60

⏾

In my early thirties, when I was living through my only divorce twice, anyone I fucked I instructed split me in two. Crack me open I used to purr and they all did try their best. And then one day I met a boy who's pain matched mine.

    Click

was a girl (mess) all over again

I had impulsively prayed for a body love on a flight home from new york where I kinda broke up with this super rich (smart and funny) guy I was only sort of dating. He was a friend of my ex husband's, more an acquaintance, but the need to justify the difference reveals the masculine conundrum.

Landed, ubered, gathered the mail, and hauled my bag up a few flights of stairs.

Shoes off, hands washed, jeans wrangled down to my ankles.

I came so hard that I squirted all over the hardwood floor in the hallway, peering into a tiny deco crystal chandelier kaleidoscope. Sweatered spine on hardwood because I knew I was going to cum hard and I'm a clean freak. Wiped clean those glossy floorboards. See, the body love's energy came in, and Spirit told me I had work to do.

I next perceived this very specific to-do list, to call in a body love using the energy of my space — a one-bedroom apartment I shared with my two young sons in mid-city — just across the street from those lacma street lamps. So I did all the to-do's before Spirit said tinder. I had worked all week. Wrote down all the tiny chores, crossing them off, feeling great. It was a friday. I tindered over the weekend and remember taking the boys for barber shop haircuts, then was parking in his garage late wednesday afternoon post consultation with an honestly happy couple. They walked me to my car and we all watched a swarm of bees circle the jacaranda to the back left of their home. We had seen the bees before, in a clear line of site out their bedroom window, and we watched again from below until they bid me farewell like nervous parents. I hadn't had that and it was sweet.

That was in the spring of 2019. I wore a cream linen skirt suit, 70's, with suede manolos. Had put a vetiver, neroli and faintly cinnamon body oil on my legs, careful not to oil the suede. It felt like I only took left turns on the drive home seven hours later, and once I successfully pulled iris into her assigned slot, I did know I was fucked. We hadn't yet but I was, I just knew it. You know that feeling when it washes over. Yet when you want the assignment, as in your soul needs the work, you take it.

Lessons come packaged as they will, enticing in their present tense while draped with red flags looking back — that's * if * you pass the test. I finally did. I passed with zero fanfare last fall, and now it's spring again, and I'm grateful to be here. I'm on the eastern shore of maryland, a farmer of sorts, devoted to moving inside learnings out after a long, hot decade fighting against myself in the city of angels, where I kid you not, I had six different bedrooms, each one rearranged countless times.

gIRL mess class starts in our bedrooms because I can tell you that many, many bedrooms are stale with avoidance. Thus on the flip side, bedrooms are ripe with potential for actualizing, living within, our authentic desires on the daily.

As adults, or doing our best to act the part, our energy in one realm of lived experience is indicative of our big picture energy. So I wasn't just dirty talking, I was committed to cracking myself open across the board. What I was doing in bed, I was doing in life. I broke my reality apart, swept up all the pieces, dusted them off and laid them across the table to sort. Like items like to live together, so I compartmentalized my particular gIRL mess into piles. I like a pile. A pile seems to dare hey, here I am, come deal with me.

    Tomorrow, we answer.

No two people's piles look the same.

Not sure if this is called karma or fate, or if it's just the work of being a (high) functioning human being? We're here on the material plane, and maybe we've been here before, hence all the piles, but what * work * it is to be in a human body on the material plane dealing with our stuff?

💤

 IT'S SANDWICHES FROM HERE ON OUT GANG