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Frankly, the Truth: Part Two

Just what The Doctor ordered...
Just what The Doctor ordered…

I have been laid up pretty speechless on the very rare occasion, but nothing, hands down, can be articulately said about the overwhelming comments/messages I’ve received about:

“Frankly, the Truth: Part One.”

It wasn’t my intention to go on any sort of agenda, and there it hit…people who “know”…people who thought they knew…and people I’d had no idea I would have ever touched in the manner within which they shared with me their own stories and journeys.

I’m a little taken aback. And, by “little,” I really mean like an iceberg being broadsided by the Titanic.

Friends, it’s really important to me that you know precisely why making memories is a thing for me. And, also, why the memories I make might seemingly be small and/or weird or…hey, let’s face it…a tad delusional.

So, now that you’re intimately aware of the finer details of the nitty gritty, I want to also make you understand why the memories I’ve made for myself over the past two weeks really, really, hit me in the “Soul Happy.”

Let’s start with the obvious, because I think it also very important for you to know what it was that lead to me to the trifecta of “Holy shit, reality called and wants its ball back…”

Raising a godpole to Hela. Goddess and keeper of our ancestral dead.

Go big or go the fuck to sleep. I’m not going to babble about the profound spiritual need/want/desire to see Her. I’m also not going to babble about how profound of a ritual it was for me, personally, but given that there are a few folk remaining who cannot seem to look me straight in the ocular orbs…I’m going to go with a resounding, “It hit people the way it should have…right in the solar plexus of their existential realities.”

So. There was that thing that happened. I’m still processing it. Will be for a good long while.

Oh, there was a falcon that flew by whilst we were charring the pole, in preparation. You can’t make this shit up. It flew by more than once.

What else did my earthing outside for 14 days provide?

Through the less-than-stellar?


Lots and oodles of colour…sarongs flowing in the breeze…the Pride Parade and it’s participants…the merchants and vendors with their sugar skull trinkets and euphoric scents.

A sweater.

In my earthing version of “Let It Go,” I partook in delicious mead (honey wine) and spent my time baring my proverbial soul around the main drumming fire…unbeknownst to me, getting iced in the process. S’ppose it was a lot colder than I’d been able to feel. A dear “brother” took my then damp-with-cold sweater and warmed it up. My friends took a look-out for my glorious bliss and ensured I didn’t do the falling-down-of-the-going-of-the-boom right on to my I’ve-earned-this-ass.

A flashlight.

Not going to lie…I was a little reckless, on occasion, and enjoyed myself a little muchly. A flashlight was a valiantly fun and entertaining method for which my friends took full advantage. I swear to gods there were bees in my brain. 😉


Biggest sum’ bitch I’ve ever seen hovered and landed on my shoulder. We shared a moment. That might seem a lil’ weird…but, honestly, dragonflies aren’t judge-y. Dude just looked me in the eye (I think) and I gazed at how colourful and beautiful he was…


Notwithstanding my own desire to get myself to this state of essence…watching my friends bust a gut with laughter is friggin’ epic. I hope no one really noticed me staring…but, truly, sometimes this festival is really the only time out of the entire year that folk have the opportunity to feel safe, welcome and wholly “Real.” It’s a beautiful thing. I may or may not have thanked people profusely. Again. It’s a thing.


A spur of the moment dance with my friend under the stars, simply because she’d known I needed to just…”Live in the moment.” We played. We shenanigan-ed. I redefined in a few small moments that glorious need to just “Play.”


There is, hands down, nothing quite like the refreshing therapy of natural water. For moments of my journey, I can alleviate the entire stresses placed upon my body by asshat Lupus, and just float. Counterpressure upon the pain. Revitalization of the soul.


One thing I hadn’t really expected…ever…was the most profound gift I think anyone could possibly receive: Other people’s time. I went in to this Fest with a few things on my List of Anxiety that I’d known there might be friends with whom I could talk and process and do some checking-off of…

…it came in spades. Epically wondrous spades of time generously gifted to hear my broken spirit and spewage of tears. It changed a lot of things, that time, for me. I’m not entirely certain there’s a “thank you” big enough…


Watching my friends drumming together either at the main fire or in casual drumming circles. It’s an amazing thing to just watch people with such a gift for primal melody gather in a common place. Feeling the rhythm pulse through your ailing body is a therapy unlike any other.


When the moon reaches it lowest…you can see the Milky Way in all its splendor, from the land. It’s there that I spent many a minute gazing…it’s there that my comfort of “Me.” came as I pondered the circular nature of being a child of the Cosmos, to my eventual return within it…It brought many a tear to my ocular orbs…but more in a comfort kind’o’way.

THEN…then LebowskiCampFest happened…and shit got even BETTER. 🙂

It’s a weekend to personify the…well…you can read all about it HERE in the Dudespaper from the event last year. This year’s event was even MORE amazing…and may or may not have included a zip-line Maudist Arial Painting…

*shifty eyes*


It’s a time to play, to watch my friends, previously high-strung by Fest work and duties, relax and truly enjoy the company, the Caucasians (White Russians!) and just have some down-to-earth-honest-fun.

All in all, the past two weeks have been difficult, but the gains from the memories will carry me through the break back into the “Everything.”

What have the past few days post-Fest brought to me? Choice.

My eldest son will be vacating the home this coming Friday. I’m disappointed, at best, soul-sad, frankly, at worst.

I submitted my resignation as President of my condo board last night, effective upon the closure of next month’s meeting. This is something that gave me profound esteem in my otherwise snafu’d career situation. It hurt. A lot.

My father has generously offered to help me finance a part-time, online social media program at our College. I live for this shit. Hopefully it will also allow me to make some $$ in order to phase out the daycare sooner rather than later. *fingers crossed*

Hard choices in an even harder life.

The past few weeks have been total suckage, but it’s the deposits into my Memory Bank that offer solace to my spirit when times are chaotic and, frankly, rather kind of shitty.

Circumstances may not provide me a whole lot of awesomeness, but it’s the choice of how I respond/adapt/modify that will define my character, my worth and my honour.


I haz it.


  1. Linda Demissy

    Hmm, yeah. The math doth suck. Time is fleeting for all and more for some.

    I love how you sent everyone home so you could have time to experience the wonder that is all around. That was a good move. I’m glad you had such a good time. 🙂

    My time is not so short, that I know of, but oddly it is gardening that has brought home how precious it is. The annuals have to pack all their joy into a single season, and then leave their seeds in the hope they will prosper. To them I am a goddess, deciding who lives and who dies as I thin out seedlings.

    The perennials are new companions, they will take at least two years before they are harvestable, and I am their guardian angel. It is with regret I remove weeds, knowing each of these undesired are either food or medicine on their own. Some of them I can save to eat or make medicine with. Lambsquarter, Motherwort, Dandelion. Some I cannot because they are unusable when immature. Amaranth. Some I don’t have a use for. Yellow Woodsorrel. Weeding the unwanted, I give my chosen champions a fighting chance, but to all others I am the angel of death. I find that duty deeply disturbing, yet avoiding it would have my heroes overwhelmed by the hordes.

    Then there are the trees I plant. They will likely outlive me. I move and live quickly at their side, designing a sacred landscape I hope others will enjoy. All of those I place with care are meant as medicine for the body or spirit. My choices are selfish, I choose those I like and want to live with. That’s okay. Sharing their fruits and their parts made into potions is selfish too. I want others to like my green friends. I count the seasons I’m likely to live, and make choices I wouldn’t have made when I felt immortal.

    I spend so much time caring for their future I often forget to enjoy their blooming and thriving in summer. Work the garden, no time to sit, enjoy and talk with them. I’m working on changing that. In winter I cackle over their gifts: leaves, roots, potions, and seeds for the spring. Their life matters as much as what they leave behind when they go. There’s never enough time for everything, that’s why choices matter.

    Thank you for helping bring my musings to fruit.

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