“Purity makes its prettiest rituals during decay.”

Fall wish list:

Soul music

rice pudding

san francisco

a trip with gramma

a special halloween

real time with real friends

to just rake what falls dead dry around me and let this new access to anger burn it up neat like dross.

to fix my window.

painted dreams.

regular tarot gigs, the monthly art booth, and all-around income — the b.o.l. keeps busy.

photos.

dancing.

healing for everyone around me who’s endured this crazy summer.

and then, there’s this list — which I found from two winters ago, when I was sick from the pressure change of suddenly surfacing after years of submersion, suffering static but seeing clear enough to know I was on the cusp of the biggest change. Maybe that was my sphinx time.

I remember: smoking a cigarette in the dismal january gray, huddled outside work in the rain, looking down at the damp riverbank, and talking to Mom on the phone. She was already fading, a month to live, but she was holding strength for me. She had been here, in the sphinx place, before me. She knew I couldn’t find myself, I couldn’t even find a spark, steeped in the darkness of only knowing what’s wrong. And she said, “Kaeti, sit down and write a list of everything you want.”

So I did. I couldn’t believe how hard and awkward it was. Just to say what I wanted. I wrote:

I want to be surprised.
I want someone to look at me with fire in their eyes.
I want to be able to explore my emotions.
I want my family.
I want new routines.
I want my old big laugh.
I want more than the bare minimum.
I want to love passionately and be loved passionately.
I want to speak freely.
I want to be taken dancing.
I want to stop being so careful.
I want my fire back.
I want someone to take pictures of me.
I want to feel sexy.
I want to explode.
I want to go camping.
I want to throw shit.
I want to be pushed.
I want to sing loud.
I want to tell of Chad.
I want to dive in a deep pool outside.
I want new food.
I want to touch souls.
I want to break through comfortable.
I want my voice, out loud.
I want offerings.
I want to be scary.
I want respect.
I want all the mes to come out and play.
I want new friends.
I want to be surrounded by people full of wonder.
I want poetry.
I want a beautiful house.
I want ghost stories.
I want to do this every day.
I want fun!
I want to be challenged.
I want magic.
I want whisky rage.
I want full range of motion.
I want to know what I say in my sleep.
I want memories.

The utterly flooring and grateful-making realization here is that there’s not a thing on that list I haven’t, since, in some way, achieved or been given.

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~ by Arrrow Marie on September 7, 2010.

One Response to ““Purity makes its prettiest rituals during decay.””

  1. great opus…you speak your mind well…i wish i could be like you..whoever you may be..

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