End-of-the-World Dancing

I bring that end-of-the-world kind of full body dancing to the dance floor.

I don’t remember ever not being that way. 1CC10DA9-E3E0-4ECE-99EB-43495B2F8883.jpeg

Somehow, I convinced my darling mother to rent out a dancehall for my 16th birthday. There was a DJ. Dorky me and my dorky friends were dancing. Not a care in the world — even though a guy I was crushing on was too cool to come. My uncle told me that night that I’m light on my feet.

Dancing feels like second nature to me.

I recall my mom writing in a half-filled out baby book somewhere that I would dance and sing before I could walk and talk.

She also wrote that my first “boyfriend”, in Puerto Rico, when I was somewhere around 14 months old — Juan Pablo — would literally run in circles around me, and I would just throw my head back, and laughter would pour from my tiny mouth.

Dancing.

Singing.

Being completely amused and enamored by boys who run in circles around me.

Ah, how things change…

How things stay the same…

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Exposed

This is me. Exposed. Vulnerable. Beautiful. Precious. Alive.

29 revolutions around the radiant sun. My life. I have come so far, and still, have just begun…

This black and white photo was taken by me, in my studio, before heading to a boudoir shoot the week before last. I have been falling in love with myself and my body for a very long time, and I will be, forever. This is my happily ever after. My life is mine to create. My life is my canvas, and my thoughts, feelings, words, decisions, and deeds are the paint.

I am living now in Austin, Texas. In Hyde Park. One of the most gorgeous neighborhoods in this fine city. It’s been a long and winding road to get here. I count my blessings. Like the petals on a flower, like the minutes in an hour. I revel. In my sanctuary. My palace. My space. My studio. It is me. Everything is here, for me.

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Who am I?

It is past 6am, and I am still awake. I have a candle lit, the ashes of sage in a seashell, and some black tea in the gaiwan beside me. Notebooks sprawled out before me. My soul on paper. My feelings were hideous and torturous and beautiful when I felt them and laid them out with my bleeding pen… and now they amuse me.

I haven’t written much in the past 6 months. I’ve been exploring within and without. Moving. Refining. Reforming. Cleansing. Grounding. Praying. Somewhere around 11pm last night, after getting home from a marvelous modern dance class, I stumbled upon a sparkling bag filled with journals, and slipped haphazardly into another world. It happens every once in a while.

I meet myself again.

I’ve met myself again and again in these pages.

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7 Hours on A Grey Day

“Climate is what we expect, weather is what we get.”
Mark Twain

I have been sick and trying to stay inside today, but I’m having an issue with the stud in my nose. It was a gift from a lovely lady friend in celebration of my most recent birthday.

I call up the tattoo parlor on Red River where I got it pierced a few weeks ago, and they tell me to come down and get it taken care of.

I think it’ll be quite nice to get outside a bit and ride the 7 downtown on this rainy, cloudy day. I hop on, and I have my copy of ‘American Gods’ by Neil Gaiman in my lap; my favorite find amongst a multitude of treasures I discovered at a clothing swap on the east side this past weekend.

I also found a grey animal print sweater and purple suede boots, which I’m wearing. I probably look fancier than I mean to, but I simply like wild prints and the color purple.

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Texas is Sacred

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Spotted at the southwest corner of Riverside and South Congress in Austin yesterday afternoon.

This couldn’t have come at a more perfect time.

I was walking to Dominican Joe when I saw this written on a telephone pole. I was going to get some work done for 3 hours or so before meeting up with a dear new friend for dinner; a friend who has been going through a major shift after a very difficult series of unexpected events; a friend whose current experience is reminiscent of a major shift that started happening around this time last year in my own life.

And it got me thinking about Texas as a sacred space.

This state I never really thought I’d visit, let alone live in.

Texas? As sacred?

Texas… as sacred…

Well, what is sacred? What does it mean to me?

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