Arrival at the Mountain Light

Tuesday Night, June 5th
I was well greeted upon arriving at the Sanctuary. Michael Lightweaver showed me around the facilities and discussed the potential areas for me to sleep. Because it was already past 7pm, I chose to stay at the Merlinwood shelter out of convenience. The other options all required a bit of love in order to make them suitable for slumber. I showed cousin Bill around the property and saw him off before setting myself up for a nights sleep. My spirit totem was instantly at peace. I was even greeted by an enormous brown spider at least the size of a black walnut. I took that as a sign that my shadow was getting comfortable, ready to gorge on the insects of the region and keep me from getting bit! However, it still freaked me out to see such a large creature, so I gently persuaded her to the outside world. As I reflect on it now, there was a similar experience the first night of my stay at Zaiana in Gargano with Johannes. There was a large spider that greeted me that night as well. We spent time together overlooking the sea and stars.
Michael gathered the team for a staff meeting at about 8:30pm and rambled on a bit. I get the impression that Michael tends to do that ūüėČ haha. However, it was good to get to know Yama, Paa, Omni, and Michael. These are the faces that will be a constant throughout the summer as guests flow in and out – masculine souls to which I can stay grounded. It‚Äôs an interesting and different vibe from my last visit when Tamatha and Addison were here. The women had a potent and chaotic energy that involved lots of talking without saying much. The men bring a more grounded feeling. While Omni is certainly a talker, Yama balances him out with silence. Paa, like myself, turns it on or off at will. Communication is a tool for him, as I believe it is for Michael. Perhaps this is simply a difference between the mature and immature masculine. Both Omni and Yama are younger. Paa and I share the same amount of time on the planet and Michael is quite a bit older. Regardless, I will get to know these men during my time here.
Sidenote: I am using the term ‚ÄėMasculine‚Äô even though this gender nomenclature feels outdated and incorrect given the genderless future I envision. However, for now, it will have to suffice. My apologies to those whom view the rhetoric of humanity in a different light, I mean no offense. As I continue writing these posts, I‚Äôm sure the concept of energetic balance will develop in alignment with my belief that each of us possess aspects of the socially constructed gender norms that make us all human being. Finding new ways to discuss such issues without resorting to age-old rhetoric is challenging. I will work towards more clearly defining my meaning. Thank you for your patience as I find my voice.

Walk the Streets

He crossed the canal at Kensie Street and enjoyed the view along the¬†two kilometer hike¬†from the greyhound station to the all night diner.¬†He had hoped to find a few more spots like that during¬†his¬†walkabout, and as it turned out,¬†the Chicago streets would not disappoint. Leaning against the rail he noticed he was alone amongst the millions. The reflection of city lights sparked the surface of the canal like a gunpowder art being lit. A nearby sidewalk mimicked the affect with what appeared to be glass flecks in concrete. The lights lit neurons that intoxicate the souls desire to run with the wolves and giggle with glee at a life¬†containing so much potential energy. Even though¬†he was connected by love to a state vector that could never collapse in the far-away¬†sage-steppe, by the mighty Columbia river, he still wanted to dance. A three step! Preferably with a graceful creature whom isn’t afraid to be dipped deep – wetting their hair in the surface of waves where the emotions of the present moment can’t help but make you smile. The ephemeral present that will end as quickly as it begins, begging for us to chase it down again and again while wisdom dictates the truth¬†that feelings will only come through inaction. Once again, the stillness of a peaceful mind illuminated his way forward. Life isn’t meant to be a struggle, he thought aloud. The chase had ended.

The Galen Bundy Trio

The sound drizzled across his eardrum, filling the cafe with a certain cinnamon roll gooeyness that would have fit as easily into an episode of Stranger Things as it would into a Vegas lounge in the nineteen-seventies. He envisioned three alcoholics dying slowly at the bar. However, in this reality, there were seven random midwesterners enjoying an evening of sobriety.

In unrelated thoughts, Donald Trump is Al Bundy’s hero.

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