Living in Jacksonville Limbo
How was I supposed to create anything in suburbia hell? I’d been in Jacksonville for a month. I was living with my younger brother and his fiancée. They were amazing. She is a nurse, and he is a paramedic. I watch them work endlessly, come home from the night shift, fall asleep at 7:30 AM, and wake up at 2 PM. And go back to work at 6 PM to do it all over again, deal with mounds of paperwork, crack addicts, heroin addicts, and people who get run over by a car and have their brains splattered across the road. Humanity shows face in through every corner of this simulation.
My good friend found the bones of the deer in his backyard in Ohio. He began piecing them back together like a paleontologist. I remember the times when we all used to play in the woods instead of on our phones. Bad things are happening everywhere. They have always happened. It happens all over human history, and yet we somehow forget the terrors of war and curl up happily watching historically accurate tales of Viking murder for fun. The only difference between then and now is the prose behind which violence rests. How could I possibly submit beneath the masters that feed us dollar fucking bills? Who were they anyway?
Will I take anything with me at all?
I am yet another piece of this virtual world, and I fell into it for a whole month. I couldn’t open up a book. I had not been subjected to the media in general for eight months. But I left the sweet womb of SouthEast Vipassana Center and my life of nunnery behind. I binged in suburbia hell more than I ever had in my life.
I watched Friends and Bewitched and this incredible Samurai film (Lady Snow Blood) that had inspired Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill…three times. And everything was bloody and hilarious, and it sucked me in, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the screen, and I ate popcorn, Oreos, and peanut butter. I refused every culinary skill in the book.
Spells of Fire and Blood
I couldn’t stand myself. I had no idea who I was! How could I be sitting here watching TV eating and Oreos while my brother and sister were on the front lines, the front lines of societal fuckery? They were just getting by as a nurse and paramedic working full-time while the hospitals raked in billions upon billions upon billions to keep people sick. And what the fuck was I doing with my life?!
>>> Eating Oreos <<<
I burned everything I wrote while at the SouthEast Vipassana Center. I danced around the fire naked beneath the stars and sang the words which slipped from my tongue.
I poured my period blood on the top of the ashed papers and laughed so loud that the earth shook, and lightning struck the sky.
Who the fuck was I?
The Ocean Speaks on Jacksonville Beach
I can see the stars again. I’m staring at the water. I sang to her, and The Great Mother answered me by giving me everything I’ve ever wanted. How could I spit in her face now? It was time to rise, and so I climbed. And as I rose by the waters, dried rose petals of yellow and magenta and velvet red slipped from my hands to meet the ocean.
I sang to the waves as the sun rose above the sea. It was 7:17 AM. It was cold and windy, and I could see a dolphin’ fin slipping up through the rough waves. The dolphin turned on its back, started laughing and dancing, and jiggled around in the dark, windy waters.
This is what I was to be.
Laughing upon the currents of the sea.
Eve’s salty ale wrapped my naked breast beneath her currents and baptized me.