There are angels in the attic again. And one just jumped like it was splashing into a puddle with the glee of a five year-old and the ripples of its landing shook the ceiling and traveled all the way down to my floor. And my chair rocked. And I gasped before grabbing my pen. But it is not again because this is a different attic and the humidifier still smells like orange-whatever oil I put inside of it years ago. And something has calcified – maybe calcium—and it’s scaly on the inside, but sweet smelling, and I couldn’t find the CLR before my impatience ran out. And this is an exercise. And this is an exercise. And Simon says, Touch your clit. I was forgetting the dynamics of the relationship and something about the back of my neck and, pick me! Pick me! I know what to do! 3/2 water + 1/8 teaspoon and we have a party. You call me lovely bird and it makes me sing and fly. And you aren’t interested in exploiting me and this year will be full of less fuck-ups even though I’ll still makes mistakes in the arms of the blizzard. And the headache is spreading. And the back of my head hurts like splitting like it’s frozen. And just hold me. Please just hold me. Breathing for a count of 18, and when I’m done counting it will have passed because all sensation has purpose and I don’t need to obstruct anything. I’m a fan of fluidity. And this is going to be a fantastic year. Cracking my neck helped because there are always tiny things within reach. We are puzzle pieces cut by yesterday’s jigsaw. And she’s been blogging about touch and Brooke wrote that poem on how to wed (+) bed the female brain. And the women are everywhere. And the men are finally real. And I’ll sleep in that sea of peace because you keep me safe. And I’m in your arms. And you’ve already faced Vishnu. And you won’t let any harm come to me. And I’m going to be positive. And I’m going to be my (sweet) self. I cannot be otherwise and so yesterday I gave up trying. You make my shell disappear. And you are a gem. My jewel that shines. And I don’t possess you, but please let me admire and adore you, let me stare and caress. Let me tell the angels how lovely you are. (They’re here tonight, remember?) And one can make a difference. And two can make a bigger one. The change is proportionate to the brilliance we bring and the sparkle we wish to give and I dive to your feet because all of the earth is sacred ground. It’s cold in here and I’m losing movement in my head so we’ll take a hot bath because nothing’s ever as bad as it could be. And I love you like I love the stars. (And I already know you give better hugs.) And this path lends perspective, but it bestows responsibility, too, and every step offers a gift. There is no moment empty of luminosity. Our nature is basic and good and boundless. May we work for the metta of all sentient beings and find the path to our path and take joyful steps upon it. You are my microphone (and sometimes my megaphone) and I am your mirror and together we’ll rise. Together, we’ll soar. And we’re already flying. And there was no pursuit, no pursuer, no pursued. Just glue. And we each have a something that allowed us to click. And the clock is ticking and all the females fell down the rabbit hole or through to Oz.

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