I figured it out.
I’ll take care of me, for you.
You do you, for me.
I have had quite the empowering and cathartic last couple of weeks chock full of epiphanies and cosmic 2x4s.
One, I shall not write into narrative for you voyeuristic vampires whom I love. It involves self growth and reflecting on past relationships.
But when it dawned on me, it went something like this:
Then, I read this on my FaceCrack wall:
A Wild Woman doesn’t want to be your Girly friend
Can you love me in the deep? In the dark? In the thick of it?
Can you love me when I drink from the wrong bottle and slip through the crack in the floorboard?
Can you love me when I’m bigger than you, when my presence blazes like the sun does, when it hurts to look directly at me?
Can you love me then too?
Can you love me under the starry sky, shaved and smooth, my skin like liquid moonlight?
Can you love me when I am howling and furry, standing on my haunches, my lower lip stained with the blood of my last kill?
When I call down the lightning, when the sidewalks are singed by the soles of my feet, can you still love me then?
What happens when I freeze the land, and cause the dirt to harden over all the pomegranate seeds we’ve planted?
Will you trust that Spring will return?
Will you still believe me when I tell you I will become a raging river, and spill myself upon your dreams and call them to the surface of your life?
Can you trust me, even though you cannot tame me?
Can you love me, even though I am all that you fear and admire?
Will you fear my shifting shape?
Does it frighten you, when my eyes flash like your camera does?
Do you fear they will capture your soul?
Are you afraid to step into me?
The meat-eating plants and flowers armed with poisonous darts are not in my jungle to stop you from coming. Not you.
So do not worry. They belong to me, and I have invited you here.
Stay to the path revealed in the moonlight and arrive safely to the hut of Baba Yaga: the wild old wise one… she will not lead you astray if you are pure of heart.
You cannot be with the wild one if you fear the rumbling of the ground, the roar of a cascading river, the startling clap of thunder in the sky.
If you want to be safe, go back to your tiny room — the night sky is not for you.
If you want to be torn apart, come in. Be broken open and devoured. Be set ablaze in my fire.
I will not leave you as you have come: well dressed, in finely-threaded sweaters that keep out the cold.
I will leave you naked and biting. Leave you clawing at the sheets. Leave you surrounded by owls and hawks and flowers that only bloom when no one is watching.
So, come to me, and be healed in the unbearable lightness and darkness of all that you are.
There is nothing in you that can scare me. Nothing in you I will not use to make you great.
A wild woman is not a girlfriend. She is a relationship with nature. She is the source of all your primal desires, and she is the wild whipping wind that uproots the poisonous corn stalks on your neatly tilled farm.
She will plant pear trees in the wake of your disaster.
She will see to it that you shall rise again.
She is the lover who restores you to your own wild nature.
(c) Alison Nappi 2015
The I saw this and wanted to go run. Dafuq, right?
This is all on top of a windfall at work, in my bank account, with my kids, with my love, with my friends, EVERYTHING. On top of the world and it is strange.
So I know, I know….finding meaning in everything is dumb and illogical. But when you have 857,348,578 things happen that align with gut feelings you have had, you start to take them into consideration. Confirmation bias aside, sometimes I meet someone or see something and it really bothers me when I can’t place it or them. Sometimes it is totally topical like not remembering who an actor in a film is, other times it’s like a Déjà vu situation, a “Mists of Avalon” when Igraine and Uther meet for the first time in this life if you will….and they realize that they have been together for many lifetimes and you as the reader have to wonder if it is true or part of Viviane’s spell….sigh.
When I was younger my BFF Lisa and I would have conversations about something and try to remember a name or a song or an actor what have you, and it could be 3 weeks or months later and I would remember. regardless of what time of day (or morning…3 am anyone?) I would call her and be like “GARY BUSEY!” to which she would reply something to the effect of “What the fuck? oh yeah. yep. Goodnight Jani….”
In recent years I have taken to writing things down next to my bed and calling people (or Facebooking) people at more reasonable hours. Usually, anyhow. 😉
The thing that has been bothering me of late is someone’s tattoo….I KNEW I had seen it but just couldn’t place it. I had made up all kinds of scenarios, logical and illogical, romantic and dramatic….from supernatural to a stroke. (I know, I know, strokes aren’t funny.)
Then this morning, I am scrolling through my Facebook timeline looking for an invitation to a True Blood viewing party so I can change my response and BAM.
A movie meme.
There it is.
Right fucking in front of me.
It’s two character’s tattoos put together from a movie.
While I am relieved to finally consciously place it, I am still a little sad it wasn’t something meaningful. Stupid girl.