Author: leaving traces

This pen ink is 97% water. Water is the only thing that is 100% water. We are between 70 and 80% water – similar to this Earth.

Greens and blues and wombs and seeds and ferns unfurling. Seedlings splitting the seedpod slowly yet forcefully yet not aggressively.

I felt like there was a cougar near me today – at moments on my walk. Close as in a recent moment – a moment passed not so long ago or a moment about to happen. Sometimes I think that certain people are of a certain energy which has something to do with why they are attacked by wildlife – like, did that bear attack you because you raped your wife? Did the cougar stalk you because you stole money from a houseless person – or beat up someone more vulnerable than you.

This reminds me of a recurring dream I used to have as a child – I must have been between seven and nine because we had just moved to the island from Vancouver.

We were at Cattle Point. We, being my mom, my younger sister and I. Dusk was falling and we were walking back to the car. My mom and sister were in front of me walking side-by-side – I was farther back and could see distinctly how they moved together and interacted with each other.

There was tall dry grass around us, bedrock with many types of lichen and a dusty, dirt parking lot by the ocean.

I was calling out to them in fear and panic because a cougar had grabbed ahold of my pant leg or maybe sweatshirt arm and wall pulling me away from them.

I was calling and calling for them, but neither of them paid any attention. I remember feeling so much fear and loss in these moments.

pooping and barking – things that dogs and people do.

bark bark. poop poop.

Imagine if humans pooped in the woods as often as dogs did. squatting in lush rainforests, fertilizing ferns with our feces. I guess it would only be fertile if our feces was healthy and pure and filled with nutrients like nitrogen and whatever comes from coffee grounds and banana peels (oh ya – potassium), and egg shells… something alkaline.

My poops might be neutral – a mix of cheesy toast, broccoli, eggs and coffee.

On a wild day, toss in some champagne and a couple of chocolates.

Yesterday must have been a wild day – a classic Wednesday – popping champagne while sitting on my couch and applying for jobs.

I had a slight buzz going as we drove down to Shawnigan Lake for our kid’s lacrosse game.

I was aware of this though and my responsible adult voice reminded me not to get too caught up in the game – definitely don’t voice any comments about the refs – and only scream positivities and upliftatories for the team.

PS – they won! First game of the season – my kid wore the ‘A’ for assistant captain and we all had a merry ol’ time.

I don’t usually fit in with the hockey mom and lacrosse mom types – but this team is different – really inclusive – no bullshit and fun.

The kids had a tailgate party outside the hotel in Victoria with invites extended to all the parents – it was a jolly ol’ time.

Oh dear – this is what happens when my energy comes back – I said, “Jolly ol'”…

Her head bobbed up and down in the sea. Salt water splashing in her mouth. She was shiny and orange. Tethered to some unknown place down below.

Cold. Dark. Seaweed clinging, being dragged – dragging – rusted chain links – heavy-duty – covered in barnacles.

Anemones on pilings the size of your calf. Cauliflower ringworms suctioned tight to dock pilings.

A kid turns sixteen. He doesn’t notice.

Alone, she spits words – an attempt to untether or string more strongly –

bacon grease splatters on the stovetop.

Fake butter they call Earth Balance covers the bread and coats the tongue in a superficial, distinct taste. It is somehow the first and last thing you taste.

I’m here for you – but where are you?

You aren’t here for me. My chosen family, my supernaturals, they are here.

A bath. With bubbles. Rosé.

An open window. Birds.

A squirrel’s tail twitches skyward shortly after being struck by a truck. This is where I died – sideways – facing traffic – on the shoulder.

If I’m lucky, the scavengers will scavenge me. Pluck me off the pavement ligament by ligament – a muscle scrap here and there.

Melusine knows of death – of when death comes – I did know of the moment my Dad knew he was going to die – as evidenced by the single tear he shed while being wheeled in his hospital bed to get an MRI or CT scan – that image is so vivid to me – I don’t believe anyone else saw it – I don’t believe he knew I saw it.

My stepdad came after. He passed while I was away – but again – I knew.

Ugh moods. Ugh work.

Separation.

Blurred lines.

Results.

Teams.

Corporate.

Communication.

Trauma. Trauma. Trauma.

In this office

trauma overflows like

lava or sewage

uncontrollably oozing

around corners,

under office doors

and down hallways.

Like the old 1980’s (?) film –

The Blob.

Cataclysmic.

Metamorphosis.

Swallowing.

Choking.

Suffocating everything in it’s wake.

Porous skin and

porous walls.

Doors left ajar as is office procedure.

Closed office doors to promote truth-telling, or complaining –

or toxic gossipy behaviour.

Swept up in complaints that

overtake the day with

negativity, toxicity,

confusion and pain.

The sun would stream in on a dusty angle.

I was near the fire exit – this meaning will probably reveal itself to me in a wonderful writing piece filled with paradox, metaphor, and whimsy.

I would film the shadows of the trees and their leaves gently dancing on my wall.

Mountains can maintain calm, sturdy stature while chaos swirls and blows by.

Rubber-soled shoes.

Business casual dress.

Not enough to prevent the steady seeping of toxic behaviour and abuse from sinking into the skin, the heart, the marrow.

DNA.

We are shaped by experiences – no one else can be more me than me, and no one more you.

Morons – less often.

Convoys of lemmings lead tyrants off cliffs.

She turns away and smiles, or smurks, eyes twinkling.

Forerunners forlorn afforded their place – pacing passed roadways and signs for the taking.

Making monkeys drive cars.

Banana splits.

Stretched thin on principles that lack air – vapid ballooned beliefs swollen up on ego – no education.

Vapid air spreads rapidly through thick skulls. Like covid.

No mouth traps – venus fly swatters.

Flat earthers to be heard – herded – together – on the dark web.

A fly stuck in a web cries for attention.

If I don’t believe in this spider it doesn’t exist.

Ugh – sigh – my kiddo is sixteen tomorrow.

Slap an ‘L’ on his forehead for lucky motherfucker. Ha – just jokes, he’s all smiles – interrupting my word genius to ‘be still’ my heart.

That cheeky cocksucker.

He told me yesterday that his friends have a nickname for his pecs – “Moobs”, he said – eyes bright, smile wide.

Moving arms like a marionette with no strings.

Invisible tension.

Cuts like a knife.

A Japanese sushi chef chops seafood on a butcher block of wood.

Ninja arms –

silent chops.

Kite angels – capoeira – unpracticed.

Trained in words.

Blurred inner vision.

Clouds roll into their hearts.

It pours.

The path of lightning – only parts are seen.

A sail – the mast –

swinging – the direction of the wind.

Zigzagging or tacking.

Puppets lifting elbows.

Jarring.

Grease.

Slippery phrases slide off tongues.

Like a toddler, head first – who heard his mom say,

“Wait!”, but didn’t listen.

The hot metal slide –

gripping at chubby legs.

up the shorts –

sticking butt cheeks.

Red, flushed skin.

The heat –

The sound –

the sound of a screech

like pinching skin –

hot to the touch.

A yellow slide.

With static.

The smell of polyethylene or propylene.

Nostril hairs stand sideways reaching for freshness.

Like dew drop air.

Damp, moist, fresh.

The biochemical smell of dirt when it rains.

Fungus fingering and flipping the bird.

Anger – followed by deep sadness.

A calm, still sadness.

Hand on chest – tears rolling down cheeks – pulled by gravity.

Without sound.

Weighted with water – known – substance.

Quick drips cascade to the chin.

Shoulders don’t heave in rhythm.

Consciousness. Awareness.

Allowing without control.

Owling – head swivels around.

Sharp-eyed – sharp beaked.

Talons and tufts of feathers.

Static electric.

Mouthing words.

Communicating conflict.

Seeing the scene splayed out of the corner of my left eye.

Dancing – slowly – trepidatiously.

Tip-toeing on daggers.

Splinters. Splice.

Rotten tomatoes.

The taste of mould hidden at first sight.

Observe. Intervene.

Unravel or entangle.

Ensnare. Enmesh.

Weighted net with iron balls.

Tossed on land.

Cast over water.

Butterfly netting.

Fire ants.

Poison and purpose.

Karma. Carpet. A karma carpet. Lying on the floor listening to birds cat call me through the open window. Did you catch that?

The English language has us knowing of cat calls as similar to a noise a bird makes.

Red finches are here now. American Goldfinch too.

There are more bird calls and chirps as it gets warmer.

The quail was talking to me today, as I was enjoying breakfast on my balcony.

I stood up, leaned on the railing and looked down towards him perched on one leg on the top of the wooden fence.

At first I thought he was calling to his mate – as she wasn’t by his side. But then, I realized he was talking to me, trying to get my attention. It was the only time I’ve seen into a quail’s throat…spoiler alert it’s black. And they have no pallet – because that has been externalized on the top of their heads. He called directly at me a few times – all while perched on one leg. Toes spread wide like I try to do in tree pose.

Maybe he was wishing me luck for my quick intro this morning. Maybe he was bored of the humans being boring humans and was trying to connect with them, with us.

My breakfast was finished, and as I stood up he walked, with two feet, down along the fence post and into the branch of a tree.

I’m assuming mama was out on a solo hike, having an independent woman day – getting her nails done with her gals.

Throat – carpet – back to carpet – what an ender.

Divine patience – talks to self – is not doing nothing. So much doing – a little bit of being. Boredom. Action. Swift kick in the pants.

My kid and partner are home now. He has been so great – allowing me to “be” and heal and still loving me through it. I think we’ve both gone through a pattern shift or unprogramming of how we are to be with each other – sure financial stress comes up – but we are more confident now that we’ve got this.

I’ve been “out-of-office” since August 25, 2021.

Am I lazy? No.

Did I gain 30 pounds? Yes.

Is this a bad thing? No.

My body may look different on the outside – but I also have the clearest skin I’ve ever had. I was looking at photos from two and three years ago and I had major cystic acne on my jaw-line, chin and neck.

Should I exercise more? Yes.

But to feel good – and thereby “looking” good.

Inside-out.

Building strong bones – a healthy old lady body – for old lady times.

Like grandkids on knees. Planting flowers and fruit in the garden.

Belly laughing so hard I should throw my back out, but I don’t thanks to my HIIT and my yoga – my long walks and deep breaths.

Waiting is OK.

Attracting is OK.

Trusting. I had a thought today – or a realization that I am really able to trust myself – when I listen to my gut and intuition – I am safe and I know what to do.

I trust myself to wait – well – I will try my best.

Blah

Blah

Lines in the sand.

Snakes on the shore.

Twisting and writhing.

Water snakes. Shark attacks.

Gifts and diversity of species.

Water crystals. Snowflakes or brain tumours.

Agency an inner knowing.

One time I asked myself – ‘Maybe water has more agency than I do?’ Not realizing at the time that I could harness the power and agency of water within myself to give myself the agency my thoughts told me I lacked.

I have a lump in my throat today – it appeared after my workout – High Intensity Interval Training – the only workout that holds my attention to complete it from start to finish.

Sometimes I feel great after a workout and sometimes I feel cranky, agitated, exhausted, blah… sometimes – when I really get my heart and lungs going I taste blood – or what I can only assume is blood because of the copper taste in my throat.

Do you think that overly filtered water would respond like this too?

Or would it lay there dead, and flat – more chlorine and fluoride in our cup that natural H2O.

Are the two “H’s” the ones that are listening or that one “O”?

Who’s paying attention down there in the nucleus of that molecule – the H’s or the O?

Our mind.

Our thoughts.

What we hydrate we are.

To water or not to water.

Hydration… a fireman’s pole and a stripper pole are both the last thing standing after a fire rips through.

Lytton. Who cares?

Koalas in Australia. Who cares?

Mass child graves in Canada – who cares?

My dog took three or four really big shits on our walk today.

This is life. Dog’s shitting, things dying, and sun shining.

The trees offer gifts everyday. During war, birds still sing. Hummingbirds still feed their babies every ten minutes. The fear of the crow coming to steal their eggs does not prevent the hummingbird from being a hummingbird and continuing on it’s hummingbird life. The hummingbirds get in territorial wars at the feeder multiple times a day. They attack, chase, and rest on a branch waiting for the next intruder.

A hummingbird will defend its nest, its food, its means for survival and legacy at all costs.

The end of May is female hummingbird season. We have three feeders – one out front and two in the back – last night I saw the first and tiniest female hummingbird while I was sitting in my Adirondack chair. They are quieter when they fly and much more calm. I saw the other type of female hummingbird on my balcony this morning, while I was eating my breakfast – a larger species – with the same low hum as it flew by.

When my dad was in the hospital dying… I saw things that others didn’t – I saw him shed a tear when he was being wheeled to get a CT scan – or MRI.

I knew, that he knew, at this moment – he was going to die soon.

We brought geraniums – the red ones – to his room – his favourite flower.

Each time the hospital lunch would come he would always order a medium-rare T-bone steak with a glass of cabernet sauvignon – saying it in a way only my dad could.

Even when death was on his doorstep – he was able to fill the room with soft laughter – doing his best to make his last moments count – at least while his kids were in the room.

I stayed strong for my sister…she collapsed on the floor when he passed.

Some would say that I put the ‘bitch’ in obituary.

To which I say – “If you’re calling me a bitch, I must be doing something right.”

You cannot feel indifference for someone if you feel compelled to call them a bitch.

Am I a bitch because I called you on your bullshit?

Am I a bitch because my boundaries were so firm you couldn’t get your way?

Because I couldn’t be persuaded by your “charm”, your professional experience, your demeanour and the numbers you brought to the table.

Remember when you tipped your cap and crossed the street to avoid bumping into me?

You are the head of your department and you cower at my words –

at the truth. Or a version of the truth that only comes out of a bitches mouth.

You earn $250,000 per year and can’t bend in your ways – you certainly can’t reconcile or decolonize as that would shift the power away from you – away from the City – away from the patriarchal, capitalist, colonial framework – the one which “we have all benefited from”, right?

You invite us to the table – the table you have crafted – no, constructed – a rigid framework or construct where bitches are outcasts when they speak up and out –

hacking at your table like a cleaver swung down – carving up the centre – splitting the wood.

Why is this bitch speaking up?

Who the fuck does she think she is?

She’s new. She’s young. She’s inexperienced.

Doesn’t she know she’s ruining her chance at any potential future career with the City.

Doesn’t she know the history of the relationship between the Nation and us?

She does not.

She only brings what she knows to the table. She believes what she has been told.

She holds her values tight and close.

Integrity in a room cake-full of deceit, lies, and backdoor deals.

She doesn’t know it yet – but she is the rook in this game of chess.

She speaks her mind and voices the concerns of others. She has done her homework and due diligence.

Fuck – she knows what she’s talking about.

Why isn’t she abiding by the silent code of thickly veiled political correctness?

Why doesn’t she fall in line as one of our allies –

I mean, she’s white – ally made, right?

But she wasn’t convinced when we tried to take her to our side.

She asked questions. Poked holes. Stood up for those she worked for.

She began shifting power dynamics – the Nation had veto power with her on their ship… in their canoe.

We will stonewall her. We will call her bitch.

We will avoid all contact with her and bombard her with work… the additional administrative work she is asking for.

We will push her so far – that she must collapse, must reach burn out…

become depressed and leave our lives and the work we have been entitled to complete for all these years.

We’ll force the bitch out of our lives.