Cover your crotch, or (What I Don’t Understand, Writing PTSD Pt.1).

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My goodness. Pages, you have to save me today.

I need saving today. I need a friend. I need a mother. I need a father. I need sisters. I need a brother. I am in need today. You have to save me.

Do you understand? Relationships are the hardest thing. To let someone in. Close. I am sitting with strangers because this is the only open seat in the place.

I am a witch. I am a priestess. I am an earthen angel. I use talismans. I am part of the divine because I am part of creation. You are not denied your spirituality. The earth serves us all. That is grace. You are held by grace right now. Keep going. Admit you were wrong. Place the blame where it belongs.

I am in a storytelling workshop. Kids on wheels. These pages will save me. The magic and curiosity. A full page of feelings and curiosity. Be curious. You are a witch. You are an angel. A moon maiden. Powerful and abundant. Communicate with who you need to. Feel better. Be a witch and an angel. Relationships are hard; even with the best of them.

I’m learning how hurt and abused my thoughts have become, my understanding of love and intimacy. How hurt. How screwed over. The truth. In tar-like shame. My goodness. I love you Allyson. A high five to everyone I love, to everyone who longs to love me. To those I long to love and those who long to love me. I am beautiful and deserving. I am worthy and wealthy. Abundant.

Being in relationship is one of those things.

I love coffee. I love sitting in this cafe, writing. Do not let yourself be lead astray. You walked away. Be drawn by the silent pull of what you truly love. It will not lead you astray. I am a witch. I am an earthen angel. I am here to write. Pages, my favourite place. Everyday this is what I come here to feel. It doesn’t matter where I am, only that I feel safe and in community. Alone together.

How many different ways can you write words. In all sorts of ways. You are inspiring. You are a witch, and goddess too. Belong to where you belong.

I showered. That was a good first step. Wash dishes. Eat food.

I moved tables. To be alone and face out. To have my back to the room, with a window before me. Look around. Comfort and right action are all around you. The world is changing. Your life is never stagnant. Get out of that child despair. That is the gravy, the tar, it will weigh you down. We are all safe and free. Belong and be yourself. We are all safe and free. You and me. Don’t worry. You don’t need to do anything to belong. You are made just as you should be.

Your soul knew what was up before your mind did. Or your body. Your soul is prepared for this journey. Your soul is prepared for this journey. Always has been.

The shame is everywhere. Over everything. What a nasty place to visit. And visit I must. It is a place and not the present moment. It is a feeling and feelings pass. I can be loved. You can be loved. Sia. That song. Do I have it? Yes. And now it’s playing. You will be loved. I believe it. I believe in you. I believe what there is to believe. I believe my heart.

It’s hard to decipher lies from someone I love. It’s hard to disagree with them. Figuring out all the lies I was told by the people I love the most. It’s as close to home as it gets.

I don’t want to sit. I understand what is going on. I can be self-aware. And I can be loved for it. I am a witch. I am an earthen angel. I am moonbeam and starlight. I am found in the night sky. Early morning. Light does not…wake up in darkness. What kind of early morning ritual could you get done. Could this be the thing that gets me going. I am going to tell my story. I will begin. Bare my soul. Believe I am safe.

I got my phone out and now I’ve been sidetracked. This is what healing looks like. I’ll show them. I’ll show all of them. I can be loving and strong. I can be loving and boundaried. I can be loving and safe. I can be loving and loved.

Are you ready to go home? Listen to podcasts. Listen to voices of love and wisdom.

I don’t understand wearing just tights. How can you let them know where your crotch is? Cover your crotch. Make a daily series. Understanding PTSD. Healing the trauma. What I don’t understand. What makes me curious. Where it hurts. I love you. ❤

I am going to keep writing. One more page. Being here feels better than going home. There is no rush. All good things come in time. Your desires come to be, in time. Your life is unfolding as it should.

Relationship = alienation, hurt. Love = being ignored/judged from afar.

It’s creepy and it freaks me out. Bless my heart. And bless yours too. All the best to you. Learn to trust one another. I love you. You are the best. You belong here. You belong to each other. You are mine and I am yours. Amen. Hallelujah.

Baby baby believe in me. Believe. The ink won’t move if the words don’t come out true. How does the letter form? What can you put through? Believe me. Believe in you. This is the best spot. Right where you are. To fully actualize. Be. Inhabit your own life. I’m not searching after anyone else.

I want this page done. I want to get out of here now.

This is the bomb. I am sacred. I am loved. I am the grace and energy of stardust and moonbeams. Stardust and moonbeams. Believe in me. I belong to you. ❤

 

 

 

 

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It was Grand!

IMG_4462Dear ones,

Well, I did it! I got myself a job at the Grand Theatre in London, Ontario. For their production of ‘Silence’ (a world premier! written by Trina Davies, Jan.19-Feb.3, 2018), I set up my ‘this is a post office’ installation inside the balcony lounge. The play tells the story of Mabel and Alexander Graham Bell’s relationship – first person from Mabel’s perspective. Mabel herself was deaf, and so the layers of story we were exposed to in this production (directed by Peter Hinton), including human invention, communication, and connection, involved a sensory component, making ‘Silence’ something you experienced. Many of the letters written between characters in this story (spanning the years 1876-1922) are highlighted in the play, and so through the ‘this is a post office’ display, we enabled the audience to participate in part of the communication they were seeing on stage.

For 17 performances, I offered postcards (pictured below), pens, clip boards, inspiration when needed, and a mailbox. Audience members wrote messages to whomever’s address they knew, or could look up. The Grand Theatre provided the postcards, and all of the postage for this project. I told patrons, ‘It’ll all make sense after you see the first act…I’ll be here at intermission if you want to come find me.’ And come find me they did.

365 postcards were written and mailed throughout the run of the show. Postcards will arrive in 12 different countries, and 120 Canadian cities, in 8 provinces, 17 American states, and in 6 languages (7 if you include drawing as language, which I do!).

Only but a single-handed few didn’t mention the Grand, or recall a memory of being at the theatre together, or insert a beaming adjective of ‘Silence’ and it’s production, or write of love, or give their own interpretation of ‘Silence’ and what they would take away from it, or recommended this play and the story of Mabel and Alex, as a beacon. A heartening few took note of their own shifting perspective on disability, hearing, deafness, correspondence, penmanship, and the ways in which we communicate with one another.

My overall take away from this experience, is one of community, and accomplishment, creativity, and profound hope. From that first email back from the Grand asking for more information, to the way they supported and added such intentional details to the installation itself, to what I learned listening to ‘Silence’ night after night, to the people I found there…and then for me to show up every night, as myself, to do the work I feel called to do – it was all so Grand!!

I am excited for everyone receiving their postcards (messages of ‘thanks’ have already started coming in!). The implications of this project are far reaching and lasting, both for the participants, and for me too, on a personal level – there are legs growing on this little idea of mine, and I can’t tell you what that feels like. There is a glimmer of truth coming from that old adage, that if you work to follow your heart, the universe will conspire to help you.

I know this is a long letter, but I didn’t have the time to write you a short one. I hope I didn’t bore you. And I hope you will either write me back, or come find me the next time I set up shop, to continue this work I am being called to do.

Until then, much love,

Smudge

 

 

In Transit: Route 15/21 (Westmount/Huron Heights)

In Transit

Route: 15/21 Westmount/Huron Heights

Time: 6:02pm

Starting Point: Dundas & Richmond

Song: Everlasting Light by The Black Keys

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Aug.21

Today is the solar eclipse. I have my homemade shoebox viewer packed in my bag. I carried it around all day today, periodically checking the state of things. Today I am full of the energy of the sun and the moon, the same energy that runs through me. I am ready for change, it is already upon me. I am here, on this bus, doing this again. Keeping going. Trying again. I read over the past trips and want to try something different. To write slower and with more purpose. What do I want to write. What do I want to say. I took this bus because it gets me as far away, as a city bus can get me, from where I started. It gives me the greatest sense of travel I can get. The greatest sense of being, going somewhere else. (A child just switched spots with me so I could have my most comfortable seat in the very back. To be fair I didn’t take it from the child. She vacated it and I asked if she didn’t mind if I went and sat there). I want to ask the bus driver’s name. For personal records. These guys are letting me do my work, they are driving the bus that is taking me places, and I am thankful to them. I also took this bus because it goes to passes through Wortley Village. There is energy there I want to be in touch with today. Do you have dreams? Do you have dreams that you’re not sure can become real? Dreams that nevertheless

keep telling you to hang on, to keep believing? Do you have those dreams? I do. I have dreams. I have dreams. Where I can see my life. I have dreams that include me. Personal dreams. Intimate dreams. I have dreams. It is no coincidence these pages are called In Transit. That is where I am, in my life. In transit. These dreams are not like ones I’ve had before. My role in these dreams is different than it’s ever been before. My dreams are ‘in transit’, from in my head, to right before me. Dreams are making their way int onto my to-do list in my day planner. One item. A lone item will appear. And that item has never been there before. Even when I imagined that thing…and then there it is. In ink. On the page. In my handwriting. In transit. Some of my dreams even have faces and names. These dreams aren’t abstract. These dreams have needs, they demand attention and work. These dreams. I can call them by name. …but not to you. Sorry. They are precious still. They need time. I am in transit. I don’t even know where we are right now, exactly. We’re somewhere. …Huron Rd. There. Here. There. In between. In transit. From there to here. From there to here to there. In transit. Where are you going? Where are you coming from? Where are you right now? What are your dreams? This subdivision…this area. I think it’s where Aunt Joanne & Uncle Len, Aunt Dolores & Uncle Fred, and Great Uncle Lloyd live. …I think I recognize it. The style of homes. The feeling of the city. What do I

want to say. What do I want to write. What do you want to read? Bubble gum. Balloons. Battlestar galactica. Encyclopedia britannica. Eclipse. Enshrine. Devise. Divine. Snail. Mail. Market place. Werthers! Yes I have Werther’s in my purse. I bought them for the trip. Travel candy. You know, something to suck on. Yum. Delicious. The silicon bubble wrap sent straight to Sunshine Studios was toxic. Ha. I’m just writing words now. Is this how stories begin, by writing whatever comes? Like how a nude torso, a mystical bird, or a distorted face come from what begins as a doodle. My worst fear is that you will find me boring, typical, disposable. What I write, who I am. My worst fear is that I will find my own life as boring, typical, disposable. Who I am, and what I do. Stay strong my friend. Stay true. It can never happen. You are too beautiful. You are too gifted. You are too unique. You are too bright. I have to fill pages upon pages, day after day, with thoughts like these. If only to believe them. You are beautiful. You are magical. You are deserving. To believe them, and to act accordingly. I like that phrase. Act accordingly. This guy is a real fuck head. A real energy sucker sitting beside me. Fuck. I just want to write… There is my studio! Good Sport! We’re heading to Wortley now. …I am happy at Good Sport. I feel supported. I feel part of the community. I feel capable and responsible. I am full of the energy of the sun and the moon and all the universe. I am one with you. I am one with all. Turtle.

and Tree. Water. Wind. Sky. Earth. Bird. Hawk. Eagle. Raven. Mountain Lion. I’m so glad I’ve decided not to waste any more time. I have used today. To get ahead. To ask for what I want. To take action. I’m on this bus ain’t I? This bus and other things too. Every day there are things to do. Inside, and outside too. Naps. Naps have been making a stronger appear presence on my list of needs. Naps. I’m doing some pretty tough emotional work these days, naps are necessary. Ha. No joking. Physical needs are coming of this emotional work. My body, like my mind and soul, is demanding better. Quality. Not more, but better. Better. Quality. This bus ride. I haven’t told you too much of the changing landscape in the seats, or out the window. …When I take my time, when writing, I dream in between the lines, and forget about the details. I’m the only one on the bus now. It’s just me and the driver. I’ll yell at him and ask his name if I get the chance. Life is in the details. No time. Here they come again. People. Welcome, on the bus. I think I have one page left in this journey. It’s 7:30pm. My goodness. That was the quickest 87 minutes! Time flew. And now we’re already here. We’re already here. You and I. Here we are. We got here. My goodness. These dreams. They are coming into my life. They are coming into my life. Bit by bit. Where are you? Where are you in this dream? I’m going to keep going. I’m going to write faster. I’m going to notice the details. And dream big. I’m going to keep

doing the work. I’m going to keep dreaming those dreams. I’m going to go back and remember who I am. I will remember what I want, what I’ve always wanted. I am not the girl I once was, and you are not the boy I once knew. I am going to keep going. I’m going to keep riding these buses. I’m going to keep thinking about you. I’m going. To keep reading, and writing, and drawing. And dreaming. I’m going to keep feeling and creating and asking for what I want. Will you kiss me? Asking for what I want. May I please live in a loving home? Asking for what I want. Can you please communicate with me in a way I understand? In a way I understand. Can you teach me success consciousness? May I please enter into partnership? Asking for what I want. Can you give me water and trees? Can you give me community? I ask for all of these things. I will give all that I am in return. I will do the work required to keep and maintain and honour these things. These dreams. 7:53pm. We’re almost there. This trip is almost over. Thank you. Thank YOU. Thank you bus driver, passengers. The sun, the moon and all the universe. I love you. You are beautiful. 7:56pm

 

 

*Author’s notes:

  • A touch of editing was done to both spelling and grammar (ie capitalizing the beginning of sentences), during the typing process. Did you even notice?
  • The bus driver’s name was Robert.