August was taking responsibility for my actions, what I can control and accepting what I cannot, to question the accepted narrative, to ask what movement is productive, to settle into feelings however reluctant I may be, to accept the midst of transition. August was dear to me. In August, I became acutely aware that my time in Seattle is limited. Although I don't know when or where or how a transplant to a new place will occur, as the days have gotten shorter and Autumn has begun to whisper into the trees, I have felt deep anxiety about the approach of the Grey. Nights are beginning to cool and the light turns orange in the evening, sunsets are swift and afternoon shadows are longer. We seem to be opening every pore to the sun, desperate to hold a piece of it near to our collective heart for when the dark arrives.
In August, Neo-Nazis and white supremacists marched through Charlottesville and killed a woman protesting in the streets. August reminded white America of our evil and our responsibility. August humbled and infuriated us; there's a lot to say, and I'm still making sense of it, still trying to find the right words and actions to confront such atrocity, and most importantly, still trying to listen, still remaining present to my very existence, my lineage that has led to my comfortable life and privilege, being the result of the oppression and genocide of people of color.
Austin, Danny, and I drove to Wyoming for the August 21st total solar eclipse. Two of my dear friends from Arizona, Heather and Caleb, met us there, and the five of us spent three days roaming and cooking and participating in the great migration across America to watch the eclipse (we also saw 41 out of 50 state license plates in three days, so even objectively the trip was a success). I hold those days close to me as I write these words and make this post. To attempt to describe the eclipse is useless, for even just watching videos of it makes my heart beat faster and my body ground itself in the present. But in my anxiety about winter, and about the Dark as a feeling, the eclipse is a reminder of Light, and Return, and that the holiness of this life is steadfast even when seemingly extinguished, and what we curse to be a thief of Light is still remarkable and celestial. The light and dark can and must coexist, and when we can find harmony with their coexistence and affirm their duality, we can gasp and weep in wonder at what was there all along.
August began with smokey skies and ended with flickers of autumn. Austin and I moved in together in its last days and we are officially a cohabitation boat couple, as ready as we will never be. I watched a German Shepherd for a few days after we returned from Wyoming and soaked in final moments of solitude that living alone brings; I bought a pass to the local pool and began swimming laps, helping my body find its fins again.
Thank you, August; you were a month full of new beauty and boat projects and movement and unexpected moments of grand gratitude.
I grew up in a world where men had dominion
and God was a word of fear and punishment.
I don't know where to land, now,
in a world of Other,
where flowers sing color, and summer;
and god is no longer harsh, but
Goddess holds me in the morning and
eagles skim their wings along rivers
and relationship runs deep and steadfast.
however, my old world, of regulations that bound my hands and heart, as my feet tried to propel
me through the salt water that called my soul home to intimacy and honesty,
did teach me: that a light shines in the darkness
And the darkness has not overcome it.
And these slivers of light in the eternal
cascade of darkness,
bring me back to you, and you, and You.
the land now beneath my fingernails and in my lungs is the same breath that my people provide;
they have relieved and guided me, from near and afar, through the moon, and letters woven
through years and miles, and vulnerability.
we will find our places, eventually, together.
I'll be there with you, and we'll exchange mugs and tea and soaps from far away islands.
You are the light that remains, the ring of reminder and trust that draws us, once again,