The Amazon is burning
Will we begin grieving for the trees when the flames start licking at our feet
how numb can we be
did we forget that heat travels up is this smoke too thick for us to see
it is we who are tied to the stake
This pile of pages has me squealing for joy because it is the basis for 30 new copies of my German poetry book “Ein Erstes” which I’m going to bind tomorrow. The other day I finished my 180th copy of the English translation - these cheeky books keep selling themselves in sneaky and magical ways! Thinking of maybe capping it at 200 for those… Now I’ve FINALLY got round to revising and re-formatting the original German version, of which I initially only had a small number and wasn’t going to make any more, except the orders kept coming innnnn, so there you go! If you would like one, let me know! They’ll have hand-painted covers too. 🌈
Love is the truck that hits the angel come to take us home and the only reason you survive both. Though of course, I overdose.
How strangely hard it is to convince your heart that it's ok to do what you love. I'm putting some of my books in the mail today and while making envelopes, my hands shake. Have recently agreed to create two things - a performance and an article, both of which I will be paid for - and this morning, faced the first wave of fear and urge to cancel everything. Did not succumb. Conceded that the only thing scarier than doing what you love is not even trying. Guess this is a wave that for now, I'll just keep riding.
On another note, if you’re struggling, with whatever it is. Remember this, just in case.
What if I am soft as ocean in the last light of day. More sky than anything else, but willing to spill, to sway, to give in, to break waves. Wash myself clean away.
What is the difference between saving a life and shaking a poet awake? Sometimes, none. She is the reason I began sharing anything. I owe her everything. The queen, the sharpest, the softest, the fiercest warrior of love and heart-full art, has gone. But before she left, she lit the path on fire. And no matter how tight my throat, how flooded to the top and choked up by tears my whole fucking being may be, I vow to follow her light. And if I have to crawl, because I do not have her strength: I see the path ahead. Burn bright. Love, all the way. Because, as you say: fear is redundant. Rest in power Candy. Thank you ❤️
Some days I catch a bus, and get off at the wrong stop. The next bus I miss, and sit by the side of the road for a ¾ hour because I don’t trust myself to go to the shops without getting hit by a car. Those are the days when I’m all heartbeat and not enough air, hands good for nothing other than shaking. My phone and I run out of battery at the same time. Friends are let down. And the best I can do is be grateful for the learning I’ve done, the fact that I’ve come far enough to know this isn’t dying. It’s just living so hard that all my softness seems misplaced and I don’t know which way to turn without running into something sharp. Those are the days when I am grateful without words for arms to hide in, kindness on the phone, a sigh of understanding. For my remembering how to dial a number, which took practice. On the good days too. Because that is how habits are made. Strong enough to break, even a bad day, into moments that are small enough to swallow. So I may tremble, splutter and cough, but yes. I am ok. Despite anxiety, depression, and all the other trouble there is.
How do you accept the thing that you want, when it comes? You just do. Because that is all life requires of you. To say yes, to shout YES so loud it drowns out every voice that ever dared question your worth, your place among all things living and lovely, your being just as deserving of happiness as everyone else here. Because this is the moment when fear can fuck right off, and it will, because it knows it has lost. You say Yes.
Task
Describe the current state of your body without using words like tired unwanted flabby stained heavy itchy useless shame pain full in-the-way or alone. Start with alive. Begin by breathing. Begin with your hands mimicking a flower opening. Believe them.
I’m back from a trip. A holiday. Or perhaps a preparation: The next few months are gonna be big. I’m on a roll with doing things I haven’t done before and definitely terrified. My jetlagged body tells me I am weak, but it’s just kidding. My fearful mind says, I’m not ready, but I know better than to listen. Joy is indeed a risk I’m willing to take, and if it goes the other way and I reap shame instead, it’s still worth it for the learning. The thing with living is, it goes under your skin, either way. So I say, here I am. Bring it on.
Sometimes something is scary and confusing as fuck and still is the only thing that makes sense. And the joy is so big you fear for your seams. Tremble hard, and say yes anyway. Because you must. Run not away, but with it. As if your life depends on it. Because it does.
This is the tired and happy face of a poet and fiddler who just experienced one of the most beautiful gigs she ever attended, let alone TOOK PART in. My first proper gig in Germany couldn’t have been more perfect, wholesome, lovely, bone-achingly beautiful and REAL. I shared poems in both English and German and played tunes with my musical soulmate and listened to her trio and smiled so hard my face hurt. ALL of my sisters were there as well as my mum! The venue Grauer Esel Harburg and the audience was gorgeous!! I am speechless. I am BLESSED.
The thing that happens when you weren’t gonna share the poem and you leave it on the table and then a rainbow falls from the window through a glass of water right on it and you give up, because wtf, life, be romantic if you must.
Heads up peeps, healing is an individual journey. Some paths make no sense to anyone but the heart that's walking them. And maybe not even that, sometimes. Sometimes you don't know your own feet, only that they're moving anyway. Only that the light is brightening ahead, and you're still breathing. And that's ok. No one can live your life, but yourself. Do it however you must.
Some people arrive sweet magic like birds landing on my palms so soft so perfect I really don't know how to hold them