchdown. Wheels on the ground.
“Now open your eyes.”
This is what a relationship is. You are smooth sailing. You shake. You ascend and then descend. You slant to the right and then to the left. Then you are steady and you hold that pose for a while. Straight and smooth. And then a dip here and there. A few deep breathy air pockets. All the while your eyes are closed, trusting. You are relying on something else other than sight. With sight we try and explain everything. We want to know how and why and “what if” and “maybe I can stop it if I can seeeeeee it.” Not everything needs an explanation. You just trust. You leap and trust. You shake and trust. You believe and trust. You cry and trust. And while you are trusting you are feeling the moment. You are present.
Another side note. I never stated what sort of relationship and with whom. You choose the person or being. Maybe the relationship is with self. Just maybe you are learning to trust who? Yourself.
Have you ever tried to avoid the feeling of a situation? If it doesn’t feel good you want to avoid and/or make it disappear real fast, so you take an aspirin or aleve (one of my favorite headache killers) or ignore like it's not there or take another turn down a dark alley.
What I heard on the plane was, “Feeeeeeeeeel. You will trust when you acknowledge the feeeeeeeling.” So, I’m done pretending like I do not feel. I’m not saying, “Bring on the turbulence.” But I am saying, Bring on TRUST. I'm better for it and so are the beings I love.