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I listen to Comptine D’un Aurte Ete, L’apres-Midi by Yann Tiersen and remember Stacy playing it in a coffee shop downtown. It was late, she was gliding across chords on an old, out of key piano; our own little sage-y green room, women whose names escape me but whose faces still remind me of the season where my spirit took a lot of hard beatings. Stacy’s pulled back blonde waves that really wanted to be ringlets; chai, tiramisu, spicy brownies. Women whose boyfriends and husbands were best friends.

On Febrauary 14, 2013, I went out for chips and salsa, avocado tacos and Stacy got a margarita and we ate good food, hiked up the cut and gorged ourselves on all the chocolates that her husband had given her that morning for a holiday that doesn’t offer anyone a day off, but just ends in a lot of sex or a lot of lonely tears or with the sore hands and tired backs of child laborers forced to pick coco beans for Ghirardelli’s biggest sales day of the year.
//
I know I just ate and I’m staarrving, I said as I rolled around dramatically on the couch holding my not-yet-satisfied stomach. You’re not starving, she said in her “I’m irritated that you just said that”, voice. Oh my god, it’s just an expression!, I defended myself. No, I, I know people who are actually starving, followed by a shaky, “I can’t believe we’re talking about this” laugh that in a text message might have been followed by a, “….”.

A deep sigh of irritation came upon me and I felt myself abandoning myself as I often do when I feel like I’ve just gotten caught being wrong.

I woke up at 4AM that morning to the thought of, How am I going to pack up all of this stuff? Where’s the wood going to go? How in the hell am I going to get that on the plane? I then remembered thinking that my mom was coming to pick me up (in three months) and as I tried falling back into sleep I thought again, But how am I going to pack all of this up? There it was, my desire to escape has followed me into my dreams, no longer present to the moment even there.
I awoke every couple of hours until I had to meet everyone out in the living room at 7:15. I remember thinking to myself in between those hours of sleeping and awaking, Wow, me in another dimension keeps going in and out of sleep. I wish they’d choose one. (I’ve been playing around with a funny little theory that we all exist somewhere else other than here and that when I am sleeping in one place in time, my other self in another place in time is awake and etc.)
//
I craved Comptine D’un Aurte Ete, L’apres-Midi today like one craves corn dogs or ice cream or hot sauce on something savory.
I think it’s funny this song is beginning to act as a thread in which every  dark moment in my life connects. Like elementary school children clinging to a rope to help them stay in a single file line.
//
I can feel myself gong in and out of silence within myself. Maybe it’s that instinct that I have to abandon myself. Maybe I just need to give myself space to just exist. Whatever it is, the overwhelming feeling to make it up to everyone and explain and apologize for my behavior is heavy, is debilitating, is oppressive.

Why must I explain anything?
Why must I be understood?
Why do I want so badly to be understood?

"Speak to us of Love!"

When love beckons to you, follow him,

though his ways are hard and steep. 

And when his wings enfold you yield to him,

Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you. 

And when he speaks to you believe in him, 

Though his voice may shatter your dreams as 

the north wind lays waste the garden. 

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. 

Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning. 

Even as he ascends to your height and caresses 

your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun, 

So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth. 

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you to himself. 

He threshes you to make you naked. 

He sifts you to free you from your husk.

He grinds you to whiteness. 

He kneads you until you are pliant;

And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast. 

All these things shall love do unto you that you

may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become of fragment of Life's heart.

But if in your heart you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,

Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor, 

Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh,

but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears. 

Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself. 

Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;

For love is sufficient unto love. 

When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, "I am in the heart of God."

And think not you can direct the course of love, 

for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course. 

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself. 

But if you love and must needs have desires,

let these be your desires:

To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody into the night. 

To know the pain of too much tenderness. 

To be wounded by your own understanding of love;

And to bleed willingly and joyfully. 

To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give 

thanks for another day of loving;

To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;

To return home at eventide with gratitude;

And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved 

in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet, p.10-15

Painting done by Kahlil Gibran

 

 

Same Breath, Same Dust

Always down for woodland adventures, always down for couch naps, dinner and a movie, long walks and is a great comforter.

The more I learn about myself and the things that I believe, the more I realize how much I share in common with the other creatures around me. Having an audible voice doesn’t set me above the animals I share my home with or the creatures I share the earth with.

This dearest friend of mine inspires me to continue seeking ways in which I can walk lightly upon the earth. She shows me that there is no justification for the taking or harming of a life, only obligation to honor it.

We breathe the same breath and return to the same dust.

"Thank you, thighs"

There used to be an over-sized Britney Spears poster that hung in my room when I was small. She was leaning up against the back of a pick-up truck’s tailgate and was wearing tight jeans and a belly shirt with her hair down and a bright, careless smile. Very 90’s, very skinny and seemingly confident in her hip-hugging jeans, very over-whelming for an eight-year-old, non-developed little girl. The memory of this poster is one of the earliest memories that I have of resentment towards my body and wishing that it was more like someone else’s.

Living with the fear that others can so easily see what you find most repulsive and embarrassing about yourself is, at the minimum, exhausting. Always trying to hide this, make that look smaller, heaving over a toilet bowl in the most desperate attempts to make this insecurity less obvious to everyone around; trying so hard to make yourself less vulnerable, less exposed for the realities that most haunt you.

My God, what does liberation from this look like? What does it feel like? Does it have an after-taste of vomit and stomach acid? Does it smell like hunger breath and feel like a boney rib cage?
//
I want you to tell me if you don’t feel safe, and you can say it! Just shout it, “I don’t feel safe!”

We stood in the middle of the room facing one another and we touched each part of our body that we most despised.

I love my arms because they help me pick things up. They help me carry and embrace the ones that I love. I am able to pet animals and create because of them. Thank you arms and hands.

I love my tummy because even though it pokes out a little more than I’d like, it works well. Because of it, I am able to enjoy and share delicious food, something that I’m so passionate about. Thank you tummy.

I love my thighs because they carry me from place to place. I am able to ride my bike and roam through a forest with ease. I am able to tiptoe through a creek and feel moss between my toes. Thank you thighs.

It was liturgical. It was kind and gentle. It was empowering. I felt safe.
//
P.S. These are just thoughts and reflections. I recovered from my eating disorder two years ago. Please do not assume anything from this post. Thank you.