russian--wind

[russian--wind]

digital sea

Neptune moved into Aries, leaving its home on a 150-year voyage, through the wilds of the cosmos, dragging through the asteroid belt —

My Neptune is fused with the sun in a Capricorn /Aqua stellium. It’s a dreaminess and love of mysticism blurred into intensity. Same intensity had me calling you on a borrowed cordless phone from a gas station in Albuquerque in spring 2022, two months after the mystical ecstasy had left me leaving only the void to be filled with my fractured trauma, bleeding into a psychosis I didn’t want to admit to myself. I’m sorry, N.

Piscean sea. I got seasick the day of the transit, felt my body resign itself to a motion it would not know rest from.

One day when we are filter feeders in the collective unconscious of a cybernetic being that is just being born, and my love is like a qubit, flickering on and off, for no longer will anything last, all moments exist in a frail ether, held up by the contexts we build then release, either Taoist and madness, then, oh then you will know.

[russian--wind]

i'm at my best when i'm flying

[russian--wind]

Wild wild west

There are shapes I can't trace -- I feel your fingers roaming over my whole body, like the western United States, like the thousands of songs with the same metaphor -----

----

I've lived a wild life, a wild trajectory.

Now I work at the think tank in New Mexico that I once dreamed of being at. I never thought my path would take me here. I never thought it would require a sacrifice of love. I almost killed myself, almost jumped off a bridge the day before my flight got cancelled. Mercy was when Jonathan texted me back and met me at the park, and we held hands and talked for an hour and resolved the wound in my heart and maybe yours too.

I believe in the soulmate cycle and I also remember when I lost my mind in New Mexico. I came back for a rematch. I'm taking back what's mine and I'm going to fly

[russian--wind]

Asheville bounty

loving you has been a gift, I'll see you when the stars align

[russian--wind]

funny dreams jonathan brought into focus for me as did the eclipse I'm new again

[russian--wind]

I am a traveler

I cannot forget

[russian--wind]

I'm missing the french quarter

missing how energized I used to feel walking thru

[russian--wind]

I took the job in santa fe

and he kissed me and I felt the stars align

[russian--wind]

fallin in love is wild

want to pick wild berries with you,

laughingly,

forever

don’t forget me

darling

[russian--wind]

Love and Fear of Love,

I told Jonathan I loved him. I meant it. We were entwined in each other arms, sleeping. Sometimes it was music and sometimes it was sex. I felt the eons returned to me and wanted to protect them from him. To protect me from him. I don't know him that well yet.

People are drawn to me for certain qualities - my energy, my music. I feel them bloom as I grow close, and this time he tells me. I'm terrified, of being enmeshed, of my energy spilling out as someone else takes it and I am stranded, unable to take it back --- of the things I'm meant to create stalled in growth to fuel another's growth... Fear of enmeshment. Fear of being consumed. Fear of being taken from. Fear of being stolen from.

Have I done you wrong?

I'm leaving in three weeks to take a two year contract job in Santa Fe at the think tank I dreamed of working at when I was 20. God returns stolen dreams to you in roundabout ways. All my grad school dreams were culminating there, and there I go, 26, probably no older than I would've been had I taken the right way around. Who gives the fuck?

We got matching tattoos as I tried to disarm him and keep him at a distance while still being held close. The oxymoron --- I'm not ready for a relationship that's musical too. Music is sacred to me, and I don't understand the energy of creation enough to wield it and be open. Jealousy. Protectiveness. Fierceness. What's mine and what's yours and what's ours? I can't let go. I'm caught in a trap. I want to pull back. I want myself back.

Then I remember I have myself. Faith. What's a battle and what's a dance? What's giving and what's holding back?

I miss Ian Hall sometimes. We were kids playing guitar in a stairwell before I knew what it was to have ownership over yourself, over your art, before I knew jealousy, true jealousy. Or that really jealousy teaches you where your own unmet potential resides.

[russian--wind]

it’s funny, i’d been vagabonding and traipsing around like a real hippie, jonathan even asked me if i wanted to stay living a transient life, then i call my old life back, and there’s a room for me, in ol’ santa fe, for two stable years — right when i start thinking about having babies because everyone i know suddenly has one or is havin’ one, and goddamn how life is kind and cruel and teaches ya how all we have is the experience of cutting through time - i know a few shortcuts baby but they caught me at the door made me take the long way round

[russian--wind]

Journal from 3/12

I feel like a fraction of myself. Had a good cry in west asheville today. It's like a blend of Austin and Northampton; the warm spring sun and enveloping fields of grass and lots of places to hide, cozy tea shops downtown and riverwalk bike paths. I meditated on the grief surging through my body, the familiar soul connection tension exploding as it illuminates some part of me revealed by the heart of another. I'm not owed anything, I reflected --- on fear, of commitment, of living, of being embedded, the mundane and the mellow, boring circles and being open to the impermanence and imperfection of all that is and is becoming --- I felt the ways I had pushed away and been pushed away, felt old fears resurface and latch onto new objects, swirling infinite a thousand miles away I felt a new grief being borne… and old ones dying. Like stars and fields and the mines in deep Montana -- how I had masked the open vulnerability that comes when you reflect on how really, you aren't owed anything, and you are here to experience, and your path is exposed in the cold desert air of being alone -- though you love and are loved and are held, another's path is not and cannot be your own, you must go alone.

(I love you.)

[russian--wind]

My last three days in New orleans.

If I could visualize time, I often see the threads of a chaotic attractor, zipping through an invisible ether like a craft in an asteroid belt. Trajectories. People think that the immaterial and intangible have no limitations or structure, which is where the concept of the "butterfly effect" comes from, as well as the common pitfall of FOMO and feeling like you have no control over the events around you. But time like all good things has a tight order to it. Most paths circle back around. Sometimes you run into a dead end. It's like in a game, where what you're really playing with is the higher order but the effects are only visible in the tangible. So you have to abstract a level out, and mastery comes when you don't get too rigid about it, and kind of just flow with it. Often eventspace is like water. For instance, all the houses I visited to potentially move in have all been in the same neighborhood. And they're all dead ends now. I would've ended up here no matter which set of paths I took, and it would have ended in some permutation of what happened. For an intuitive life experience fills in your calibration of what navigating through time, making decisions, and manipulating (in the same way you manipulate a ball in a game) events around you can look like.

When I was 20, I was fascinated by mathematics. I threw it away like the suicidal protagonist of Cormac McCarthy's swan song, Stella Maris. Alicia, like me at 20, is a brilliant math prodigy, who, afflicted with hallucinations and the belief that her brother whom she's in love with is dead, commits suicide at 20. I lived, but I threw away the math until the underlying emotion beneath it resurfaced in New Orleans this year. Did I tell you that Alicia's brother, who was in love with her, ends up drifting in New Orleans a decade after her death? As a salvage diver? And that the other day, the mailman walked into my workplace and handed me an anonymous postcard with a quote from Cormac's The Road? And that I'm currently in a round of interviews with the institute where he holed up in the last two decades of his life and wrote those books, the same institute that studies the complex systems phenomena I was entranced with as a 20 year old?

I could feel in the patterns of dynamical systems and wave flows, the shapes of fractal geometry, and scaling theory, the shape of the universe around us expressed in some gestalt way -- that's what drew me to those topics.

Synchronicities point to some trajectories that are so dense in our personal life path that they are inescapable. Not in a doom-y way, more in a way that engenders faith. Your destiny won't leave you. You can't miss your destiny because you went down the wrong aisle at the grocery store. Gravity doesn't work like that and even the intangible is ruled by physical laws.

So! Free from FOMO, what will you do? How will you meet the universe halfway?

Time is also a wave, and I think about it less like this. There are cycles that repeat themselves with different periodic frequencies. Astrology is really a study of time. I wonder if people struggle with mixing the music of the spheres (the zodiac) with the cyclical nature of time. How do you know when exactly it stops being Aries and starts being Gemini? I don't know, the same way you know it stops being a fourth and starts being a fifth? Or that there is a fourth and a fifth? We don't expect order to arise out of chaos, much less a geometric, harmonious, implicitly beautiful order.

My last three days in New Orleans. I understand this time's coming to an end. I'm taking it all in. Old decision points are returning to me, magnifying. The job interview. Camp. Timelines I didn't take in 2018 are being offered to me once more. Like a promised reunion, or just the second verse. Neutral Milk Hotel's In the Aeroplane Over the Sea spinning through my head, through the galaxies, the half decade separating me from when I dreamed of this city and didn't know it was a real place. I sat in Jackson Square and played the song again and I could feel myself on the couch reaching for a place, reaching for the song, reaching for myself. I connected the two times and felt them click. Magic. Ever have a vision and then you're in the vision?

[russian--wind]

Planes of Existence

I could write for eternities. I always seem to, when my path to songwriting's blocked --- I want to tell you of the planes of soul, spirit, heart, matter. Mind.

The illusions of the journey through the cosmos, how getting older clarifies so much, how it all weaves together into a tapestry that then unravels through time.

Corbin's last words to me, were "time is a tube, and everything I want's already in it."

I'm sharing this, a gift to me, before he left (descended) -- because I notice as that we move through linear time, we feel ourselves leaving things behind, meeting new things, our world expanding, constricting. Letting go / holding on.

But outside of linear time, the plane where the soul and to some extent spirit and heart which are its messengers into the plane of our material density, everything that matters is already there.

The planet is a soul school. A mercantile. As we collapse old faulty timelines, navigate the polarity of self/other, individuality + group consciousness (the aquarian soul call!), old pockets of dense matter no longer resonate with us.

Where there's heaviness, I can feel the knots of untransformed material.

I feel the biggest gift of all is a big heart.

Not in the cliche sense, of universal compassion and oneness.

The King/Queen of Cups. When you work through your emotions, the ones that surface in this life, and allow them to work through you, transform you, integrate with what you know, your heart grows too.

[russian--wind]

corbin.

green for the text you send, returned to sender. green for the traffic light and the neon sign under which we smoked cigarettes and talked of our past lives. green for the jealousy, yours, mine, his. green for how i was. green for your aura. heart chakra. the scarf i gave you for your birthday gift. green on the tarmac when i flew to the city. green like the spring where we met, where our garden still grows in venus's land far away. will you come to the show?

did i trace your body for the last time when i pressed you close, like i never wanted to let you go?

green like the meadows and the fields. green like how it felt when you showed me i could love anew.

green forever.

[russian--wind]

the limits of trust;

Trust is a river when you jump in.

It’s the winding highway in foggy mist on your way to the coast, about to fall asleep.

It’s the circular manmade lake out of dreams when I know the quest was real because I saw it first then drove against the flow to make it.

The breath before you send the first and last text.

Your mind runs circles around your heart which always knows.

Mercury won’t carry my messages anymore so old wounds and mistakes create a chasm I can’t cross no more.

It’s the vision of my heart chakra turning into a bird which then flies out of my mouth.

It’s him coming back on Valentine’s Day.

[russian--wind]

I woke up sleep dancing today and felt the oceanic slippery soul energy and wondered

but I don’t think so. oregon is on the mind a lot. bandon beach, port orford, highway 42, camp I snuck into, all home.