For your consideration...
Mary Oliver's "Have You Ever Tried to Enter the Long Black Branches?"
From her 1997 collection West Wind
Have you ever tried to enter the long black branches of other lives --
tried to imagine what the crisp fringes, full of honey, hanging
from the branches of the young locust trees, in early morning, feel like?
Do you think this world was only an entertainment for you?
Never to enter the sea and notice how the water divides
with perfect courtesy, to let you in!
Never to lie down on the grass, as though you were the grass!
Never to leap to the air as you open your wings over the dark acorn of your heart!
No wonder we hear, in your mournful voice, the complaint
that something is missing from your life!
Who can open the door who does not reach for the latch?
Who can travel the miles who does not put one foot
in front of the other, all attentive to what presents itself
continually?
Who will behold the inner chamber who has not observed
with admiration, even with rapture, the outer stone?
Well, there is time left --
fields everywhere invite you into them.
And who will care, who will chide you if you wander away
from wherever you are, to look for your soul?
Quickly, then, get up, put on your coat, leave your desk!
To put one's foot into the door of the grass, which is
the mystery, which is death as well as life, and
not be afraid!
To set one's foot in the door of death, and be overcome
with amazement!
To sit down in front of the weeds, and imagine
god the ten-fingered, sailing out of his house of straw,
nodding this way and that way, to the flowers of the
present hour,
to the song falling out of the mockingbird's pink mouth,
to the tippets of the honeysuckle, that have opened
in the night
To sit down, like a weed among weeds, and rustle in the wind!
Listen, are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?
While the soul, after all, is only a window,
and the opening of the window no more difficult
than the wakening from a little sleep.
Only last week I went out among the thorns and said
to the wild roses:
deny me not,
but suffer my devotion.
Then, all afternoon, I sat among them. Maybe
I even heard a curl or two of music, damp and rouge red,
hurrying from their stubby buds, from their delicate watery bodies.
For how long will you continue to listen to those dark shouters,
caution and prudence?
Fall in! Fall in!
A woman standing in the weeds.
A small boat flounders in the deep waves, and what's coming next
is coming with its own heave and grace.
Meanwhile, once in a while, I have chanced, among the quick things,
upon the immutable.
What more could one ask?
And I would touch the faces of the daises,
and I would bow down
to think about it.
That was then, which hasn't ended yet.
Now the sun begins to swing down. Under the peach-light,
I cross the fields and the dunes, I follow the ocean's edge.
I climb, I backtrack.
I float.
I ramble my way home.
I read this poem after completing the post I made, technically early this morning, since I wrapped up after midnight. Having read it, I was inspired to try and go for a walk before work today.
Well, it was hot, and humid AF. And I was very tired. Possibly from staying up so late, even if I didn’t have to wake up until 10 AM today. So, in lieu of a walk, I instead (having already stopped over at my parents’ house, and bumped into them just as they were leaving to run an errand), carried a comfy lawn chair into their backyard, and meditated outdoors.
Gentle breezes caressed my face, and I could hear birdsong even with my earbuds in, and the whispered guidance flowing through them. Had I a better sense of smell, I suppose I would have smelled the flowers in their pots, or some such.
I left with plenty of time to spare, gassed up the car, and picked up enough zero sugar soda bottles to hotwire an elephant, to see me through my shift at work today.
Good thing, too. It was a challenging day.
Now, I am parked in front of the computer, in the direct pathway of the AC unit, blasting cold air my way, wearing my unseasonably-thick (but still very comforting), emotional-support, mental-health-related hoodie from Self Care is for Everyone. I’ve been eating some of the chocolates I bought yesterday. I have a little more soda left but am chasing it with ice water.
My vote’s still out on whether or not the hoodie seems a great deal looser than the last time I wore it. But I still like the idea of buying hoodies for myself, to show that I don’t need to “steal” them from a partner, that I can be my own source of comfort.
And, the cats. Let’s not forget the cats. Today or yesterday, a customer speaking to one of my coworkers cited a survey that stated having a pet, especially a cat, replicates the emotional impact of living with a partner, without all the stress.
Mileage may vary, I think, depending on how much attitude you get from your cat.
But we love them, anyway.
I also had a delightful chat with my daughter tonight.
She’s already anticipating her visit here, was very enthusiastic about a planned investment in supplies to make her own press-on nails. In fact, she’d said she hopes to have stuff at the ready before she comes to see me, so that we can figure out what size nails I would need, so she could make me some and send them to me!!! Then, she’d said, I could show off my press-ons and say, “Look, my daughter made these.”
She also has it in the back of her mind to potentially turn it into a source of extra income, if all goes well. Never a bad thing. I know I wouldn’t mind turning some of my paintings or writing into cash. Still working on that. Will have to invest more time in making visual art, and then start looking into gallery opportunities again. Or, vice versa.
Can also pop into tumblr again, and try to interact more with all the peeps into The Lost Boys.
But tonight is about chocolate, and my chocolate-colored hoodie, specially made for Valentine’s Day (it also came in I think pink and red). Not sure if I have mentioned this at all, but I was married on a Valentine’s Day. Divorced for a very long time, and now, I think of the day either as a celebration of my freedom, or, when I’m feeling angsty about love in general, one that ought to be replaced with its predecessor, the fertility holiday of Lupercalia. I even have an anti-Valentine’s Day playlist entitled “Bring Back Lupercalia.”
One of the dating apps recently told me I may have interacted with a fraudulent user, whose account they had already revoked. And the other one I was talking to at that time, seemed to have unmatched with me. Maybe I mentioned meat too many times. Vegetarian. He was asking about things I liked to cook/eat, and had asked one last question that I didn’t see, then had signed off, saying he was going to bed. I said good night, then the following day, described my skillet meal with taco-leftover veggies. Then, poof! Gone.
I did mention I had added cooked bacon, but I would think it would be implied that you could replicate it without meat. I’d gone out of my way to make similar comments about other things, like my 5-star hot chocolate (that you could probably find vegan marshmallows somewhere).
For the record: cocoa mix (as good as you can afford, if possible), solid milk chocolate to melt for extra richness, a dash of chili powder, cinnamon, nutmeg, a splash of vanilla extract for balance, a heap of mini marshmallows, whipped cream, and a candy cane. Sometimes, I even add sprinkles.
The suitor before that, whose profile mentioned how frequently he liked to check in, yadda yadda, not one to leave someone hanging… he’d expressed a great deal of interest in reading my work. I had shared one poem, which he enjoyed. He’d said it didn’t matter the sexualities of the characters in the books, though, or how explicit the writing became.
With some reservations, since I have been trying to sell it, I shared a link to what I have since realized is a prior version of Wishful Sinful. The Word doc I used as the jumping-off point for the Kindle and print-to-order paperback versions, is tellingly entitled “Wishful Sinful Less Repetitive,” because I must have noticed the same glaring repetitions then, that I did rather recently. But I did state that I may have made additional changes, and have since uploaded the improved edition to Google Docs, as well.
Not a word, since sharing the story. A “like” on an Instagram post, and that was it.
BUT I will keep on, keepin’ on, losing weight, treating myself to smaller clothes, donating the ones that no longer fit… trying to keep all that in BALANCE, and tame the chaos around here, while not spending more than I should rebuilding my closet, when I am bound to keep losing weight.
I’m not sure if I was actually heavier when we visited Oklahoma, than I was the preceding June, but those Oklahoma trip photos… oof! NOT sharing those. I had debated it, but I found another, cuter full-body shot for comparison sake, since I took some cute pics with my camera phone’s timer, earlier today.
So here I am at Beyond Van Gogh. I also have a great pic with my mom, of the two of us within a suspended frame, with Van Gogh-stylized stuff in the background. This one, my mom took with my phone, while we were within the exhibit.
Here are two pics I took of myself today, one from the front, with my overpiece on, since that’s how I dressed for work, and one from the side, without it, to better document my current size.
Taken within the kitchen of the parental abode, before I nipped outside to meditate.
I’ll have to get similar pics wearing some of my jeggings. The ones that still fit like jeggings, not the ones that are too big now. I love what those do to my shape.
I suppose I would lose the weight faster if I was stricter with myself regarding how I eat. But I gotta live with my life, too, not just endure it. And since I haven’t had any kind of weight loss surgery and am not on any sort of injections (though all props to those who go either route…. whatever works for you, boo!), I don’t have any restrictions beyond those I create for myself.
I was looking up dosing on my antidepressant last night, since I’d thought to ask about increasing it. Might have mentioned that already. Turns out I am already on the max dosage, from what I could determine. I could play around with when I take the second pill, since you can do it up until 3 or 4 PM ish. But when I split doses like that, I often forget one. I think I’d rather take my chances with the occasional 2AM snack attack, and nighttime sads, then risk altogether only having half as much of it in my system as I’m supposed to. But I’ll certainly discuss my concerns with my nurse practitioner. I have an appointment coming up, regardless. I’m just very hesitant to change my med cocktail because even if I still struggle with a LOT of fatigue, I’ve been losing weight well.
Turns out a big part of that could be the Wellbutrin. I knew it reduced appetite, but they list weight change both up or down as a potential side effect. Is that independent of the appetite reduction? Maybe. That was a little ambiguous.
But the powder I mix with water to treat my gut health issues also regulates cholesterol (its primary use), blood sugar, and metabolism. So that probably isn’t hurting, either.
And my thyroid med, and going back on a fiber supplement. The yummy gummy kind.
AND I motor around work like a mother-shut-your-mouth (“I’m just talkin’ about Shaft.”).
Keep wearing out my shoes, in the process.
I had intended this post to amp me up to prepare meatballs, of all things, this late at night, in preparation for tomorrow, since I feel like they’ve been chillin as long as they should, without being cooked. And it would be nice to have dinner prepped for tomorrow, apart from boiling pasta, and forking salad mix into a bowl. Oh, and baking the Texas toast with garlic and cheese. But the bread only takes like four minutes. And I can just pop it onto the pizza pan after unwrapping it.
We’ll see. Maybe I still have it in me.
I’m learning I have rather a great deal of potential in me, even as much as I would like more moments where it isn’t tested. But I guess that’s what outdoor meditation, and creativity, and cat bonding, is for.
And poetry. Let us never underestimate the power of poetry.
That poem also recalled a moment for me, in my wilder youth, in California, watching the wind move through the grass all around me, feeling a cerebral thrill, as though I were the grass, or attuned to the grass, with the wind coursing through it, on a perfectly-sunny day.
All the Bright and Sparkly Things 
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