Johann Georg Hainz’s Cabinet of Curiosities, circa 1666. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons During the Renaissance, cabinet of curiosities came into fashion as a collection of objects that would often defy classification. As a precursor to the modern museum, the cabinet referred to room(s), not actual furniture, of things that piqued the owners interest and would be collected and displayed in an aesthetically pleasing manner. Collectioun of Cunnynge Curioustes is my 21st century interpretation of that idea.
As it has been nearly a decade since TheBassist and I last spoke, we’ve been playing catchup on the others lives. One of the projects he was working then finally came to fruition roughly the same week we got back in touch, his band, The Mercuries, finally released their first LP!
Blues-orientated with a titch of 90s college radio thrown in. I dig it, though to be fair, I’ve only given it a few spins. Favorite song is Brother Misery.
You can get said LP at iTunes and Amazon, or stream it from Spotify. They play around the NY-CT area, so make sure to catch them!
(TheBassist, the gentlemen with the shock of hair and glasses in the background, is 6’7″. 7′ when the hair is standing attention. When I saw the cover, I thought either this was the worlds tallest band OR a great photoshop job. Unfortunately, it’s a photoshop job. ALSO, since I never digitally throw out anything, I happened to have half of their original EP from a million years ago and words to some of the songs TheBassist had written and lost. Archivists 4 lyfe. \m/ ) As reward for adulting this week, I took myself to see Guardians of the Galaxy, and HOO BOY. Did I love it. I may take myself to go see it again next week, and when it comes out on ancient 20th century technology, a copy will be mine!
In addition to buzz of the film, the other big buzz is the soundtrack. Comprised of remasters of songs of the ’60s and ’70s, it is strangely a great accompaniment to a film set in contemporary era. And yes, baby Groot in a pot dancing to Jackson 5 was beyond delightful. All chair dancing will now be known as baby Groot dancing.
You can get the album on iTunes, Amazon, and stream it on Spotify.
Watching
Outlander
One episode has been shown and the series has already been renewed for a second season. The current hope among the critics, where it is getting rave reviews, is that it will become the female-centered Game of Thrones and have the same attempt at longevity since there is as many books as GoT. What do we think? It’s — okay. The first episode was unbearably slow and I didn’t find the chemistry between Jamie/Claire believable (burgeoning or otherwise), but Claire/Frank was totally hot. Fingers cross the show picks up.
Dear Internet,
I woke this morning at 5:37AM with a particular song in my head that was not meant for me. However upon audible relistening, realised it was perfect for a variety of reasons that will only make sense to me.
This has been happening more frequently as of late; I’m waking in early hours with a song in my brain (it is never the same song), that most times, comes out of nowhere. Some mornings, like this morning, there are two that play tag with the other. Then I need to go listen to them on repeat for a bit to exorcise the demon out.
This morning also bequeathed me tears that were shimmering and caught below and I thought The Sads were back. Again. I felt the rough edges of The Sads last night and made immediate plans that upon waking up, I would do nothing but self-care. In that instance it meant curled up in bed, reading all day, under my blanket fort and forgetting the world existed.
But I did not feel depressed, in fact I’m still quite manic. So this was new — to be feel so profoundly emotionally bare and raw but not depressed, in fact, there was some joy. I laid in bed for a few hours this morning, always flipping to find the cool side and always having to have my toes hang over the edge, trying to figure out what this all meant. I checked my phone and caught sight of the email notifications piling up. I knew I had to do some adulting today, I could not push it off like I always want to do. I made a deal with myself — do not think of the larger picture today, but think of the small things you can do. Begin first, with a shower.
When I tell people I am taking a year sabbatical to write a book, they think it’s wonderful and how lucky I am. I jokingly point out sure, come talk to me in a few months when my hair is disheveled and I’m laying about in my own filth. Except, this is not that far from the truth. When I was still working at the academic library, and we were granted nearly a month off at the holidays, TheHusband and I barely left the house. Let me also not speak of how little laundry I do during that period, amongst other things.
It’s easy to get sucked into a routine that is of no good, and I found these old habits raring its head these last few weeks with TheHusband and I working from home. Cobbling together a routine when I was alone at the cabin was easy and I could stick to it, but there is something about being home with him 24/7 where we just feed off the others bad habits that pulls me in its undertow.
So when I cannot get up to the cabin, and I’m working from home, I made myself promise to not fall into those traps, and to begin by just getting up and shower. Even if it meant putting on yoga something and a sports bra under the tshirt of the day, just get up and shower.
(With growing out my hair again (it’s now shoulder length), and not being a big fan of combing it, it is starting to dread. I’ve already had to cut two dread knots in the last week. Keep it together, Lisa!)
The shower.
I started crying in the shower, but it was small sobs rather than a big ugly cry. This had been the crying pattern of late, beginning with the welling of the tears, that turn into a silent storm, with an odd hiccup thrown in. Then I started laughing at myself because a few days prior, I was in a similar stance in the shower (feet spread, water pounding on back, hands on the subway tile) trying to figure out the logistics of a sex scene for a project I’m working on and here I was, on the complete opposite spectrum.
It was time, I knew as I began to shave my legs, to do a self-check if I was having The Sads or it was something else. Here were my truths as I knew them:
I’m not in crisis
I see my talking therapist, Dr. P, next week, my GP next month to get a referral for a new medicating shrink. I will also ask Dr. P. about another in-network referral to get back on the drugs
I’ve been having really near daily soul cleansing conversations with two of my favorite people in the last week
My period began earlier in the week and I always get a titch more emotional than usual
I cried during Guardians of the Galaxy — YES. Vin Diesel made me weep. I am NOT ashamed
One of said favorite people sent me links to cute pug tshirts, earlier in the week a couple of not-so-much-favorite-but-still-up-there-folk sent me links to pug pictures, so I had a big ole case of MissingWednesdays. My pug ovaries are hurtin’
Most of these feels are the normal human condition, heightened sure by the bipolar and raging period hormones, but normal. Sometimes it’s totally okay to pull back and cry. I promise.
So I did.
Once the checklist was done, I was cleansed, and let us not be surprised that now the world did not feel like a big ole chaotic mess. I could deal with this. I got dressed and planned my next step. And when that is done, I will plan the next step. And I will keep making these small steps until the day is done. Build the foundation.
Earlier this week certain lines kept rolling in my head and I recognized their presence from a piece I wrote about a decade ago. The words still resonate, but now for wholly different reasons.
I had, at the time, gone on to record it as an mp3 which you will find below.
(This is not one of my strongest pieces and in fact may be complete crap. I had also just had a bout of reading nothing but e.e. cumming so I was feeling all fancy when I wrote it. I have not listened to the mp3 since the day I recorded it so hopefully it has not degraded over time.)
Emotionally Stripped – the mp3 or you can listen via the embed below https://exitpursuedbyabear.net/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/emotionallystripped.mp3?_=1
there is a world
somewhere, in-between
but not here
that exists
emotionally stripped
in this world
i am free
in this world
there is
something, anything
everything
emotionally stripped
how far are we willing to play
in this dangerous game
how far
how far
how
far
emotionally stripped
i don't believe in bittersweet endings
of love that is never consumed
of things to yearn for and
never have
emotionally stripped
i don't believe
that i'll never touch your face
or feel your taste
or see your skin against mine
shining with sweat
there is a world
somewhere, in-between
that exists
sliding, sliding
downward fall
only to be caught
emotionally stripped
Dear Internet,
I’ve been beset by an attack of the rages these last few days, the anger so deeply embedded into my chest I can taste the bitterness at the back of my throat. This is one aspect of being bipolar I apparently never opaquely discussed. Mania? Sure. Being depressed? Absolutely. But the anger bit? Apparently never.
Maybe because it’s the least understood part of the disease I always seem to forget until it pops its little head up now and again to remind me it’s still there. I remember lamenting a few years ago when I was dipping low I had loss all emotion, a blank slate anyone could write on. I had forgotten what it felt like to experience deep rooted sensations. I missed being angry because if there is one thing anger does quite well is that it reminds you are alive and you are more than happy to pay the price it demands because the fernalness of what it gives is intoxicating. (This is true.)
Anger fueled so much of who I was and still am despite the past when I was not sure what it was or how it worked. There seemed to be one thing I did know and that is in anger’s wake, it left gorgeous destructions. I gave no fucks then who I hurt or what I did. My tongue was double ridged for battle and I slew down any opponent who attempted to penetrate my stronghold.
Now, now I’m older. Better prepared. I’m not a novice fumbling with their first bow, but a stealth fighter who no longer targets the ones she loves with diamond edged words. With nothing more than a polite, “I do not wish to engage,” I remove myself from situations that under normal circumstances are wholly benign but in my world tend to be the foundations for attack. There is no point in hurting people unnecessarily when I am being pumped by rage. None.
Then, it was all their fault. Always. The world was out to destroy me. Present, I know that is not the case, but to preserve myself (oh god, the guilt of the after that would engulf me when the rage attack was over was far worse than whatever slight I felt was being made towards me by ten fold), my relationships, I retreated in the ever safe space of my head until the rage attack was over and the metallic taste of its bitterness has finally left my throat.
But even now, in my enlightened state, I stop engaging absolutely to protect myself (and others) from the dragon that sleeps in my belly, and I’m polite about it sure, but people don’t always listen. Some keep on throwing things in my cage, poking me with their swords, waiting for that dragon to roar. Perhaps it is here that I get most maudlin of all, when clear boundaries are set and then trampled over in needs of getting their last word in, their needs met.
I do not loathe these people, but simply feel sad for them. Sad they must fight invisible battles to prove a point that has no meaning. Sad they have no respect for humanity. Sad they do not recognize their own attacks as being just as hurtful as their defense. I recognize all of this within them, for that was me not too long ago.
The gorgeous destruction is breathtaking, but in the end, the price is too high to bear.
xoxo,
Lisa
P.S. I keep saying this but it always bears repeating: the constant awareness of being on is exhausting. Emotionally AND physically. Holding myself to be present as normal, to constantly check/recheck/recheck before any action is worked or words leave my mouth, is exhausting.
Johann Georg Hainz’s Cabinet of Curiosities, circa 1666. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons During the Renaissance, cabinet of curiosities came into fashion as a collection of objects that would often defy classification. As a precursor to the modern museum, the cabinet referred to room(s), not actual furniture, of things that piqued the owners interest and would be collected and displayed in an aesthetically pleasing manner. Collectioun of Cunnynge Curioustes is my 21st century interpretation of that idea.
Finished Mistress of the Art of Death #1 by Ariana Franklin
(Amazon | WorldCat | GoodReads)
An intriguing (though short lived) series about a 12th century female forensic doctor who is removed from her beloved Salerno, Italy to Cambridge, UK to help catch a child killer. The dead speak to her and they have a lot to say.
The plot was well developed and the characters were fully realised. Franklin does well in keeping with the time and place (12th century England) though she sometimes cheats with patrois and language, by having a character comment they could not understand what was being said between two other characters speaking the local tongue. Well, maybe cheating is not the right word but it is a clever device to get a better feel for the period.
The mystery itself was difficult enough to suss out who the killer(s) were, which is why this book endears itself to me and shows the author was skillful enough to drop hints but not so obvious as you figure out the entire thing in the first 50 pages but keeps you turning until the end.
Highly recommended. Bear by Marian Engel
(Amazon | WorldCat | GoodReads)
A month or so ago, someone posted on Imgur screenshot of the cover of Bear along with photos of the racier bits and titled it, “What the actual fuck, Canada?”. Since the crux of the story concerned a Canadian librarian who goes into the woods to find herself, I knew I had to read it.
And so did everyone else.
Random House Canada recently wrote a blog piece that discussed not only the new spike in sales of the book based on the Imgur posting but also Bear was much more than a woman getting it on with a grizzly. It is a deep exploration of a woman wondering how she got to where she was at, a sexual awakening of sorts, and a wake-up call to take charge of her own life.
It should be said Bear was written while Engel was going through her own divorce, and while I kept pointing out to people the sex scenes in Bear were not projections, metaphors, or similes, there is an undercurrent of exploration of those things that parallel the dissolution of Engel’s own marriage. The Random House piece also points out that Bear digs deep past the stereotypes of CanLit, a world that is typically imagined as rural romantics and pastoral cleverness, by really giving you the true worth of nature.
I was recently asked to compile a list of top 10s of various media that I thought made the difference to humanity, not just because I loved it or it was good, but it changed something inside. Bear is definitely on that list now — it’s brave, and weirdly wonderful; written like a prose poem rather than a story. It challenges us and by doing so, it enlightens us by giving us back our own humanity.
Watching
The Leftovers
Good premise, bad timing. As we’re already watching a show that is depressing and slow paced (Rectify), having two shows in the same week was just too much. We felt Rectify was better developed and written, so au revoir The Leftovers, sorry it didn’t work out.
Halt and Catch Fire
A strange little show built on the premise of what the heyday of the early ’80s computer wars were like — and it worked. Lee Pace and his eyebrows kept us guessing each week if he was going to have an American Pyscho moment, which hasn’t happened. YET, and all the drama that occurred surrounding him and his world. Word on the street is that it is unknown if this is going to be renewed for season two, but I hope it does.
Dear Internet,
It seems everyone around me is getting their shit together mentally, physically, or other. I’ve got friends of varying diameters from my heart who are all taking the big leap in making their lives whole, and you know, I don’t want to be left out. I may seem to march to the beat of my own drummer, but secretly I want to be part of the band.
The other half of my year long sabbatical (other than to write, natch) is to do also do a jump start on Lisa-love. Now that most of my major social obligations are out of the way, I can get working on the Making Happy project, which I started back in late December 2013 but did not continue. I got sucked into everything else happening outside my world and then forgot to do self-care bit. No, I’m not doing that anymore. I refuse to participate in any culture OR relationship where I can’t get my needs met OR interact with people who don’t desire to become better human beings. I’d rather be alone for the right choices then be in places to satiate some sort of stupid societal design.
(One of my favorite people, nina, talks about the importance of self-care and standing up for yourself in her post, I Desire to Be More Sensitive. Yes, she spins it from a professional point of view but honestly? If you continue to live in a world that only supports a small demographic, I don’t want you in my life.)
To that end, I am going to start documenting my moods/exchanges/other details to deal with getting my life on track and in order using the Day One app. It’s hard to make big decisions when I don’t know if what I’m feeling is the DISEASES whispering their madness in my ear or I genuinely am not interested in that thing. nina speaks the proverbial truth when she notes those who have mental health illnesses are punished when it comes to these feelings, “because they are constantly told not to trust their perceptions, intuitions, and feelings about the world (and themselves in relation to the world).”
I <3 you, nina.
The constant back and forthing on every decision is exhausting and defeating. I think I’m significantly better on deciding what is what, but for other things, not so much.
With all this in mind, I decided to go back on the bipolar drugs. Again. For the fourth of fifth time (I’ve lost track).
I know last year I was pretty adamant getting off the Lithium and focusing on holistic approach and it mostly works but it’s not enough. Constantly being ON takes so much out of me that I just don’t have the strength to do much of anything else.
And I’m missing out on the joy of life because keeping me on path is all I can do most days. I am desperate for my own Instagram feed of happy times, smiling faces, and good friends instead of food pics, random body pics, and dog pics.
I confessed to two people in these last weeks I thought maybe I had a good ten years left in me before ending my life by my hand. I’m continually amazed I made it to 42 because there was a long time where I didn’t think I made it to 30. A lot of what keeps me moving forward are those two people, and others, who inspire and touch depths of me that have never seen sunlight.
Even on days like today, where one cup of coffee is giving me a full body haze and the nerves in my face feels like a thousand tiny pinpricks on fire, I am buoyed by that love. I can grab joy in minute amounts, but fuck it, I want to hover up the whole buffet.
Yes, I am willing to do anything to amplify and extending getting to that joy and if that means I get back on the bipolar drugs, so be it. It will also help pull me back from me having to be ON all the time, which will allow me to enjoy life more rather than less. But I have guidelines, as you do, and this time no ADHD drugs or SSRIs. Lithium, any other drug that has lactose/whey as an inactive ingredient, is also out.
I crave mental stability much in the same vein I crave cake. I crave the details so refined to fill in the gaps of the experiences.
But I’m not going to give it all to the drug gods, no, I have to continue to do my work too such as refining the diet and continue with the exercise. And leaving the house once in a while.
Just like last year, just like now, I end this with a quote from one of my favorite philosophers:
There’s no point to any of this. It’s all just a… a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. So I take pleasure in the details. You know… a Quarter-Pounder with cheese, those are good, the sky about ten minutes before it starts to rain, the moment where your laughter become a cackle… and I, I sit back and I smoke my Camel Straights and I ride my own melt. Troy Dyer
Dear Internet,
4:21AM comes at you like a stealth thief in the night. One minute, you’re in some far off dream land and the next, you’re bright-eyed and bushy-tailed listening to the echoes of Interpol’s Slow Hands on repeat in your brain for another 40 minutes.
The only thing you can at this point is get up, which you do by reading the internet in your self-contained blanket fort. Shortly after this, you say, “fuck this,” and go into your office. None of this hiding under the covers business.
But then the hours creep on by; soon it’s going on 9AM and the only thing you’ve since you’ve crawled out from your blanket cave is mindlessly scroll the internet. Weather looks to be hot (mid-high 80s) AND humid (90%), so if you’re going to do this, you do this now. You change into your workout gear, brew a pot of coffee (totally caffeinated, who the fuck are we kidding here?), put on your trainers, and get walking. You’re tired though, so you do the same route as you did on Monday, except backwards. The route, not you, just so we’re clear. At some point you look at your phone and notice you’ve broken the 14′ mile pace like it was a walk in the park.
So you decided to slow down a bit, because what is this magic of your feet? 14′ walking mile? Are now THE FLASH?
Yes, yes you are. Distance: 1.19 miles Walk time: 18:17 Pace: 15’16″/mile
Two walking days in a row where you’ve gone deep into the 15′ mile marker, and perhaps it’s time to start thinking about running. But not quite yet, how about a race? A race sounds good. Yule Run, I’ll Walk in November? Perfect.
Race you.
xoxo,
Lisa
Dear Internet,
In the same week, I’ve had two house guests snigger at “Wealthy Street” when giving them directional information. They chorused it is a very fancy sounding name for a fancy neighborhood and consequently, I live in a very fancy house.
I won’t disagree too much with their assessment. Wealthy Street was one of the original city streets (as evidence that much of it is still brick) and trolleys used to run down it towards Reeds Lake, which during the turn of the 20th century was a popular amusement park and day tripper spot. Captains of industry lived in my neighborhood and they would journey the few miles to Reeds Lake for their various entertainment, both of the day and nighttime variety.
Now Reeds Lake is ensorceled with homes owned by well to do white families and your self-importance rises by at least 30% when you cross the borders into East Grand Rapids.
This has nothing to do with my walk except that a part of it was on Wealthy Street and one of our favorite bakeries is six blocks from Throbbing Manor.
Wealthy Street Bakery and Art of the Table have snuggled next to each other for nearly a decade, beginning when this side of Wealthy Street was sketchy and a major drug dealer took up residence in the storefront across the street. In the last 3 1/2 years we’ve lived in the neighborhood, the gentrification that had started east of us has spun its magic in this area. Within a few blocks of WSB and AotT is a new brewery, a tequila bar cum taqueria, a coffee shop that roasts its own beans, and more, all that have open within the last couple of years.
What makes WSB so exciting to me is Tuesdays/Thursdays is vegan cookie day and they’ve been known to daily stock vegan chocolate cupcakes and will bring them out if you politely ask for them. TheHusband goes gaga over their danishes and I have a weakness in my loins for their chocolate babka (not vegan, but YOLO). Distance: 1.29 miles Walk time: 20:06 Pace: 15’28″/mile
I’ve been bemoaning my left calf for some time now, pain would grip it when I walked, regardless of how fast or slow. Kristin tipped me off to getting a calf sleeve, which I did, and it has made a remarkable difference in my pain, gone from I WANT TO CHOP MY LEG OFF to barely noticeable. And a 15″ walk?What kind of crazy is THIS?
The sleeve I first purchased is enclosed by velcro, to make it fit better but I have big calves! 18″ at the widest point and what fit snug at the top was definitely quite loose near the ankle. I’ve just splurged on a true sleeve and now I’m thinking I want to train for a 5K walk.
I am invincible.
xoxo,
Lisa
Dear Internet,
I’ve been up at Throbbing Cabin since Wednesday with some of my favorite ladies for a weekend retreat, which is turning out fabulously. There has been beach time, s’mores time, lots of reading and down time, not getting out of our jimjams time, and lots and lots of drinking time. Tomorrow we are going to photograph Val walking on water for GISWSHES before heading back to our respective households. It’s been a lovely break from the world and I’m feeling recharged and maybe, just maybe, reborn.
True to my promise, here is this months writing roundup. Italicized is the original list. Regular text is add-ons. Bold is completion and totals.
Projects for July:
TheHusband got the website up and running pretty early on in the month, so yay! I spent some time adding more back content and moving the Ephemera and other fiction-y sections over to lisarabey.com. There are a few bits and pieces that still need to be done, but the biggest chunk of the project is completed.
Plow through current library loans and ARCs from NetGalley and get reviews written
Was not as productive on this as I had hoped, but it is the beginning of August and I’ve already surpassed last year’s totals on books read, so I’m calling this a win.
Collate notes on the Edwardian mystery, continue with research, and get most of the structure sorted
Words written: 2500
I knocked out the first draft of the first chapter while at my retreat a week ago and started chapter two, but then LIFE happened and things have kind of stalled. I will be kickstarting this this week.
Finish or shelve in-progress short stories and submit completed ones
Did not accomplish. Will work on next month
Get Vol 1 of secret Kindle project completed and online
This is turning out into a bigger project than I had originally envisioned. About the 1/4 of the way through and that’s already at 50 pages in the proper Kindle formatting. As I started, I realized that I was missing a lot of content to be added to the project, thus I went back and started on the back fill again. Going to shoot for end of August to have most of Vol 1 completed and edited.
LLC was finalized and I still need to do an entry on that process. I have secured a CPA; business checking and savings accounts opened, business credit card obtained, receipts kept, and domain has been purchased and is currently pointing to lisarabey.com. There are some minor work to be done, but the process is complete!
Query/submit at least half a dozen pieces
Two completed on July 11
Status: Both rejected, boo.
Blog writing count for July
Words written: 22,097
Number of posts: 36
August projects:
Plow through current library loans and ARCs from NetGalley and get reviews written
Collate notes on the Edwardian mystery, continue with research, and get most of the structure sorted
Collate notes on the 45th parallel project and continue with research
Research (aka read) stream of consciousness novels
Finish or shelve in-progress short stories and submit completed ones; submit at least one a week
Get most of Vol 1 of secret Kindle project formatted and edited
Johann Georg Hainz’s Cabinet of Curiosities, circa 1666. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons During the Renaissance, cabinet of curiosities came into fashion as a collection of objects that would often defy classification. As a precursor to the modern museum, the cabinet referred to room(s), not actual furniture, of things that piqued the owners interest and would be collected and displayed in an aesthetically pleasing manner. Collectioun of Cunnynge Curioustes is my 21st century interpretation of that idea.
Dear Internet,
When I come up to the cabin alone, one of my favorite rituals is to sit on the front deck, regardless of time. Morning, noon, or witching hour, doesn’t matter. How a tiny prism of the world, a thousandth of a second, can make me feel so whole I will never puzzle out. But this is not a puzzle I want to complete and I leave it alone in its whole messiness.
I slept about five hours this morning before waking to the sounds of trees rustling against the A-frame. I’ve been alternating between completing my chores before the gaggle of females arrive and sitting on the front deck steps, while even as music has been playing cranked up to 11, there is still a silence that cannot be broken.
You can write things down, you can think deep thoughts, but hearing those same words spoken low to yourself is a whole nother beast. I said few things, to reassure myself of my thoughts. I side-eyed the chipmunks playing tag in the leaves and haltingly went on. I poured forth on secrets and loves, and thought for the briefest of moments to grab my phone to record this sunlight confession and immediately killed that thought dead. No, no evidence. Some rituals need to be completed without verification of proof for the masses. Once those secrets are let loose on the wind, only the gods can hear me. Only they can heed my prayers.
As I spoke, the wind started picking up amongst the treetops, the leaves rustled in agreement which gave me the confidence to go on. Yes, the gods are listening. I closed my eyes and smiled into the sunlight, the shadows moving like a fast forwarded film across my eyelids.
And I continued, I don’t know how long. I offered up a lot of prayers, requests, and pleas, the wind picking up in agreement with each of my punctuations. I poured forth love back into the world and love was returned back to me.
I stopped and opened my eyes, at the moment a particular song had ended. The treetops bowed to my requests and as the wind whirled around me, I knew my prayers had been heard and would be answered.
My ritual now complete, I came inside with the sunlight guiding me back towards life.
xoxo,
Lisa
