thejunkfolder-com - Tumblr blog

thejunkfolder-com · 5 years

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as you arrive in waves, undulating, over and under, closer and away from the liminal space where void fuses flesh and bone into the body that is my home - a quiet desire washes up upon my shores: * would that your face were a shell. i’d hold it up against my ear and hear away the static of the sounds your mouth won’t make. * i’d sway to the rhythm of your words taking shape, making space for earthquakes that unmake this labyrinth of walls guarding the eyes of our windowless pains, the ones keeping us safe from the nakedness of being truly brave. * would that your face were a shell. that i might be soothed by its roar; to speak, cheek to cheek, with lung and tongue and wind that seeps beyond the coral reef of teeth, whistling mouthfuls of honest alphabet. * would that your silence were a crown, one i could tenderly entwine in my wilderness of curls and emerge from the soil of your exhale, newly haloed * ever dwelling in the emptiness of ear that craves to save what we made, how we played immersed, soul first in the narrative-less space. _ [by] luna elisa granados, jun 21, 2019 [series] love is emptiness of ear [image] luna by @alnpnyc [inspired by] what's alive in me and lines from "we find the body difficult..." by jack spicer [my vocabulary did this to me] -:- ('love is emptiness of ear, as cure we put a face against our ear, and listen to it as we would a shell, soothed by its roar…') -:- (at Brooklyn, New York) https://www.instagram.com/p/By_OjN_lud8/?igshid=85pxvkhao0i1

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thejunkfolder-com · 5 years

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i was never here • some how some way ever vacillating in the in between • seeing far less more of what it seemed to be between the seams • i was always here • wind water earth and fire • blending unbending and mending in this vast oceanic rift that spans the swell of my ribs and your lips on my neck electrifying my hips • i am no thing exactly • i am every thing all at once • belonging to everyone • being no one • longing less than more for more • just for the one • the beloved • who is always right inside beside me • (at Brooklyn, New York) https://www.instagram.com/p/BynOt3dFkB2/?igshid=12oia6i7f98ul

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thejunkfolder-com · 5 years

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mama medicine - johanna [mar 2019]

healer, mother, daughter, sister, lover, entrepreneur -- my embodiment of these roles has been deepened and expanded by my connection with johanna guevarra-smiley. she inspires me every single day.

in the last year, i’ve had the honor of working alongside her to facilitate various aspects of production for her brainchild 'dropping seeds' -- a multi-purpose herbal blend purveyor that she co-founded with her husband, a few years back, in response to their desire to connect with the medicine of the earth -- the medicine of our ancestors -- as a conduit for psychosomatic, spiritual and emotional healing.

working alongside johanna affirmed in me the viability of a work ethic that holistically honors our mutual wellbeing, that of our families, and the natural ebb and flow of healing as a process that is of paramount importance when we are committed to embodying for ourselves, first, the roles that we get to show up in for others.

as a mother, so much of johanna’s life does revolve around her gloriously bright, playful, intuitive children. so much so that she is one of those ‘how does she do it all’ women -- a lot like @soulflowermedicine. she does do it all, though. and, she does it gracefully, consciously, mindfully, keenly aware of her role as the embodiment of ancient future wisdom, her body and beingness existing as a bridge for the material re-emergence of her ancestors in the form of herself and her children, who embody the same.

She affirms in herself and in her children the gift that it is to be ambassadors of love on this earth plane, to serve as paradigm shifters of the future now. her children, whom she honors as her teachers, are recognized by johanna as independent leaders of themselves and the world we get to co-create together.

because she moves with awareness of her greater mission in this life and how motherhood -- for her -- plays a role in how her legacy is carried forth beyond her, she is deeply grounded in her self care practices as a means to EMBODY the legacy that she is co-creating with her children. johanna takes care of her self. first. before anything else. and that looks like a lot of different things, depending on the day.

yes, she attends empowering workshops, checks out her astro transits, gives herself tarot readings, and participates in shamanic ceremonies, moon dances, and sweat lodges, all meant to de-armour her being and realign her with her truest essence, deepening her connection to her self as a medicine woman tapped into source. sure, she might even get to pencil in a nourishing soak in fragrant @dropping_seeds infused floral bath with complex crystal grids laid out before her on a day where she gets to enjoy 30 minutes of uninterrupted mommy-time. that’s not an every-day, or even weekly thing for her, though.

in reality, what i’ve learned is that the first breath of the day, johanna takes for herself, and no one else. a deeply nourishing lung-full of oxygen that she meditatively inhales to inspire her self to receive the blessings + the resilience to align with her higher self, so that she may show up fully present for the day. she also uses that breath to summon the will and discernment to release with each exhale that which does not serve her, her legacy, or the collective wellbeing. these may be patterns of thought, speech, behavior; self-doubt; limitations, etc.

in this way, johanna embodies the wisdom of the medicine woman, every single day, carrying with her the seedling integration of the teachings that she gathers from daily ritual communion with plant medicine, every shamanic ceremony, moon dance, workshop, meditation and bath she mindfully drops into, whenever she gets to: mindfulness.

practicing mindfulness as a way of being -- as johanna does -- is the ultimate form of self-care and the pinnacle of service that we can accountably offer to elevate the collective wellbeing. our ability to be mindful is strengthened by connecting with our breath, daily. by engaging in meditative practices, as johanna does, we are better able to step into the gap between our pre-patterned reactions and the still space where we can choose how we desire to respond to the ever-changing present, thereby catalyzing and solidifying evolved patterns.

in doing so, we EMBODY the change we desire to experience in the world, teaching without words, offering the gift of authentic, empowered beingness as an example of leadership in our day-to-day lives. this allows our peers, relatives, lovers, friends, family and children to become aware of the choice bestowed upon us as a birthright: to walk in our power courageously, devotedly, unbound by the chains of perceived limitations, fully equipped to side-step narratives of scarcity, depletion and unworthiness.

in this moment, i humbly offer my gratitude to you, johanna, for choosing to walk this earth in the exact moment that i, too, get to, and, am excited to continue growing, learning and playing alongside you!

*ps - - got the okay to share with you all the coupon code i use to fill my fix on all my fave dropping seeds blends, monthly: thanks_luna_2019 enjoy!

____

[by] luna elisa granados, mar 2019 [series] mama medicine [images] johanna guevarra-smiley @dropping_seeds + @thejunkfolder via instagram

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thejunkfolder-com · 5 years

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for the other writer [jan 2018]

your words warm gentle soft :: synesthetic :: unfurling like lung-fulls of winter :: rising :: weightless wonders like snowflakes :: secret mouthfuls of midnight clouds spilling over :: blanketing barren landscapes with their watery gravity.

___

[by] luna elisa granados, jan 2018 [series] odes to other souls [image] @harisnukem, via instagram

#freshvrbs #thejunkfolder #lunaelisa__#collective bae #emerging writers #emerging artists #poetry #prose #essays #stories #integration #healing #journaling #medicine woman #story sculpting #synesthetic #aliteration #rhythmic #pisces

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thejunkfolder-com · 5 years

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basic instincts [jul 2018]

i understand being scared.

when connection w another deepens and begins to touch upon our underworld of pain, the natural inclination is to recoil.

pain is unpleasant, difficult to alchemize/transmute, especially when we don't have the bandwith, capacity or desire to dance w these deep hurts.

so when someone comes along and we feel an energetic affinity w them, it is inevitable that the mirroring that naturally occurs w everyone we encounter, is heightened, more direct with this person. the lines between our illusory separation begin to blur. we are in fact one and the same. their pain is ours, and quickly, it becomes clear that we are hurting in the same ways.

as different as our separate situations can initially seem, fundamentally, there is a common thread leading us to the root of these past pains that perpetually haunt our present, escalating in severity the longer we neglect them.

at that juncture, we can choose to buddy up, share the weight of these burdens and heal what we clearly haven't been able to alone. or, we can choose to disengage from one another and continue suffering these burdens alone, depriving ourselves from the relief of being truly seen without judgement and held in a space of understanding, unconditional love, and affirmation.

both choices are valid.

for it is true, too, and peculiar, that being deeply understood can be painful. bc it means we aren't truly alone, and there are complex emotional implications around that to unpack. and once again that truth leads us back to that same juncture:

recoil into the comfort of our known discomforts,

or lean into the discomfort of engaging the catalyzing elements that allow us to break free from the pain we think we are chained to, from the incessant suffering we've turned into a comfort zone.

doing the latter allows us to make space for healing and embodying our own extraordinary growth. and ultimately, that feels really good and we gain the ability to access greater reserves of power and resilience upon integrating that growth.

and sometimes we are not ready for that.

___

[by] luna elisa granados, jul 2018 [series] breaking up: a how-to, in case of emergency [image] @dreamersclub, via instagram

#thejunkfolder #freshvrbs #heartbreak #breaking up #healing #self care #mindfulliving #lunaelisa #relating #relationships

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thejunkfolder-com · 5 years

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soft suspension [dec 19, 2018]

thinking about you in waves… how are you feeling?

i really do wanna know how u are, so do tell me.

i just also have a bunch of thoughts i can’t contain at the moment, and in this soft soft space i’m in, i can’t help but share because the parts of me that think this is a terrible idea are sleeping or just letting me play this out.

i don’t know if it's that i hadn’t really seen your face in a couple of weeks nor even really heard ur voice, seeing it in your story and remembering it throughout the day and now, it all just fabric softener softened me, like weak knees, soft eyes, soft everything - even my shoulders, breath and memory ...

i know there's such a huge data gap between the week we finally coincided and the rift that happened next and the lukewarmness of our interactions now, so much i don’t know about what’s happening in your head and your world, the things you don’t know have transpired in mine ... still, i still want to know those things ...

even though i accept - i get - that you’ve chosen to emotionally close yourself off from me and though not precisely why, i fathom the general reasons why, the value of that for you and yes, also for me ... still, this cloud of softness returns me to this portal, this access point to wherever you are in your nowness ... i know, it's rather dissonant …

when i think of you the last few days, it's with holding you in mind, running my fingers thru your hair, the nape of your neck and just breathing with you .... just breathing with you, just being with you ... and how getting to share those things with you was so nice. so peaceful. so reassuring. life affirming, in lovely ways. like i could just live a little. breathe a little more in a deep share...

like i could b all the things ... with you who also was all the things, all at once... that all that mattered was being, that if i could do that, everything would be so nice, all right …

and, while there are things i would do differently, i’m in deep thanks that i didn’t take a single moment of you for granted - i lived you fully for as long as you allowed me … my fingertips

know the exact shape of your face, the height of your cheekbones and the crease of your everything eyelids, your kiss-me-always lips, and the soft, soft, softness of the bit of skin just behind your ear lobes ...

and they don’t seem to know how to unknow them …

even less can i unknow the way your voice sung my seams into liquid dreams where we melded and they melted apart.

nor can i unknow the way it swiftly stitched them back together sweetly in moments of vulnerability and doubt ... those things did happen …

i’m a sentimental sort of siren, so i sought your sounds in these digital archives and immersed in them again i softened, feeling so at home in your words, soothed by your musings and the pleasure you derived in mine ... and then i understood what you meant when you didn’t care to hear your own notes … i haven’t listened to a single one of mine …

anyway, an email would have held these lingering lines better … still, i hope you can pardon the length of it. and, that i don't know how to do or be anything else than emotionally honest.

and, that for me, being emotionally honest with you has been the highlight of my relating with you.

___

[by] luna elisa granados, dec 19, 2018 [series] in the nick of time [image] unknown, via @artnet

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thejunkfolder-com · 5 years

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(un)abridged [dec 10, 2018]

if these words could be a bridge, it would be the best thing

because then, I could just stand on them right in the middle and you could stand on them, too and I could just look at you and you could look at me then we could see together, the things words don't have answers for.

i keep wanting to write to you. to spin words of visions and verbs meant to align you, to find you, hold you, warm you deeply, touching spaces mouths and faces often cannot reach without these common glyphs to bridge them.

i like feeling things. i like the things i feel for you. and i realize in this moment where i'm making time to write all this, that i've been judging those things. punishing myself for seeing so much beauty in you. and i embrace how crazy that is.

it's bc i’m feeling more me again, more whole, more free, less staticky. i find that if i pause, sit back into the stillness, i sink anew into fresh photograms of you, and me, and what it might be to see you, once more, before i leave. is that a desire that lives only in me? is it absent in you?

there's just no energetic sense of reciprocity. with nothing coming forward from you, how can i replenish the outpourings of loveliness and spaciousness i seem to still be holding out for you?

i am far from broken. there is no thing wrong with me. i feel, and when i feel, it is deeply, intensely, perceiving profound lightness and gravity. yet, alone with myself, i am again wrapped in blankets of what ifs, solipsistic yearnings, and how could it be's.

how does one run out of patience, perceiving presence? one doesn't. in presence, there is no need, no lack, no absence, only wholeness, totality, everythingness. and so, outside of linear time, there is no waiting room to play the game of life, only life spiraling in stride with our embodiment of the divine. patience is only applied in the process of biding time.

and so, with all this in mind, i admit, i ran out of patience, more so the more i spiraled out of presence - with myself, my instincts, intuition and my drive.

still, it hurts to think you'd rather not make time to see me before i head out - one last first time.

___

[by] luna elisa granados, dec 10, 2018 [series] in the nick of time [image] source unknown

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thejunkfolder-com · 6 years

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slaa [feb 2017]

i am a love addict.

i'm not sure there is a 12 step program for this disease. if there were, i'm sure there'd be a 13th step--the part in the program where you relapse, where you collapse into a heap of aching skin, hurting for love, a hug, a call, a text from some body.

i write to you from the ledge of the 13th step. i haven't quite stumbled, just yet. rather i'm teetering, teetering over the edge, consumed by the weight of the insatiable vacuum that is this wound. yes, i am wounded--love addiction is an affliction.

i am noticing myself. i do it all the time. it gets easier these days, now that i've developed a keener eye. it's easier to see where i end and the wound becomes me. yes the wound and me are separate entities. see, the me i've become lives in the now; my wound dwells in the past.

god is a carefree toddler frolicking on the beach with a belly full of laughs, playfully tossing handfuls of sand every which way. the sand is all the moving pieces of my life. currently, it's all up in the air. what's this have to do with my peculiar addiction, you ask? everything.

see, to me, love is everything. it is everything i most desire. there is nothing else i want more than to be loved. when i glimpse its possibility, a feeling of peace washes over me. my ego collapses, and in that moment, i am a wide eyed 3 year old overwhelmed by the possibility of my validity.

i'm not sure where to start explaining how terribly draining this is, and how it's become less so, recently. i'd have to tell you the whole story about how the beginning became the end.

i want to write this but the words won't come out bc i'm writing on the tail end of this when really i've just been contemplating the words of scott peck and how love is a willful extensión of one's self for the benefit of mutual spiritual growth. grasping this is easily the first step to gaining control over this addiction. i am thankful this is so.

over the years, i've lived and loved over extended. those whom i've gifted my love have grown for it--enough to leave me behind. because of this, i did grow. yes, i've grown in pain. how much pain will it take? growing pains.

"life is painful." the sooner you get over that fact, the sooner you relax into the challenge of authentic expansion and growth. scott peck says this, everyone says this and, to you, i say this. still what they don't tell you and what scott peck is trying to tell you *(he uses the word suffering as an inevitability--i feel our ideology differs only semantically), is that the suffering is optional. suffering is a choice. embracing pain, sitting in it, living with and facing it, eases the instinctive resistance to the growth that comes with releasing it.

___

[by] luna elisa granados, feb 2017 [series] the great void [image] blanca de, @btbetty, via @between.mirrors, instagram

#thejunkfolder #the great void series #the artist's way #scott peck #the road less traveled #lunaelisa__#freshvrbs #love #slaa #love addiction #heartbreak #depression #addiction #suffering #pain #emotional pain #love languages #12 steps #13th step

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thejunkfolder-com · 6 years

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burning woulds [oct, 2018]

i long for the ashes of us, a return to the dirt, to the nothingness that we are. instead, i feel myself to be a smoldering ember willing willful winds to fracture & scatter what remains of our splintered woulds.

i pray for rain. or, at least, a single tear that dampens and spares me our joyless joining by these small, tireless fires stripping me of my fortress, my forest of wordlessness, my desire to deny myself the pleasure of burning across this universe of distance between us and the parts of me suspended in this eternal embrace w you.

___

[by] luna elisa granados, oct 2018 [series] breaking up: a how to, in case of emergency [image] @v1olet7ray, instagram

#thejunkfolder #lunaelisa__#freshvrbs #spooky action at a distance #separation #desire #break up #make up #poetry #love

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thejunkfolder-com · 6 years

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missed connection [jul, 2016]

i'd been thinking about him, in between thinking about you. how we could have come so close. you walking by me, and me, walking past you, only to not meet. this never happened to me before. me being intrigued by a passerby on the street. it's just so bizarre the way i can't get my mind off you walking by me walking past you.

you smiled. and i think i may have smiled, too, but not fast enough; you startled me. still, we walked on, but i turned around. you did, too. at the exact same time. and i smiled for sure this time, and you did, too.

i got shy, looked away and walked on until i felt on second thought, let me look again. and so, i did. and you did, too. at the exact same time. still, i took another step forward, away from you.

yet, i couldn't help myself and turned back a third time, to watch you walk away. you looked back, too, and stopped at the threshold of the deli on hope street. the one i'd just walked out of. either i left early, or you came late.

you stared at me and i stared at you, delighted, laughing, hoping you'd walk back toward me, to where i stood, pretending not to wait for you.

but you didn't move. you just stared. undecided. so i turned away, into the nursery. and you went into the deli. the one on hope street.

when i left the plants and the trees to step back onto the street, i hoped i would see you again. but, i didn't.

why? why didn't we meet? why didn't you stop when you turned around for the second time and found me looking at you, looking at me? why didn't i wave the third time, when you stood at the door of the deli, the one on hope street?

why did we leave each other, two strangers who crossed paths on hope street? why? when it was clear to you and me, we wanted to meet?

___

[by] luna elisa granados, jul 2016 [series] about a boy [image] @dazedinn, instagram

#thejunkfolder #lunaelisa__#freshvrbs #about a boy series #missed connection #strangers #lovers #hope street #williamsburg #brooklyn #spirited away

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thejunkfolder-com · 6 years

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a wrinkle in time [oct, 2015]

the fine line; i've found it hard to find--where breath and flesh blends and bends, yours into mine.

somehow i've crossed it, though i'm not sure how, nor at what time.

it was the panic that pressed me into you. like an unsent letter tucked under the flap of a sticky-lipped envelope. paperless words and curves and verbs folding into themselves.

___

[by] luna elisa granados, oct 2015 [series] about a boy [image] @eloymorales73, instagram

#thejunkfolder #lunaelisa__#freshvrbs #about a boy series #a wrinkle in time

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thejunkfolder-com · 6 years

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at the studio w/ a.k. [jun, 2015]

we had the lights out. it was too hot even for the dim light we switch on when the incessant buzzing of the fluorescents becomes insufferable. the fan whirred in the background, its blades blasting lukewarm air somewhere behind and around us, never quite reaching out to cool the heat that seemed to seep even deeper into our skins.

he sat at the edge of the couch, head hanging low between his legs, overwhelmed by the heat. my fingertips darted back and forth over the keyboard. he was silent. the springs on the couch creaked as he unhinged the back and opened it flat.

he lay very still.

i stood up from the chair and faced the fan for a few moments. it was cooler from up close. i basked in it for a moment. considerably cooler, i turned the fan directly onto his nude torso.

___

[by] luna elisa granados, jun 2015 [series] banalities [image] @twigandstone, instagram

#thejunkfolder #lunaelisa__#freshvrbs #banalities series #heat wave #summer #studio life #art studio #the artist's way

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thejunkfolder-com · 6 years

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when’s days [dec, 2014]

you said it’d be “like old times”, you and me in a house made to house less than three. we were four. sometimes, five. well we used to be.

fear.

a field of pure potentiality available to me. yet, i could only see potential for three; in one, you were free.

free

to be brighter now than you ever could be in a house made for one, already occupied by three. ___

[by] luna elisa granados, oct 2014 [series] child’s play [image] @robin isely via @between.mirrors, instagram

#thejunkfolder #lunaelisa__#freshvrbs #child's play series #inner child #home #family #healing #integration #freedom #free #love

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thejunkfolder-com · 6 years

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snowflakes [dec, 2014]

i’ve only ever watched snow looking up, watching it fall to the ground. i’ve never looked out from the terrace of a penthouse, 25 floors up, a place i call home, to watch the snow floating in the air as it free falls down. i can’t even be sure that it reaches the ground. i’ve never watched the snow fall like this. i thank the heavens for this snow, watery stars sprinkling love on the plants that so want to grow.

there are things i want to tell a tiny human. like, it’s okay to be lost, to wander and drift, to wish and wait for the whim of the wind to catch in her sails. i’d tell her—this tiny human—that the meaning of life is love, living it, sharing it, being it. and finally, that snowflakes are fluffy crystal raindrops so uniquely magical when you look at them up close.

holidays are a touchy subject. growing up i longed to be a part of the togetherness and festivity. now, at 25 and far from obliged to shun these celebrations, i simply choose to. or more true, i’m not ready not to and i’d rather not the company of the city and it’s people with their thoughts and things and otherness that sees not through me, but beyond me.

instead, i prefer whispering to the snowflakes how i am humbled by their splendid beauty, emulating their silent majesty. i save my affection for the love-colored tulips blooming on my table, acknowledging their vulnerable strength, thanking them for opening and closing to better serve their ends. and i’ll begrudge thinking about the things i can’t take back.

___

[by] luna elisa granados, dec 2014 [series] child’s play [image] @urbanreport, instagram

#thejunkfolder #lunaelisa__#freshvrbs #holidays #inner child #solitude #child's play series #legacy #children #snowflakes #self love #self discovery #healing #integration #gratitude

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thejunkfolder-com · 6 years

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tempered tantrum [sep, 2014]

she's screaming and i'm cold. as i pull out another sweater-- an oversized cable knit wonder fit for a man or two-- i realize that the cold is coming from the inside out. yes, it's a grey day and the breeze is rather brisk and it's quite chilly this early, on a tuesday, in september. but i know this cold is in my joints and bones. sirens. i keep hearing sirens, first in the distance, now near, so near i hear them between my ears. she won't stop screaming.

i get the sense i know what to do, but i'm paralyzed, staring hard onto the outside of my body, a familiar cigarette burning between my fingertips. i don't smoke. not anymore, but there is a part of me, inside, that copes with injured hope by puffing silent clouds of nicotine and dope, and she still smokes. i leave her alone. she knows what i know about the screaming girl: her anger, her sadness, the way she mopes.

i see the little girl, but the girl is not me. little me hides behind another face, a cuter one than i was at that age. this girl has long sandy brown locks that barely wave and there's a baby blue ribbon in her hair and she's got porcelain skin that's gone beet red in the face from her crying. the crying is awful, shrill and explosive. and lonely. very lonely. she's disgusted with us, mostly for doing nothing.

i guess she's six and she's disguised in somebody else's eyes, somebody else's baby, someone she's sure could be loved. isn't that sad? i realize how sad that is, and the truth of it weighs heavily on my eyelids. she thinks she's unlovable. she thinks she's unlovable with her curly hair and almondy eyes that's she's walking around in a white girl disguise. oh, me. who told her that? who made her feel like that?

she slams the door on us. the image flickers for a second and i see her more clearly. little me. she knows i'm writing about her. she knows she’s been seen and while she’s still mad, she knows that it’s me writing because i’m trying to do something. she’s been asleep most of the summer and for a great deal of the spring. it wasn’t until he came that she awoke, groggy and happy for playful love that soothes her pain.

see, she’s angry about a lot of things, things she didn’t know she didn’t know, things she didn’t know were missing, mostly love. she didn’t know she is loved, by the earth, the moon, the sun and the stars. she didn’t know that there’s a special place for her in many hearts. she didn’t know that she has feelings, and she’s the captain of a ship that needs steering. she didn’t know.

she didn’t know that she was blessed, that love is great and fills her chest with every breath and step. and yes, her curly hair, as it is, is the best! she didn’t know. who could tell her, if not mommy? how would she know when the only person who could do this best was a mean woman with meaner words and icy looks for the little human she brought here.

i remember that first haircut. how much it hurt me and i felt so ugly. even at 3 years old i knew there was something wrong about this, somebody deciding for me what to do with my body. i cry now, remembering this and other occasions where i didn’t have a say and adults could trespass, decide my fate— it was their right. that’s not okay.

great heaving sobs swell in my chest and though i find myself alone, i am not lonely.

i write this just as much for me as i do for you, all of you who feel or have felt as unloveable as i have and sometimes still do. those of us who have felt and still feel ignored, neglected, violated, and unprotected, often abandoned, powerless and rejected. there is so much love for all of us. for you, for me, for every single soul that aches with bones that break and skin that stings and leaks love. let love in.

let love in through those cracks in the wall. only love can save you. best of all, you can always make it deep within. the love party is always happening and there's an endless supply of punch that will never, ever end. and the party never stops. come on by, the punch bowl’s to your right. please, have as much as you like. you may leave and come again, as you please and drink again from this endless cup of love. let love be your drug.

it’s absolutely sustainable because loving your self is attainable.

___

[by] luna elisa granados, sep 2014 [series] child’s play [image] @dreamerssclub, instagram

#thejunkfolder #freshvrbs #lunaelisa__#child's play series #inner child #healing #boundaries #self love #love

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thejunkfolder-com · 6 years

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an old story [jul, 2016]

she didn't know how to start. much less, how to finish. all she knew was lack of motion, an ocean of feelings, an abysmal darkness that swallowed her whole. she just wanted to be alone. to be shrouded in darkness, enveloped in the void of a black hole. for time to stop. to be greeted again and again by relentless silence.

where did the magic go? when did the fresh faced madness of wonder escape her soul? it wouldn't be long, she told herself. soon, she would come up for air and unfriend the sadness that held her close.

wrapped in a lilac silk sheet, she slept soundly, swaying gently in the net suspended between two young trees, shrouded by thousands of bright summer leaves. she spent a lot of time on that hammock these days. at times abandoning her bed for days and nights completely. she enjoyed the pull of the earth beneath her, that feeling of being held by nature, as would a spider suspended in its web. more than that, she loved the way the wind would rip through the branches and leaves, caressing her shoulders and feet, rocking her back to sleep. and if there was one thing she knew she wanted, it was sleep.

this feeling was all too familiar. by now she was well acquainted with the cycles of her psyche. it was too easy to drift into melancholy. this time she'd fought against it, the best she could. she really did. yet, in the exhaustion of fighting, she let go and slipped into the grayish blackness of nothingness that made its home in her home.

it was stupid, she knew. yet there was no strength left in her to change her mind, shift her perspective. she'd felt fine, until the explosion of thoughts and weariness about jobs overtook her completely. the only way to stop them was to sleep.

often when she'd sleep she'd dream deeply. at times waking up and dipping back into the same dream like hands dipping into a bowl-full of smooth marbles.

this time, she did her best to be present. accept that she was sleepy even though she'd slept all day, accept that writing was the reason she'd make it through the day, accept that she could go hungry, but always had to have her amsterdam shag and raw hemp papers handy. she didn't have to eat, but she must smoke. she would smoke, no matter what.

her eyes felt dry and tired. she wanted to stop writing. yet she knew she couldn't. that it was the only thing that would make her waking hours worth it. that it would distract her from the fact that she wasn't sure where the rent would come from. for half a second, she thought about sharing her body for money. maybe a rich old guy who just wants to fuck and philosophize.

no. that wouldn't do. it just went completely against her sense of integrity. she would never.

she also knew better than to ever say never. five thousand dollars for a quick fuck? there was a time where she would never consider doing this for even less than five or six figures. but, it had been well over a year since she'd had sex and she figured she'd rather get paid to satisfy the craving. this train of thought was dangerous. still, the humor lightened her mood and she got up to roll a cigarette.

she always rolled her own cigarettes. she liked to roll and she liked that particular brand of tobacco. she wouldn't smoke anything else. the boys outside were finally gone so she stepped back out to smoke and write. the cigarette was good and the night felt right. she'd become completely nocturnal. sleeping by day outside, writing by night.

everything was still at night. it was easy for her to escape the bustling noises of her roommates and the nonsense that went on inside. the only thing she really loved about this place was her room, mostly because of the backyard. aside from her roommate downstairs, who hardly went out there, she was the only one who had access to the magical enclave outside. it was her only attachment to the space. without it, even the sunny room would feel like a cage, a brightly lit trap.

the lights were on in the backroom of 3R. she wondered when the lights would go out, and when they did, if the moaning would start. last night, as she lay in the hammock, the sounds of passionate lovemaking bounced around the trees and leaves, interrupting her nap. she lay still and listened. it was a bit voyeuristic of her and she enjoyed being an unseen part of that sound. she'd forgotten what lovemaking was like and she wondered when her time would come around.

it wasn't like she couldn't have sex. she could at anytime. she was a gorgeous girl. she could have any man she wanted, but none of the ones she wanted came around. this had more to do with her: she hardly ever went out. there were times where she seldom crossed the threshold of her front door, living between her bedroom and her backyard. what kind of life is that?

in truth it was the life she wanted. in her early twenties she'd spent a lot of time out, moving from place to place searching for the feeling of home that would keep her from going out. she had finally found it a couple of times. and when she did she’d hold on tightly, until the time had come to move on.

by twenty seven she'd become somewhat of an expert at moving on. though it can be said that she could have stood to be more adept at it, moving on faster than it had taken her to latch on. in the end all that mattered was that she was better at it and all the better for it. there was little use in holding onto people and things that have already moved on without her, often leaving her behind. nope, not a single text message, not one in all that time. it had only been a little over a month. but, damn, it felt like a long time. she regretted being so open, so free in her nurturing of a man who was hardly a man and more like a boy in most ways but one.

he was tall, statuesque with a voice that reverberated deeper than any she had known. his voice had a way of passing through her, unsettling her soul. she remembered how much she had liked him, how much more it was the idea of him than the man behind the face. yes. it was the idea of him, the storm of emotions she felt being near him that she liked best of all. in the end, that realization was what made it easiest to let him go, though of course not without humiliating herself first.

she wondered whether she'd ever grow out of that habit. insisting and trying when it was easily obvious they'd grown tired of her.

she wanted to smoke again. she knew how heavily she leaned on cigarettes to fill that empty, gaping hole. still, no matter how much smoke filled her lungs she would only feel more empty, more vulnerable than she did before.

she lay down on her bed and propped a silk covered pillow under her cheek. the house was finally dark. she hadn't bothered to turn on her lights and her roommates had finally turned theirs out. it was then, completely in the dark that she felt relief, a feeling that everything would turn out alright. after all, everything always worked out for her.

“everything always works out for me”, she used to say, everyday. and she would believe it. because it was true. still, today she wasn't so sure how it could. all the same, in spite of how she felt, she new that it would work out anyway. that it had to. in the meantime, she'd sit outside and smoke about it.

for someone who actually said so little out loud, she never ran out of things to say on paper. her mind was full. and perhaps that was part of the problem. she was a person of extremes. at times craving complete isolation and at others overwhelmingly desirous of verbal exchange. she could go on forever, turning the wheels in her mind.

she didn't want to be a vegetable. she didn't want to lose herself in the twisted caverns of her mind. neither did she want to lose herself in anyone else. which was partly the reason she kept herself apart from sex, flirtation and the like. she always fell for the wrong guy. always for the same reason, though each was wrong for her in his own way.

she sat in the corner chair of her room, thinking about them, as she filled her room with smoke. by now she had figured out that being in love wasn't the same as falling in it. she'd realized the senseless part was to fall. but to be in love, that was a beautiful thing. that she did know.

she stepped outside. the moon loomed brightly overhead, keeping a watchful eye on the girl below. that was the beauty of the moon, though the girl knew herself to be a woman, the luminous moon in all her wisdom and kindness would always keep her close, shrouded in her innocence.

___

[by] luna elisa granados, jul 2016 [series] the great void [image] @jarek_kubicki, instagram

#thejunkfolder #lunaelisa__#freshvrbs #the great void series #depression #insomnia #healing #integration #inner child #moon child #slaapkamer #love #heartbreak

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matryoshka doll [jul, 2016]

it was so hot, the only thought i had was to hop on the train. that is the freedom of having an unlimited ride. the air conditioned car soothed my nerves and steadied my thoughts. i felt better, less desperate, more aware.

i'm not sure where to begin. therein lies the stress in this, my attempt to explain how bad it feels to be addicted. we're all addicted, in one way or another, slaves to the everyday mechanisms we use to fill the gaping hole, that vast emptiness within us all.

for some it's alcohol, drugs, cigarettes-- the obvious ones. for others it's food, caffeine, sugar, shopping, working, the list goes on. then there are those for whom love and sex are the ultimate drug. i am one of those people. for me, love cures all and is the most addictive drug of all.

i am, have been, one of those people that loved so hard it hurt.

there's a girl that lives inside of me. kinda like one of those russian dolls, a doll within a doll within a doll. it's kinda like that. this girl, she sleeps. until she's hungry. she rarely gets hungry anymore. or maybe she does, but i don't feed her, so it's likely she's just given up. but when she's hungry, she gets hungry; she is insatiable and there's never enough.

she spends most of her time sleeping. she’s been sleeping for a long time. well over a year, now. it’s easier for me when she sleeps. i can just ignore her need for attention, for love, for affection. she’s really so needy. i thought i’d figured her out by now, that with enough sleep she would wake up refreshed, more calm, less hungry. it turns out the opposite is true. the hunger is still there and she is angry.

how could she not be? i’ve locked her up behind a brick wall and slapped on a coat of paint, thinking that would be enough. but it isn’t. it won’t be. in the last week, she’s taken over my mind, creating trouble where there needn’t be. i’m tired. tired of fighting the urge. tired of fighting me. i just want to sleep. sleep deep and forget what it feels like to have this gnawing pain inside of me.

the urge to connect is so deep. the gap between me and my need’s so wide it’s hard to breathe.

it's been a year and three months since i've last had sex. this has been by choice, and not the first time i've practiced long term abstinence. it likely will not be the last. though in the last few months it's dawned on me that this choice has less to do with a substantial reserve of self control and more so with my lack of it. i haven't learned how to ride the wave of desire and slow down the process of indulging it.

i'm an all in sort of person. when i take an interest in a man - something which now happens rarely - i become consumed by the attraction and can hardly contain my excitement to merge with him on all levels - spiritually, physically and emotionally. i get high on the connection. and the high is so high because it is fueled almost exclusively by fantasy, and this fantasy almost always holds the promise that he will never tire of me, never abandon me.

it's easy to see how this tendency to yearn so tirelessly has backfired on me. looking back, nearly all i've loved have abandoned me. at times cruelly, with barely a word beyond the silence that made it clear they were ignoring me. and so, i've been often left to fill the gaps of closure with my own compositions of clarity.

these boys and men were not bad people. by most accounts they could not be perceived to be assholes by any means. they just got tired of doing the dance with me. the one where i wanted guarantees and promises of faithfulness, that i'd be their one and only. this may sound simple and hardly out of the ordinary. the thing is that i wanted it from people who weren't willing or offering to grant it to me. that's all.

___

[by] luna elisa granados, 2016 [series] the great void [image] @fckingsasha, instagram

#thejunkfolder #lunaelisa__#freshvrbs #the great void series

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