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Roiling

"The sea is angry"  I say loudly, to no one in particular "Just like me"  I say more softly  It lulls you to sleep, calm and inviting Until you feel the rip current draw you out to where it's deep That's where the magic is The darkness The unknown  The secrets "Just like me" 

What happened to tenderness

Bombarded by images of suffering and violence Called to witness but so painful to watch How does my oversized heart survive this time of cruelty and strife?  Needing to encase it in cold armor after it's cracked open wider every day By sadness  By loss  By fear  But also by glimmers of compassion  Sparks of irrefutable joy That makes it even harder to know How to manage and get through the day Knowing we are alive during a time of great peril But also that we are filled with the capacity to care for each other deeply Just send your little emails and work on documents no one will read To pass the time and distract you from the fact that you're a light worker  A speck of heavenly stardust Trying to shed light and spread joy  In a world where most don't deserve it But there is a time coming  Soon Where you won't have to choose between knowing and protecting We need the light right now

Here we go again…

I wish I was talking about infatuation, like those song lyrics to the  Green Day song, “Going to Pasalacqua” that no one knows except my cousin Ian and I: Here we go again Infatuation touches me Just when I thought that it would end Oh, but then again It seems much more than that But I'm not sure exactly what you're thinking Well, I toss and turn all night Thinking of your ways of affection But to find that it's not different at all Well, I throw away my past mistakes And contemplate my future That's when I say, "What the hey?" Would you last forever? You and I together Hand in hand, we run away (Far away) I'm in for nasty weather But I'll take whatever you can give that comes my way, yeah (Far away) Well, maybe it is a bit like those song lyrics. Here I am again hoping to reconnect to the practice of writing. To that part of me that carried a mixed media journal/collage scrap book everywhere with me. The only reason I wanted to carry a purse (let’s be...