Empowered Surrender

CW brief mention of &u*c!d3

2023 august 18

When I came back from the trail, it smelled like summer had passed. Not that I hadn't seen it coming; the leaves of the trees on trail were blushing with Autumn. And it feels like all season people have been summoning its end. Visiting a friend in Madison in sweet sacred late July, bodies swaying anxiously in an arena for a folk rock apparition to appear before the opener, I was high on summertime sadness, she told me summer was practically over. What kind of timeline is that? Drastic bombastic apocalyptastic fractal reactive. Isn't that the tone of this epoch? I no longer claim the Anthropocene.

In July I was inflamed; my body flaring in divinatory signs of burnout. A threshold. My teeth were rotting from bulimic tendencies to betray my own bo[un]d[ar]y[s]. Surges of &ui**d@l tendencies simmered in my somatics. I felt fear, I felt fury. I was walking in the underworld. Not believing in waste, I laid with these emotions like I would a lover. Everything has value, with truths to teach. I figured this new spring of self-destruction desire was an acute yearning for one of those transitional deaths life requires -- a molting -- renewal of rot -- turning over the compost heap -- XIII. Upon accepting this, I flew myself to the coldest stream I could find, peeled away my clothes and stepped in. Floating on my back, staring up at the sky, the sun met the water with an ecstatic refraction that made luminary fractals--ilinca's 'light angels'--onto the limestone that floated above my gaze as the river delivered me downstream. Not long enough later for fear of riverworms I submerged, listening, then climbed out of the water like a mudbaby clay-man promethean dream.

New

For the next month, for longer than I can remember ever before, I forgot my own magick. Ornery, teary, bleary, and beaten, I would heave and weep and busy myself with caffeine, regret, and rage. Picking at my family members, the dynamics like a chronic allergic reaction. Seeding distrust in my skin like the tales of Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle's dirtgirl. Darkness. I was a maggot, an Earthworm wriggling in mystery that affected me like the wildfire smoke in the air--totally, subliminally. Summer haze. After that aforementioned concert in Madison I got heat stroke and for 20 long minutes lost my ability to talk nearly completely and couldn't think without struggle. I was without a name, and so were the friends I was with. This oblivion was beautiful somehow, I felt more amusement than fear, and a little familiar flirtation from an acid trip I had when I was nineteen and lost language and self. When I lost language, something tore open within me, like when a swimming animal softly unstitches the surfacefabric of a starry sky waterbody on a summer night.

On the first of August the full moon came to reclaim her place in the sky, almost eclipsing the solid orange circlesun made two dimensional from Alberta burning. That is when I saw Noah again.. For the first time in a year. I could access neither joy, rage, sorrow, or even anxiety upon seeing them. Until I watched them cry, and they unraveled bravely in my backyard, I began to considered the fringes of my own too, brushing my fingers against their softness. Acceptance. We spoke in honesty for the first time in years. And as if I had gone seasons without seeing the ocean, I remembered what it is to speak the same language with another person, to share Knowing and exchange cosmic truths with energy alone. They pulled a couple cards for me--Judgement and the two of cups, and one more I don't remember. They pulled the four of cups reversed. I don't think they pulled The Hermit, but the presence was certainly there. For them, the Fool leapt out of the deck. We spoke of dreams and our families, manifestation and abundance, the jungle, revolution, university, and what it might feel like to never forget one's magic, to never doubt Earth mother goddess universe.

This reunion rocked me in a way that could only be steadied with several night's sleep in a place as unsteadied to the fixed ground as I was. I went to visit my dear friend who lives on a houseboat. Together we grilled peaches and they taught me how to strip a carburetor. (Grease monkey archetype--everyone's gotta step in to it from time to time!) They told me I am wide open--I let everything in. To my stubborn surprise her silver witchmother (with Braids and sparkling eyes like Freya) promised me I wasn't cursed--I was blessed she said. My friend pulled the Chariot for me, and I remembered I don't need to understand. I can just let go. Not all movement is escape.

Empowered surrender.

A couple weeks have passed. I stayed with an old friend in her little metropolitan cottage. She is one of my favorite people on Earth, and I hadn't seen her in many years. She is nearing seventy. We drank wine and laughed about lovers lost. She deserves paeans and poems, and I intend to honor her in full in time in writing. I schemed to leave work and leave the city, perhaps to join a floating circus who was making their way down the Mississippi. I thought I would offer them my newfound skill of carb stripping engine revving boat business in exchange for a few nights on the raft bearing witness to their motley crue, but upon seeing their act I either lost interest, chickened out, or got rejected. I didn't try so hard to convince them to let me on board, and when I didn't feel the same gust of the universe's will, I left, and two days later headed North to spend a week hiking in the woods instead. Before leaving, I killed my streaming services. Years of beloved playlists evaporated into code. Like a haircut, I felt the fresh rush of threshold, the dare to trust--instead of regretting and denying--myself. Surrender is a crucial dimension of abundance. Now, I dance on radio waves.

Seven days on that trail, yet I was time traveling. I watched emotions, stories, memories, yearnings, dreams, come and go. I turned my attention to the beings around me. Paper Birch, Nookomis Giizhik (Grandmother Cedar), Dragonfly, Purple Pitcher Plant, Sphagnum Moss, Sugar Maple, Pine Marten, Quail, Igneous, Granite, and the true source, the big mama, my greatest love, Gitche Gummee. And of course so many others. My soul is a river, my body the bed. The love of the Earth is the silt that travels through my current and etches songlines into my skin.

When I left the trail, Autumn had come, I was restored, and the world's Holocenic cacophony played on. Lāhainā burns. As does British Columbia, and an island off the coast of Spain. Today again the air hangs hazy and heavy in the city. O, the trouble we are in.

I lean in to the surrender. To the loss. To the communal vibrations of college radio. I challenge the moral stances I perched on even a few weeks ago. The magic within me stays with the trouble and sings somehow beyond melody and harmony. The world burns, time spirals, I am older than I have ever been, and yet molting I am new.

So, after the better part of a summer taking a less than pleasurable hiatus from storytelling, I decided I might as well start a blog. We'll see if I end up committing and continuing this, though right now I'd like to. Documentation is beautiful, and I may as well lean in to the cyborgian tools within my reach and use them to document the magic and rot of being alive. And to bear witness to my being. The life that dances through me, the thoughts that think through me. I am a puppet. I'm standing on my intuition like a balance beam. I've never had a tumblr before and right now doing new things feels good.

Speaking of which, there's one last little splintery bit of story I thought I'd slide in here. In fact, I meant to write about this in the first place but largely the words seemed to grow and organize themselves a little differently, and there's no stopping a story once it's made up its mind to be told. Tonight will be my first night bearing witness within the shadow realm of gentlemen's clubs, and my first night as. a stripper. My intentions are to embody an archetype of femininity that has long intrigued me, to bear witness into this new world--into which I am admittedly following my friend Noah (like it or not, I would follow them anywhere; it's a mythic, fated relationship & I simply don't make the rules)---and naturally, to see if I can make a little bit of money. Just enough to break even the investments I've made to get through the door (buying a corset and lingerie, getting my legs smoothed after literally years of not shaving, pedicuring these gremlin forest feet, etc.), and if I have some extra I'll maybe buy a thick silver thumb ring, and give the rest to mutual aid.

So be with me, if you'd like. Bear witness with me. In an act of empowered surrender, I am leaving the paper pages of the diary behind. I am here. As alive as a bogseed.

love and abundance,

Blue

Bog anmeldelse: Krigeren - bag borgens mure

Bog anmeldelse: Krigeren – bag borgens mure

Bog anmeldelse af Krigeren – bag borgens mure Krigeren – bag borgens mure er anden bog i serien om krigeren Odd. Serien er en dansk fantasy serie af Josefine Ottesen. Krigeren – bag borgens mure “Plyndringstogter og bersærkergang hører krigerlivet til, og Odd står ikke tilbage for nogen i kamp. Samtidig fører livet i kongens hird ham imidlertid tættere på den uberegnelige kongesøn, Ansur, end han…

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Day 10 #escapril2020 | Parasitic ☠️⠀ Guess who's running late again? 👀⠀ .⠀ .⠀ .⠀ .⠀ .⠀ @letsescapril⠀ #aboxofgales #aBOG #BOGblog #personalblog #escapril #napowrimo2020 #aprilpoetry https://www.instagram.com/p/B_B-DHohV7n/?igshid=1f6017ufx3obs

The danish translation of "Six of Crows" is now out from @carlsenpuls, and I am so excited for Bardugo to take over this small kingdom. And if you're looking for the rest of the Grishaverse series I'd suggest taking a look at @forlaget_alvilda, highly recommend both series. . Have you read any of Bardugo's books? . #Bookstagram #bogblog #udenu #books #bardugo

Introduction to Me

My name is MJ, I am 31, live in the south of England and have a wonderful Labrador, two cats and two fish (who i nearly forgot about). I have been mulling over the idea of writing a bog blog for a long time now. 

The day has come. 

Originally I wanted to use this space to complain about the poor facilities available to wheelchair users, however now I would like to also celebrate the great things I find along on my travels. 

I have been dependant on a motorised wheel chair for 15 years. This is because I was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy when I was born. Cerebral Palsy is a condition caused by damage to the brain either at or just before birth. The symptoms and progression vary from person to person as well as the way the illness develops over the years. For me, at the moment I am affected by weakness in the lower half of my body, fortunately my drinking arm still work! 

I am particularly interested in looking at how access has been created in a wide variety of places to include wheelchair users. I would like this to help promote positive ideas and engage the public and designers to think more about the whole population and their access needs.

Along the way you may also enjoy some of my anecdotes about various medical things that occur. 

Canadian Houston sunset at a cheap Motel

Bog Blog

I nearly forgot! I didn't wash today, cos I've been busy. I did some story telling training, in Skainos. Played all day with 6 lovely adults. Had a class fish n chips n peas lunch. Then to the circus school, for a meeting about London. Took the boys home, went to the shop, bought dinner for many boys, went home and cooked Thai curry and pizzas. Off to work. Which has pleasantly flown in, despite the fact that I'm flushing toilets. So I'm sitting on the bog. Should probably go and chase people... It's the end of the night, hooray! 

9th February 2019

12-4-18 12:16AM

  You are content in this now. You are bound to cum and flesh and bone and hate. And that is alright. There is softness in this too. And you can be soft in this. You’re glad your eyes aren’t what they used to be. You’re thankful that your ears hurt now when it gets cold. You should be. Flannery O’Conner asks god to make her an artist a lot in the prayer journal you’re reading. It would be nice if you could do that while staying true to yourself, but you can’t. Any expectation breeds ego. The closest you can get is asking god to make you what you’re supposed to be. That’s close enough though.

2/2 Juleaften er tilbage. En tung pakke ankom i dag 🌸✨😊 X-mas is here yet again! A very heavy parcel arrived today - filmed by @noah_williams_7 🎉❣️🤗 🌙🌈✨💫🌟 #bookstagram #ungdomsbog #bogsnak #ya #weloveya #monsunafstjerner #forfatterliv #boggnasker #læsforlivet #bogsnak #dklit #dklitt #bookstagram #boggnasker #ungdomsbog #bogblogger #bogelsker #dkbog #weloveya #bagombøgerne #bog #bøger #forfatterliv #forfatter #litteratur #bøger #bookstagram #bookster #bogblogger #bogblog #books #booknerd #bogorm #sjælealkymi #youngadult

Die Buch Reihe von Nina Leisten, finde ich so schön, und so spannend. Sie ist meine Lieblingsautorin. ☺️

bookworm #books #bogblog #booklover #lesenmachtglücklich #lesenisttoll #lesen #lesenbildet #bücher

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Book review: Under huden

Book review: Under huden

This is a book review of Under Huden part 1 and 2 by Pernille L Stenby

*This book review will be in Danish since the book is only published in Danish*

Jeg modtog et anmeldereksemplar af Under huden del 1 og del 2 fra forfatteren mod en ærlig anmeldelse af værkerne. De vil her blive anmeldt samlet.

Boganmeldelse af Under huden af Pernille L. Stenby

(4,5/6 stjerner)

Har du læst min anmeldelse af…

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Day 9 #escapril2020 | Natural light ✨⠀ Guess who's running late again? 👀⠀ .⠀ .⠀ .⠀ .⠀ .⠀ @letsescapril⠀ #aboxofgales #aBOG #BOGblog #personalblog #escapril #napowrimo2020 #aprilpoetry https://www.instagram.com/p/B_B97chh-kS/?igshid=z8mqtzr4nz8g

One of the first stops

12-4-18 12:11AM

I am content in this now. I am bound to cum and flesh and bone and hate. And that is alright. There is softness in this too. And I can be soft in this. I’m glad my eyes aren’t what they used to be. I’m thankful that my ears hurt now when it gets cold. Flannery O’Conner asks god to make her an artist a lot in the prayer journal I’m reading. I wish that I could do that while staying true to myself, but I can’t. Any expectation breeds ego. The closest I can get is asking god to make me what I’m supposed to be. That’s close enough though I suppose.

1/2 Juleaften er tilbage. En tung pakke ankom i dag 🌸✨😊 X-mas is here yet again! A very heavy parcel arrived today 🎉❣️🤗 🌙🌈✨💫🌟 - filmed by @noah_williams_7 #bookstagram #ungdomsbog #bogsnak #ya #weloveya #monsunafstjerner #forfatterliv #boggnasker #læsforlivet #bogsnak #dklit #dklitt #bookstagram #boggnasker #ungdomsbog #bogblogger #bogelsker #dkbog #weloveya #bagombøgerne #bog #bøger #forfatterliv #forfatter #litteratur #bøger #bookstagram #bookster #bogblogger #bogblog #books #booknerd #bogorm #sjælealkymi #youngadult

Esbjerg Fantasy Festival 2019

Jeg var inviteret til Esbjerg Fantasy Festival 2019 og her kan du læse lidt om min oplevelse! Var du der også eller skal du afsted næste år?

Esbjerg Fantasy Festival 2019 er den femte festival af slagsen. Festivalen er arrangeret af Esbjerg kommunes biblioteker og foregik i år i og omkring hovedbiblioteket i Esbjerg. Festivalen inkluderer alt lige fra bøger og illustrationer til rollespil og merchandise. Jeg var inviteret til at deltage på festivalen den 14.-15. september og her er et lille udpluk af mine oplevelser. Læs mere om…

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