A yearning
****trigger warning : self harm
What I yearn for
It has and always will be, a body to hold. Tender, soft loving. I spilt my guts out in the carpet, the freshly washed rug. It stained a hole, deep and brown and smelling of iron, it bore itself raw and straight through. The floor boards got their taste. Old trees finally receive payment for the lives of theirs that were stolen, taken with no regard, no question. A commodity. And now, finally, finally they feel the blood. They taste it fresh and sticky and thick and full of life force, until it dries, until it hardens and stains deep and brown and smelling of iron. At least they got their taste.
And so I’m told to not hold back. Don’t hold back and let the blood spill. Let the guts come forth and out and cover the floor. Let these intestines, the innards be what pays the dues. May the bloody words of my own soaked hands give mercy to the lives that were lost, stolen and robed and may they find their peace.
The blood that’s been spilled is payment, for the blood that’s been spilled came from within. It came from a willing victim, a sacrifice of myself, an offering and an exchange, without truly knowing what or why or who I was paying I gave it up for I thought that this is the only way. Straight and narrow and bright on through. What we share, what we express helps us see it all new. Cut the cords, pull back the power. Slit the skin until you remember. Until the trees forgive you, until your mother finally comes home, until the forest is no longer in decay. Yet it always grows back again.
I believed love required sacrifice. I believed that in order to be worthy I had to give all of myself and more. I believed that I was not able to receive until I had paid my dues. Until each tree in the forest that had been taken had felt honored. Until each lifeless body thrown in an unmarked grave felt respected. Until the sun and the moon would finally come together under the same sky and choose to dance, an impossible ask, though I felt it my duty.
So, I slit my wrists and I let out my innards. I spilt my guys all over the floor, I gave away my spine. I pulled out my voice box and I gave it to the wind. I sacrificed my body until I’d feel whole again. Yet it never sufficed, it never was enough for what this sacrifice came with was the idea that I was in debt, that someone was, that all of us were and that we needed to pay it all back in order to live a life we wanted. This belief that I was born into a system that required my body, life, and soul tied to a spit over a blazing flame in order to feed the hungry people.
Why even be born then? What would the point of that all be? To sacrifice would not be to fully live. To sacrifice would be to take away a vital life force who has the capacity to gather and learn and tend to the people. To cut myself down and spill my own blood, like those I wished to avenge would simply put me in the same space of those I wished to liberate. How could true justice be brought forth from a body in decay? I grappled, I weighed, I went back and forth. So many options, so many opportunities of places and routes to go. And so, soon the path formed itself, though this one seemed much more difficult than what I had been taught to believe.
A life lived in devotion meant a life well lived. A life lived to experience, to love fully, deeply, freely. A life full to the brim with joy and passion and play and expanse. A life of presence and gratitude and respect, in each moment. A life brimming with newness and opportunity and excitement and deep grounded connection. A life full of my hearts song, of dance, of love. This is how I avenge the trees, this is how I bring justice to those thrown to death with no regard. To live in their honor meant to rise from the ashes, to live a life so full because I simply choose to. Because I’ve been gifted this opportunity. No matter the circumstances, no matter the space. A life lived in devotion means a life well lived for it is devotional to all of life, all that’s being offered, all that’s around. To honor the lives and the trees and the beings that are here now. The lives that came before, their sacrifices, the ones that are here to come after. To spill over, to sing and float and whisper endless prayers, to bless the bodies and souls of those around, near and far from the freedom of an open heart. This is how I now choose to honor. This is the path that has formed before me, from within me, a challenge to see beauty in the face of despair yet a challenge that weaves threads of light back into the tapestry of night. A golden ticket back home, eternally.
I cut myself open and laid myself, bare. I gave my innards to the animals, the carpet, the forest floor, other people. A sacrifice I said, until the new earth began to grow and soon Gaia took over my body and spoke my words through her tongue. “Honor you life and live it well. Move slow, gently upon this earth, tender and soft like a deer, open like a rose, let yourself bloom.”
And watch it all unfold.
Tie me over a spit and watch the fire blaze and from my charing body, you’ll hear me singing.
