Today is the end of lent. I wanted to quit blah blahing here because it's a one way street, and talking to yourself is either fiction or psychosis, so I decided on fiction for a spell.
I spent the better part of a month privately writing my way around corners. I thought up new solutions from which to choose. #shareyourgrit
For much of 2024-25 it's over.
In the face of increased helplessness, the disempowered turn to magic. They always have.
Libation, a large bottle of benedictine, a prayer candle lighted and melted into it, poured at the feet of Mary. Prayer. What is prayer if not an attempt at magic?
TJ says that if I had a nickname, it would be Constancy.
I make The Dip.
I write and I think, and I teach, and I make the dip, and I never change my phone number. And I'll always keep doing that shit.
So that's it. Word lent taught me a new definition for love: being okay with never being okay. To live that out and make some new wild beauty of it. As long as everybody keeps breathing.
