Fluttergaze and a shotgun.

i spent the weekend with an infant and i watched him gaze and then look away and then go back to gazing…

and i do that, all the time… so much the gaze, the introspection, the focus … The Startle:  then i can’t handle it and need to withdraw in a figurative bubble to repair.  its as if the study and gaze of mine has rent me.

do you know that language? its how it feels.

and so after a wonderful weekend and a reunion with my man, i’m just barely able to get out of bed.

and i do not dig it.

and the world is rushing in to my bubble and i feel vulnerable to all the things.

i do not dig.

i look back at my most recent journaling and it tells me what i know is necessary. practice. receiving. practice.

like get down on your knees and practice. literally do something uncomfortable, completely force the boundaries to stretch, make yourself sick with the twist, get down on your knees and open up that cracked up walnut chest and just sit there, exposed. because that is the practice that I have to do these days.  I don’t know what is coming, and I still have to do it and I don’t really know if I can, if I can brave that particular chill.

i’ve felt this call before and brushed it off. this need to immerse, to peel off the skin… to bulletize… to turn myself insides out. . . i’m not sure that brushing it off is serving me anymore and i’m intimidated .

and i’m still laughing, and able to laugh even while inviting new guy to watch kids baseball games and expose us to publicity of a sort… – – – i did that.

and i still feel like i need to take all my clothes off and walk into the blizzard.

what is this?

tell me.