Hello Sister Head
Everyone should spend a week or more in a cabin in the mountains—Montana, Minnesota, Oregon, Georgia, West Virginia, Maine, wherever—a clarity of mind emerges. The heart opens. Nothing becomes important except for the few things for which you will die. This simplification, this renouncement of all else opens up great space in the heart and allows one great freedom.
My love is generosity not only for others but for myself.
I am lying on my bed by the light of the desk with the back door open, listening to M Ward and Crosby Stills and Nash and Songs: Ohia and the cicadas outside. My voice feels deeper; my breaths are longer. I am capable of developing an accent.
This summer, I had not lived as a girl since this summer. There are ends to the rope, a rope that seemed to reach everywhere without meeting its sister head. But now, I can finally feel the burn of the tug.
My love is generosity not only for others but for myself.
I am lying on my bed by the light of the desk with the back door open, listening to M Ward and Crosby Stills and Nash and Songs: Ohia and the cicadas outside. My voice feels deeper; my breaths are longer. I am capable of developing an accent.
This summer, I had not lived as a girl since this summer. There are ends to the rope, a rope that seemed to reach everywhere without meeting its sister head. But now, I can finally feel the burn of the tug.