Like holding space in that way.
Today I was talking to a freshman - and at the end I just felt so much love for them and their journey.
And I just wanted to hug them and give them all the lessons I’ve learned..
and it was weird- even saying goodbye- my heart was freaking out
and I was like what?!
I was in ceramics making a sculpture of a figure- the figure the form was speaking to me. Soon it was an ambigous figure with a pregnant belly.
The figure turned out to be myself.
-The figure almost somberly looking down at their pregnant belly.
-I will never be able to give birth.
But that does not mean I can not mother.
It does not mean that I can not hold that space in a community/ space/ situation.
Idk .. just thoughts..
on a looong day sculpting.
The reason I hold on.
"My sister has darker skin than mine. We think about our skin as a dark room, a place of shdows. We talk about color politics and the ways racism has created an aesthetic that soy.rd us, a way of thinking about beauty that hurts. In the shadows of late night, we talk about the need to see darkness differently, to talk about it in a new way. In that space of shadows we long for an aesthetic of blackness- strange and oppositional."
- bell hooks “An Aesthetic of Blackness- Strange and Oppositional”
Oh mer goodies..Mi corazon! It’s melting. Rivers are streaming from my eyesockets.
Can’t remember the last time I was intimate with someone.
What it felt like to have someone’s skin against mine.
Fingertips brushing up and down my skin.
Feeling the heat emitted from someone’s body.
—sharing my body with another.
I think I’m ready.
Of past selves.
and I saw so much pain, discomfort, and sadness.
I don’t want to live like that anymore.
I don’t want to live in fear any longer.
and at the end of the night I’m left with a question.
A question that has fueled much of my life.
A question that has informed much of my life-
Who am I?
In the midst of so much violence, trauma, and destruction
I am left wondering who I am.
Who I am in the midst of all of this.
The role of my existence in this place and time.
And left with the choices I have made and will make.
What will I see in the last moments of life as my life flashes before my eyes?
Will I be proud of the life I lived?
Will I leave with a smile, when I finally hear the scream of the butterfly?
no tengo que lidear con xingaderas.
Me da unas cojidas que me hacen temblar
Y unas vendias que me dejan debil en las rodillas.
Un poema corto dedicado a mi dildo.
But I’m so exhausted.
My heart and soul need it- but my body can’t do it.
Waiting for a moment of energy- strength.
I love you.
What happens when disassociation happens without knowing it?
-leaving ones body.
Looking for something outside of oneself.
-Approval? -Validation? -A sign? -Purpose?
All part of healing and growth.
Reminding myself that this too shall pass.
-that this is necessary
-and rather than seeing it as “bad”
asking myself what is at the root of the feeling.
Working through trauma- addressing needs
and establishing love languages with myself and others.
Nurturing myself. Taking care of myself.
Being gentle with myself.
Remembering these things as the cloudy skies roll through.
create our own fantaseas.
co-create our own stories.
let us create together.
'The Dreamtime' Paintings by So Yoon Lym
Beautiful. the one with the crosses though.