Happy 13 month earth-side-anniversary to my baby, Michi.

Often in this role I have now assumed, I am last to applaud myself because so much of what I do comes from a deep perfunctory well of eros, of love, that I hardly take time to pour that love back into myself. I’ve always given, been expected to, and not shown how to tend to my own emotional arena as my mother never modeled the way.

For the past 3 years I have had to contend with loving or hating my mother and finding the middle ground of xompassion in so many intersections where I dissect our-selves. For instance, our habits in love and relating; the habits of love I was unable to apprehend in my past relationships. The habits learned from my mother, her sisters, and the trauma they carried no doubt now fused into this new world wonder. 

I was noticing myself speaking in the abstract active, when I was actually reflecting on the past. It took me seconds to deconstruct this when I decided to dig that deep into my own thinking patterns. I was afraid and hopeful. Afraid because of the the constant unknowing in the quest to manifest a new world and figure things out day-to-day. I wondered, how do I as a mother, nurture and suspend fear in my daughter? Hopeful because, after all, the task is mine to complete, and that means that all is possible, even success. I took this optimistic outlook as a means of preservation. So much of this American society is advanced in the game of fea,r so even the ideas of success and general well-being had an ethereal evanescence to it, making it feel distant and illusory but easily recognizable upon arrival.

Writing the future has us condemned to the now.

As a new mother, it is timely that I address the paradox of my existence as a woman on this journey because it is one of the most responsible things I can do for the foundation of my daughters psyche. Her soul fire. Whether or not she identifies with what I underline as the existence of the feminine womb waters, I know that she will arrive to her own sensations and facts. The exalted plane from which birth is achieved, is such a massive event that still causes waves and emotions to roll through me. I still cry at the experience that was her birthday. The journey to birth. The magical times I spent holding her in my body and now in my arms.

So out of touch I am with the sensation of being in my mothers body. Or more clearly, I had forgot the tenderness required to navigate new terrains. I am relearning, reprogramming, and reparenting my adult self. I remember when I am in my mothers house.

During this time, I began writing the novel that will successfully sell and take care of us, at the ripe age of 30. I was waiting for the proper invitation to do so. The right impulse, or the clear impetus to get moving. So much has transpired in the past year that I am grateful to be so lucid and disciplined at heart. So determined to see this through.

And damn I look good. That's just the icing on the cake of tumult, fervor, and ultimate change.

Wish us love.

So be it.