When the Cows Come Home (part 1)

It’s funny. Looking back, everything fits on two pages. The bullet agenda, not the journal. Colors, tasks, tiny drawings.

And then there are all the moments in between that didn’t make it into the agenda or journal. The tastes and smells and images and ancient languages that we can feel but not speak, that we can only remember, almost, barely, when we hear it, notice it, in between fracturing colliding realities, universes, dimensions.

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Messie, Our Glass Castle

Messie.

Messie attempts in this story we’ve always known and continue to re-read again and again, hoping to find some hidden justification in its existence. And what we make of the triumphs in between the cracks that ultimately bring us to the same place again: why bother.

But perhaps, the little traces of those “triumphs”, the evidence we leave, in the messie paint jobs, the white cabinets already chipped, lopsided plants and wiggly bookshelf, the flickering bamboo light hanging above the dining table, a new groaning microwave - the visible, physical proofs of our story here, perhaps they offer just a tiny consolation as to why, why we bothered. Supposedly living, supposedly loving, still existing to laugh, cry, scream, believe, hope, try.

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2 "Home" poems

Home is kindness. 
Acts, memories, messages. 
Wishes, blessings. From people, from trees, from somewhere terribly deep within the self. If there is such a thing. 

Hello. 
And
 see you soon, again. 

:||

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DP's Delivery Service

We can be called many things. Facilitators, curators, rememberers of ancient languages before words.

Or we can all just be called Kiki. Derpy, hopeful, moody teenage witche struggling with the meaning of her magic and attempting to play some small part in delivering something, anything that brings people joy.

That’s all.

So simple yet so impossibly paradoxical, tangled, overwhelming.

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The Everything Bagel

The belief is still stronger than the doubt. The love is still stronger than the coldness. That’s how we keep moving along. A beautiful kind of reclaiming of innocence, joy, playfulness. Of love, where it all starts and returns to. That’s all. That’s everything. Everything matters. We want it so deeply, passionately, truthfully, that we will it into existence in this reality. That’s how we do magic.

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