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Posts Tagged ‘inspiration’

This is the official launching of publicity and requests for my new collection. Get ready for it… I am requesting- ANONYMOUSLY- your MosT embarrassing stories. I want the juiciest of details. I want the funny, the savage, the outrageous, the tormented, the moments inducing the barrage of curse words. GIVE. IT. TO. ME.

Write it out in the comment area if you want- though obviously that would not be anonymous. ORrrr- send them to me here:

Lisita Lawless

3333 NE Morris St.

Portland, OR. 97212

I will collect and post them. Oh boy!!!

Don’t put your name. Just put your truth.

The idea for this came to me when I was watching a TED Talk about a man who went out onto the streets of NYC, handed out 1,000 self-addressed (to his abode) postcards with the simple question on the back: “What is your biggest secret?” Needless to say it caught like wild fire and a website exists now that you simply must check out at www.postsecret.com

His wife and himself receive unruly amounts of people’s dirty laundry from silly, to scandalous, to simply heartbreaking. I gift you with the TED talk that I watched that inspired my brilliant, comparable idea you see today. I am excited!

http://www.postsecret.com/2012/04/postsecret-ted-talk.html

So, in order to get the juices flowing- I suppose it’s only fair that I give you a good admission. Fine. Fair enough. (Deep breath) … Well, the truth of the matter is that a lady like myself runs into things a good bit on the often tip- that are pretty ridic. I have a bit of a penchant for it. That being said, the first things that come to mind have to do with peeing. Either a devil lives inside my bladder and takes up all the room, I have a premie one, or I only have a year and some months left on my bladder before it gives out completely… so yeah, you’re about to get a good pee story. And the answer is yes, for the record; I do fear incontinence.

Setting: The mountains of Mexico, on a a janky, rickety, music-blaring bus with those little hanging fabric balls (bolitas pequeñas??) for proper decor. And dashboard-Jesus too. It was mostly campesinos on this piece. And there’s me. Chilling. Actually, that is a huge lie. I was not chilling. I had to take a wiz like nobody’s business. No one else seemed phased by the fact that we would only stop for long enough to pick people up, and if you dare disboard and were not on the bus by the time the (crazy f*%^ing drive-like-a-death-wish) driver was ready to bounce, sucked for you. So I was under silent torture. Everyone around me was settled in on those crazy roads- perhaps the best way to deal was to catch some rest, but nope, I wasn’t that lucky. I had to go. And to make matters worse, I was surrounded by strangers. A friend that was traveling with me was one row across and one seat up, so they could do me no solids (not a foreshadowing pun). Finally I asked her if she had a plastic bag. She knew right away why. Bitch! She liked it too much. No bag though. I fumbled through my belongings until I found a beautiful, gorgeous, thin, blessed plastic bag. I blew it up to check for wholes because I am very smart like that. Safe. Now again, I will remind you- everyone around me was sleeping. Accept my pal, of course, and that was fine. I squat down off my seat and pulled my pants down and ahhhhhh. Relief. Pants up, bag hanging, BUT suddenly- a river. The bag had deceived me and had a terrible whole. A very bad whole! And the river- there she was, twisting rivulets down the isle and around, and into people’s belongings, and all over the floor. And here is the craziest part- people began waking up. This will never make sense to me. Liquid is silent. Things spill on the bus. Those 2 facts put together do not sensibly equate to waking up the sleeping. How? Was this something they were hyper aware of due to others going through the same thing? Well people started to get very excited and upset. Before the people next to me woke up I managed to chuck my rapidly deflating bag-of-pee out of the window (which is part of the (fairly generous) list of the reasons for why I am going to hell) and look relatively innocent. My friend on the other hand, had completely lost her shit. She was out of her body laughing. She could not get it together. There was nothing to be done.

All in all, I was never burned at the stake, or got found out about for that matter, but still the experience with terrible and embarrassing, and I am sure that there was at least one other person that saw the entire ordeal unravel. Yup, pretty embarrassing. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Your turn! Hooray!

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Purest form is a mind stark white.

An empty canvas unrushed to dress.

A now now now now now frame that doesn’t desist.

A soft focused eyeful with steady and attended pulmonary response.

Where everything is from the same, original cell~

Once and still somehow.

It’s advanced harmonics at play.

And the breeze blow the trees in unison,

while figurative branches burst to bloom.

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Something has got a hold of me. It’s bigger than my words can net. I’ll try to climb to the top and find a suitable description. Should be a good traverse…

Let’s just call it for now and say that there has been a shift. I find, as I grow older and step into my adulthood more that my capacity to love has deepened. Once again, this hails in the realm of reclamation~ (see Reclaiming Romantic post) when I say love, I’m not specifically talking about with a man, but love of ALL things, large and small. However, I do believe the next time that I fall in love it will be deeper than ever before… because why else go there at this point? Obviously.

The older I become, the more I cry in the name of beauty. Yes, I’m laying it on the table. I’m not a sap, I just get choked up at the good stuff. (I am not a crier in general, with the acception of movies. (Fine, commercials too if it’s around a certain time of month.) It’s kind of wild. I teared up at the park yesterday, all by myself, because the temperature was so beautiful, and the time of dusk was a favorite of mine. It was the time when the lightening bugs would have begun to flash were we in a place that had them. It’s a peek of my childhood; running in fields, catching and releasing. Marveling. It’s amazing how deep the memory and feeling go. If I was back east I know they would have been all over that park, in between the trees, hovering about the field.

A woman was strolling while I was having my moment and I wanted to share it. Every now and then I am compelled to reach out and have a completely random exchange with a total stranger. I asked her if she was from here (Portland, Oregon) and she told me no. We got to talking and it turned out that she too was from an area where there were fireflies. There was a vacant lot full of wild flowers across from the house where she grew up. We talked about the sweetness of them, and then the conversation shifted to bees. It was lovely. It was such a special, simple, and fluid talk. It was one of those things that was so fulfilling because of it’s true and pure nature. It brought me great peace…

Appreciation for the smallest of things- be it memories or stolen moments has simply increased. It’s nice to observe and allow it to run it’s course. Who knew I would become that person ((sniff))? Ah life, you’re such a wild ride.

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If you listen right, you can hear dreams crackling loud. It’s just an unexpected source is all.

The air is coated with paradise soft burning scents in exotic spice and bittersweet mandarin.

Somewhere not too far- a sultan and sea goddess enact a love scene. Enraptured.

Deserted beach shores glisten where giant blue whales share exchanges several meters off shore, hidden by the protective reflection of the new moon.

Their song mesmerizes hardened sailors, who’s whiskey bites and swishes forth and back.

Mermaids whisper promises:                                                                                                                                                        

You can run with me on dry land, my dearest darling                                                                                                                  

Just come swim with me here, now                                                                                                                                                      

The water is divine                                                                                                                                                                                 

Can’t you see the emeralds of my eyes? My ruby lips? My long black hair…

Mar dwelling bird’s wings rise and lift. Effortless.

Gone with the wind

Riding on the current

Trusting in the flow

The sun and moon are polarized- held to scale at equal, opposing ends of the sea.

Someone somewhere so taken by the beauty of the moment asks no one in particular if such a sight can be too strong and pure to be true?

Can something so simple as a vision be developed enough to lie? And if so, why would it?

Tropical trees tremble and shake- slower than sleepy sloths traversing inky, brimming, green~ where leave’s brushing sounds like~
yes      yes      yes

Bled and scraped by coral are so many knees, intensified from salt intrusion. Stinging. Penetrant.

Little, sinewy, brown boys play games at sunset, invading underwater castles. Small whittled swords. Would you dare challenge?

Every wise pirate has their golden mean.

Imaginations so vivid, owners of sheer will; one day to manifest and walk with their father’s stride; sleek, proud, agile.

The fathers who visit taboo isles of allure with mistresses of the night, debauchery, and tall tales each bigger than the last.

Stepping out in habit to hail the dark, enveloping blue, and scathing the cruise ships for all riches.

Surrender to a life of survival.

Never to fully embody rest, so fantasy must suffice. Sleep fills those pores

Cooling, fanned with palm fronds

Soaked in Kava, preserved in plant medice

Dancing drunkenly, always with one wild eye opened…

Until all the treasure has been knocked up from beneath the sand.

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Sometimes it is the prospect of possibilities themselves that stop you dead in your tracks. The openness wallops you- you get  thrashed back into the cush lazy boy chair; assuming the iconic image of the skeleton sitting before the speakers- his skin blown off by the sheer volume.

That is how I feel sometimes when I want to access creativity.

I hit open mics often. I go. I sit by myself.  I’m in my own private little world….

I go strictly for contagion. The inspiration in the room rubs off as the gears inevitably begin to turn and I think to myself: “There are about a million things that have never been done that I could be doing right now…”

Like playing out languid daydreams, fiddling with the reel as it turns; Unfolding ideas.

 

If your hair stands up in a storm it could be a sign that positive charges are rising through you, connecting you to and reaching you toward the negatively charged part of the storm. It could be that the lightening has chosen you. You can be a conductor. This will be your most important job yet. The brilliance in bolts will be your inward symphony. Your rag tag orchestra will be ablaze with a gaggle of madness and electric splendor.

Will you run inside and attempt defiance in natural selection?

Will you accept the possibilitiy of surviving to perhaps become something of a Shaman? Native folklore tells of the lightening bestowing powers… So will you sit outside and feel the rain now? …Your self inflicted sacrificial moment of Russian Roulette….

I always had this strange feeling about how I might die. I’ve been close to it before. Colorado, where the sky was overtaken by sudden darkness. The clouds dragging greedily across, casting long shadows in their wake. Ponderosa Pines blowing fiercely, whipping their helpless needles about. The smell of ozone and storm welling up to the crux.

We ran like children home-alone, jetting up the stairs, afraid to look behind them, steeped in imaginitave fear of what terrible person might be chasing close.

I saw a deer’s dismembered leg up in a tree on that hike, not far above my head. The wieght of the omen pulling across my back, hindering my steps, slowing me down and shaking me deeply. I was in awareness that it was part of the wild. That I too, was part of it. Could be consumed. Be it by big cat or by the heavens. Part of the raw, unforgiving forces. Far bigger then me. Nature; filled with love but no pity, which by default pulls mercy out of the question.

The deer, a likely victim to a mountain lion, victim of the cycles. And I, running with adrenaline bursting through my heart. Death scenes delighting the caverns of my otherwise occupied mind, where the lightening would pick me,  pluck me, and freeze me, sending a specially made spark from below, holding me captive, propping me in place like a helpless doll.

It is all so much- making me want to go home to a place I’ve never been.

It is like being drawn towards a solid wall.

If I went fast enough would I override the tighteness of molecules? Would they forgive me and let me through?

Carry me back . Cradle me with out arms.

Take my orphaned soul and let me cry until I laugh and confuse my own self all over my emotions.

Fill me up and let me shake and burn with the greatest energy. Consume me if you must, but remind me in the interim- that I am oh-so-alive, and let my art explode.

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Haaay party people. So- I recently had the honor from the sly, witty, brilliant, and muscularrr MrMaryMuthafuckingPoppins of being chosen as one his top 7 fave blogs. ((((Blush)))). Well! This is perfect for many reasons. Several things happened once this post was posted (hehe):

1. Inspiration. Awww yeah- “I’m so doing this.”-Lisa

2. Scopism. I got to scope his list and boOM! Some amazing writers surfaced that I likely would have never known about; thank you Mr. Mary, writer of the fabulous and cheeky, not to be missed (as he too, is one of my faves.) http://aspoonfulofsuga.wordpress.com/

3. Exposure. I got lotsa hits that day from awwwwl ova the place. Good thing I was dressed for the occasion.You know, my grandmother forever said that we must always wear clean underwear because we never know what could happen. Hmmm. There are so many ways that this could be taken now that I never entertained before. Grandma!

Then time crept in. And SHOCK and AWE- I was nominated by Emily of the shiny, sweet, entertaining  http://groundingmyroots.wordpress.com/. Stars! This girl is also one of my favorites, so make sure you check hers.

Then I was nominated for the versatile blogger award by the lovely http://itsabeeautifullife.wordpress.com/

Then, one more time- and I was nominated for the Sunshine Award by the inspiring and sweet http://makebelieveboutique.com/.

I want to acknowledge all of these people and thank them, and now do a sort of hybrid on their questions and rules.

First, the questions, and then, some of the best blogs!

Drrrum roll please~~~~~~~~~~~

1. What’s the best thing that happened to you in the last 36 hours?

2. What are your pet peeves?

3. Did you have an imaginary friend growing up or did you want one? Tell us all! When did you part ways? Was it gradual? Im so jealous! I always wanted one but never got one!… Oh yeah, next question…

4. If you had the power to declare a national holiday what would you declare and why? Details please.

5. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be? (You have the capital for this one, don’ worry)

6. What do you think of celebrity gossip?

7. What’s the theme song of your day, week, year, or life?

8. If you came with a warning label what would it be about?

9. Favorite quote or joke that you made up?

10. OCD?

11. Best pick up line anyones’ ever fed ya?

12. Tell us something embarrassing about your brain.

My answers to these questions are below my list of faves here. Checky-

With out further ado I present to you~ my top blogs. Enjoy!

* http://talesofacharmcitychick.com/ This woman is my long lost virtual sister. She is spry, real, insightful, witty, and sassy as they come. Total writers’ crush. Only read this if you enjoy laughing.

* http://groundingmyroots.wordpress.com/ The lovely Emily He writes candid, thought provoking, laugh-out-loud, musings. Her writing makes me very happy.

*http://mennlay.com/ Can I start of with Yum? Oh good. You’ll get it when you check her out. Intelligence, stylishness, sillyness… and she holds it down. Sounds vaguely familiar…. (;

http://heapsofnimbus.wordpress.com/ This man has an outrageous eye. I am not kidding. He has a true gift. You’ll see. The proof is in the pudding. His writing is beautiful, creative, and succinct. A true artist.

http://dearcabby.wordpress.com/ Because what is better in life then brief, chance moments with perfect strangers helping you suss out your woes? Solicited and unsolicited. Fabulous!

* http://furtherthanyouthink.com/ Written by a woman who originally hadn’t even considered the public being able to see her writing, setting it up for her family… This blog is a collection of her accounts of her life dedicated to travel and stints through out the world. She has a unique and intriguing approach. Worthy read.

*http://thesandytongue.wordpress.com/ Fucken yes. Give it to me. You sharp, quick witted, mo-fo. Yes you. You’ll be glad you check this dude out. He doesn’t hold back. Thank goodness.

So there are my blog choices. Everyone I mentioned on this little post. You are all just lovely. More please! Bless your creativity. Aaaand answer my questions!

1.What’s the best thing that happened to you in the last 36 hours? Me? Oh, well I think that would have to be getting out of the city and hiking up in Washington, and then hitting a super stashy outdoor boulder for climbing that only like 5 dudes know about (I won’t tell and you can’t make me!) and getting a feel for the cold, bold rock. (Dirty sounding, eh? You like it.)

2. What are your pet peeves? I’ll give you two. First, it makes my eye twitch when people say the word “guestimate”. Are you serious? You redundant little… Come on! An estimate is an educated guess. For crying out loud. You sound like an asshole. God, I feel better already. And also- “chillaxing”. Really? Gross. Second, when people park their bikes over a bar, taking up 2 spots instead of one. Use your front wheel and your fork, peeps, not the whole freaking frame. It’s just as safe! Ahhh!

3.Did you have an imaginary friend growing up or did you want one? Aw boy did I ever wish that I did. I wanted one so bad. I thought you either had one or you didn’t. I couldn’t fake the funk but I sure was open to it. Just never happened. Good thing my dolls were alive…

4. If you had the power to declare a national holiday what would you declare and why? Details please. I have a few in mind. For the sake of this Q, I’ll give you one, as I intend to write a rather entertaining (ahem) post of this: National Dress Like a Ho Day. Bare with me. I am saving Halloween! It is painfully obvious that American’s are sexually repressed. Come Halloween- the end of chilly chilly October, the opportunity arises to dress up in whatever people’s hearts desire. The majority of women take this time to dress pretty skanky and that is totally their prerogatives. Now, the problem that I have is that Halloween is not being honored. When else is the veil between worlds the thinnest? When else can we slip together into that spooky spirit? It’s so cool!!!!! It’s my favorite holiday and it is being sullied by these poor, repressed people! Lets have National Dress Like a Ho holiday in the summer. That will please everyone.

5. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be? Buenos Aires, Argentina. Cosmopolitan, foxy, healthy… Close to tropics, ocean, and glaciers? Ok!

6. What do you think of celebrity gossip? Rrrrubbish. Knowing famous people’s dirty laundry is a fascination that sounds awfully boring.

7. What’s the theme song of your day, week, year, or life? Hmm, I pick year so far. 
8. If you came with a warning label what would it be about? Um, don’t piss me off? Hm, that’s not good enough. Let me think. I stumped myself! Extremely picky eater? No, that’s lame. Fickle. Yeah, that’ll do. Shoot, sorry. Do better then me on this- such a good question!

9. Favorite quote or joke that you made up? How did Italians invent spaghetti? They used their noodles! hahahaha.

10. OCD? Must. sweep. Ok, fine, also if I spin around one way I have to unwind myself the other way. Whateva whateva

11. Best pick up line anyones’ ever fed ya? It’s a tie: Someone a while back told me I had the eye of the tiger. I believe they were completely sincere. Recently a hippy man told me that I was one of the 9 daughters of Zeus. SSsssnap!

12. Tell us something embarrassing about your brain. This is bad. I apologize in advance if I offend anyone: Oftentimes from afar when I see an obese person- I think it’s two people making out. I’ve come to terms with this in the last year. I don’t know why this happens. It’s not by choice. So strange.

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Can this be any cuter? This woman is hands down one of my favorites.

There are times that I have had where her voice, strength, courage, positivity, inspiration, openness, and heat has carried me through.

Love love love love love loooooove.

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The mornings are the nicest time.

The softest, sweetest.

My bed holds me close as possible while I track remnant trails of dreams behind my eyes …

So often the droned flutter of scurrying, new-day duties carry my mind up to your scrappy nest, or your fictitous body down to my favorite pillow.

-Where I cradle you.-

and you coo to me of your endeavors,

and your take on the world below,

and how you feel about your family,

and what you discuss when in unison.

I get to ask you questions on aviation, hierarchy, and simple philosophy.

My nose pressed against your dusted feathers, perfect puffy fragile belly,

rapid fire heart.

Outside~ where you really exist you are poached, and purposeful, and street wise.

-A real city slicker.-

You will be the last to die. You who’ll consume anything.

Little piggy. Little rat. Little pigeon.

Oh, soiled, little dove, I want to know you.

I dropped to my knees when you perched on my screen!

Did you move in above my window because you sensed my loyalty?

My awe for and respect to you?

Your song makes me feel at home, in summer, on a fire escape, skinned knees hanging down, streets below.

Your hum is my vehicle of transport~

On your wings I wander light,

Inspired to create in your honor.

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And so it goes… It’s arguable that life is perfect. That everything comes just at the right time. That our struggle against the flow is trivial, wasteful, and pointless, as what is due is on its way. Even in moments of sadness do I recognize that I have had and will have once again in the future~ my time to shine.

How is the proof of perfection measured? Why in the little things, of course. In those tiny, serendipitous experiences that align our moments in the strangest and most unexpected of ways.

Today a colleague and myself were having a totally random conversation about accents. I was telling her that how it would be super interesting to study accents  in the U.S. in relation to how and when they were brought over, and how and when they began to become distilled and eventually shed, as westward expansion gained momentum. ( As you likely know, the British colonized from the East coast and moved west, so by default accents are by far the strongest in New England and then of course, the South.)

I have always gotten a kick out of linguistics and etymology, but never thought much of the connection between expansion and settlement from the 1600’s affecting our very diction now! Amazing! Anyways, so these were my thoughts~ there you go, now they are yours. (Tawk amongst ya’selves.)

When I came home today, my colleague had sent me an article from mental floss magazine that was sent to her today. So take a guess about the content. Go on. You know you want to… Ok, ok. “When Did Americans Lose Their British Accents?“. Yes kids; that was sent to her. It’s a pretty interesting and neat little ditty too. Scope it! …Now you tell me~ do you believe in coincidence, or do you think it’s far too random? I’m not sure what the source of Godliness/ Goddessness or wild, beautiful deity presence is out there, but I do feel pretty confident that I just got winked at.

Love it.

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There are two kinds of people in the United States who will sit down next to a perfect stranger on the same park bench when there are other ones in the nearby area that remain unoccupied:

1) A person that wants you, or has something that they hope you want

2) Drunks

It is not unusual for me to take my bike and point it towards the direction of an adventure I hope to come upon.Often times I will ride westward towards the esplanade of the city. The latter part of the ride itself is lovely; over the river, next to the train tracks suspended above the water on tremendous, whiny, old, wooden beams. For the many who are yet to be familiar with Portland town, the esplanade is a long stretch of sidewalk that is on both sides of our river, the Willamette, dividing the city respectively into east and west. As you can imagine, there is a good ebb and flow of foot traffic here at every hour. There are joggers, bike riders, people strolling, destitute folks, people recovering from another long night of drinking, drugging, or just plain ol’ being homeless and snoozing there. There are people taking photos, people reading or drawing, musicians playing together…

I came down to the river the particular day in question to wrap myself up in the gentler flow of the city. Equipped with sketchpad, writing book and an array of pens of different thicknesses, I sat. I looked into the river and at the passers bye, hoping that the words would begin to collect themselves for me. Gather anytime my fantastic friends. Inspiration? I’m here.

Stage left, in come this rather large fellow. He seated himself next to me on the bench. No invitation needed for public benches, true, but when there are other vacant benches, don’t most people know to take one of those? It’s one of those unspoken social cues that we all adhere to and accept. (Similar to the unspoken rule in the men’s rest room where when using the urinal you go to the one at the very end, and each next guy to get up to use the john goes as far as possible from the other user. Right? Yes, woman know these things (woman, did you know about this?!) (We are so lucky that we get to pee together!).) So there we are: me with my pen, dutifully sussing out a brilliant topic bound to dawn any minute, with a slight distraction due to my new bench mate who was fairly odorous (boozy stank); and he, a rather lumbering fellow with a large presence that had a slightly jumbled and wayward feel, along with a subtle allure that peaked my interest an itty bitty bit. Microscopicly so.

He began talking and asking me questions that were just fluff and I felt that he was hoping to find a friend in me. I was still absorbed in my hopes of creation, also hoping he would leave, albeit humoring him despite my disdain for superficial conversation for the sake of conversing. Well whaddaya know, he pretty much talked to me until I was hooked. It’s when you least expect it, kiddies. Hints of his story splintered through the fluff of simple monologue and he had my attention. He got me, like a slow drug would: Methodical and persistant administration.

And the verbal foreplay had reached a point where I wanted to know more. Impatiently awaiting. Maybe he would get it out and then I would have some fodder. That was when he became distant and when I realized I was, in fact, an asshole. He wasn’t going to just give it up. I had taken this man for granted because he sat down next to me,  and I had assumed that his routine was the same old song and dance number I had seen exacted so many times before: drunkard with loose lips, talking to who ever will listen. I didn’t feel special or “chosen” and I had taken him to be very open. I forgot, and was slapped with the reminder- there are still sacred tales behind eyes the of those souls who seem broken.

Finally, it came.

His story. True as sin.

Drunk Native American.

Big, lost man.

Ancient myth.

Vagabond.

This story unfolded in such a fashion, becoming absolutely one of the most beautiful and humbling tales that I have ever heard.

Somewhere in the Southwest a large man once lay. A sterile gown. A white bed. Eyes shut. A coma had claimed him from nights and days of exessive drinking. A coma that turned days into weeks and turned weeks into months. Doctors and attendees stood by, idly. Deep sleep of an undisturbable variety. Dreams showed no presence, playing on the lids of no eyes.

A small number of people were left in his life. Bridges had been burned and pain had struck chords, severing ties with too much weight to mend. The tiny amount of loved ones left came to visit. Trickling in slower than tales of tortoise. They whispered and they prayed. They cried. They talked to him. Different tactics eliciting nothing.

His uncle came one day to his bedside, this time bringing desert Sage. In the hospital room the bundle was lit, and the man in the starched gown was smudged. Did they treat him like a lost spirit? His body was brushed with sacramental smoke. His face washed clean with the scent. The big man’s nose… began to twitch.

This was seen.

A break through. A big deal. But the end of the road, as nothing else dented the difference between the standing and laying in the room again. Not even Sage. Not for weeks in spite of multiple tries.

Weeks later another family member came carrying family heirloom in tow; an instrument used in ceremony. A beautiful, simple rattler. A rattler that had guided this family in the hogan. A rattler that his ears knew. The sound of the desert. The sound of wheat tufts dancing in the breeze. A song of nature. Perhaps the sound of home.

The big man lay completely still. When the rattler was shaken- up rose his hand, mimicking the movement. As if to shake the tools, as if it was he, making the noise.

Weeks lapsed once again, and intermittently his responses shortened the amount of days between the stretches of stillness.

It was these visits, featuring different family members, presenting an instrument, a scent, a song, that brought him to, eventually.

Finally one day he awoke, and slowly reoriented himself with the world. Reacquainted himself with his family. Embraced the ways with which he was raised. Got back on his feet. This is not to say that his base was solid, or suddenly he was resilient to his demons and the challenges that awaited. He was still a weak man who’s best friend and worst enemy were combined to be found at the bottom of the bottle, with a call that over powered the rest. But his sense of self, his sense of spirituality, his understanding of connectivity and family… all these things were bestowed upon him. Refreshed. Now, if he were to die, he knew where and how he would go, and that it would be his time, and his journey would be safe.

Thank you for reading. Aho. 

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