explanation-erish 1,035_:

i often share words about how i want to be, and what ways i would love to show up. for a long time i have lived through what i would love to do/be if i had my druthers. 

i know this may not always make the clearest sense, but it is a necessary thing for me. i feel like living life through what i can currently do is limiting, and in some odd way dishonest/half-honest. 

i am not interested in what systems in my life have allow me to be/do. 

that feels like voting for winners. bullshit.  

i need to look at what/who i would prefer to be. without those stories of something like hope in my daily life, i feel a lot of heavy water. 

maybe this is why i like to make plans that i know i can not act on. that one likely is not a healthy one to continue. 

Yelping for posterity, they were

to the Über driver that brought myself and a Tinder date to this Air B&B pad: please don't make me talk to you. I have plenty problems, and a lot of friends, and don't need to hear about yours. also, you have a very hairy right arm. shave it. 

student prompt

one of the students in a creative writing class I lead wanted us all to try and write this list. 

"10 tricks for surviving depression". 

***i wrote my list on ways to live with depression***

I. community - make or maintain a few great friends who honestly support you being precisely  who/what\how you need to be.

II. create - find a few meaningful things that scratch your brain, and make it itch often. make time for these things. 

III. truth - be as honest with yourself and others as possible. finding kind ways to share truth can cut some space for ache. 

IV. thank - share appreciation for people you know and don't, giving love and energy where it comes from. 

V. exercise - move your body in ways you deeply enjoy. often. 

VI. write & read - write/journal every day, not only when you feel sadness coming and going. 

seek out literature on anything you want to learn and learn about it. it is sometimes helpful to read other people's stories of sadness. read about other ways to define happiness. 

VII. success - if you find sadness in measures of success that you did not create, recreate them. find a definition that fits your needs/beliefs\strengths/ontology.  

VIII. de-pathologize - ask yourself if depression is a problem. it may be an element of your life that rolls in and out through time. one you can work with, like being hungry. 

IX. sit - stop in a place, with an amount of noise and movement that feels good. reflect on all of the big and little bits, & all of their transitions. learn to be alone, focused and blurred. 

X. ask - know the way of the stinging nettle. tell the world how you can be touched, and how you can not. share the parts of you that friends can be kind to. 

what is a sick day?

if you sit as still as the forest can seem-
feet steeped in head-height ashes-
you get to see magic.
one flower-seeking American Goldfinch-
this precocious friend landed on my beer bottle neck, and hung out for about 18 years-
those were the good years.

on swimming, when I can't move at all

i woke up this morning with a sense that i was walking out into a frigid cold ocean against the tide. that's not quite the feeling. more similar to a rip tide that carries the force of ten waves back out to sea, in reverse. that describes a part of it. 

the larger part also made sense related to water. the feeling when you are too deep, your ear drums begin to quiver, and the weight of the water makes it difficult to take even a slow breath. numb hands and feet. that is most of it today. i don't notice that the aquatic life around me is sending signals with its unusual presence. i find little beyond the growing weight of water pressure. the notion of a thing i am primarily made up of killing me us an intense and amusing one. 

this morning i woke at 5:37am for a Skype call with one of my best friends who currently resides in Paris. we were to discuss the future of a farm i plan to live and work, owned by his aging Italian mother his professor brother, and Johanness himself. i was excited for the call yesterday. this morning i could hardly pull together the smile to keep my friend half convinced i was talking to him. i kept my part of the discussion brief, and asked questions as i could. 

later, at work, i was tasked with a beautiful hike, accompanied by several beautiful young people, and one amazingly supportive and kind friend/coworker. i could not speak. when i swim too deep, human interaction is the hardest action i can imagine. nothing feels worse than thinking through the ways i will fumble, and all long enough to skip the slot where i could speak. it is cheek biting and harshly cuts blood flow somehow. 

i can not check in with folks to know if they want support, or need things from me, because i can not spill out words. not only do they come out in way that i don't understand, and it feels like language will just happen to me, but i feel as though i physically can not open my mouth and make sound release. i feel fortunate that i work with someone who understands something like what i am feeling. i appreciate that recognition in deep and meaningful ways, and hope to return the love when it is asked for or needed.  

on my way home i received a text message saying that my child was fed supper and was reading books, and that i should take my time and enjoy the warm spring evening. every last obligation for the day had been lifted, and i was free to relax and reflect as i like. this was no small task to undertake, and i am choked with generosity. it is a beautiful thing to have the rocks taken out of your pockets, unprovoked. even for a moment. 

thinking this should solve most things, i gave it a few spring-air-smelling breaths. 

nothing. 

still too deep to take a proper breath, and far too much rip tide.

now i lie in bed. awake for a while, i will write in my medicated state to the ones who held me up today. there were several people who saw something i didn't want anyone to see, and they held me in ways they thought i wouldn't notice. some did things they may not have wanted to, but did out of love for a friend. others wanted to be kind, in the ways that they were, and they were. 

i appreciate all of the beautiful people around me more than i can express with letters. these are the friends who do the work of keeping me alive. with their love and energy. 

still this support is not why i love them. it is a part of it, but i love them for many reasons more. i wish i could tell them more about that. i wish i could tell them all of the ways and reasons i love them, in addition to the depth of my appreciation for their support of me on days similar to today. today i can only hope they know. somehow. and i can hope that tomorrow will be different. or some day soon will be.        

q&a for a dear friend's MFA thesis project. (their part is the "q", my part is the "a")

Protected: June 22-28, A Wild and Feral B-Sides Kind of Week

The Mixtape: a Field Guide to (Wilderness) Interrogation & (Feral) Appropriation

(**note: images should be sent to winberrl@onid.oregonstate.edu** / all writing should posted below, anonymously, pseudonymously, or otherwise)

Please submit responses, in writing AND in image (photograph or illustration or other), to the following 14-question vertical interrogation:

1. How is it that you have come to breathe?

reply: 

i breathe via community, and hope i will come to stop the same-

the image in a child's mind of the way a game named "light as a feather stiff as a board" should look-

that is how the life stays in me- 

through the love of people, and their figurative fingers-

some who have no idea how brave they are, or how much they hold up-

for this, meditation can be a thousand thank you letters in my mind 

image: 

the dusty pile of unopened letters, tied with twine, in the sunshine beneath a budding Sycamore. a field alongside the tree fills the air with the rich smell of hungrily poised soil. just out of focused sight, a swing hangs untouched by the young love that once moved it, day-in. now it loves in the wind.    

2. In which ocean has your heart landed and how did it get there?

reply:

my heart/soul/spleen/trigonometry-equation is a thing that begs no explanation or parameter-

the thing, its attempts to explain the nature of the unknowable, and it's shape related to a bread box are unknowable in themselves-

its affliction to knowing a home is a question it begs of me and you both-

this knower has landed where it is through opposition and thoughtful miscalculation-

it has never passed a fucking quiz, and can create beautiful pointillism with bubble sheets- 

image:

a vision more like sound. the sound of wind blowing as hard as wind can, through a chain-link-fence

3. How will you let it be different every time?

reply:

the ache would have it no other way-

it will always be different, so long as i act as a subject of my own understanding, upheld by aforementioned fingers-  

refraining form the object of ideal types and gaze and unnecessary judgement- 

image:

a bible with some of the words cut out to reveal a beautiful piece of literature

4. What does underwater smell like?

reply:

 a mixture of fear and fun-

in the best way that can make sense-

image: 

bubbles. lots of them. followed by the sound they make when they reach the waves. 

5. What value do you place on your sacrum?

reply:

enough that i had to look up sacrum when i read this query- 

i cracked it once-

jumped off a rock that was about two-of-me-tall and landed on a rock that was less than a bread box below the water's surface-

i had to walk with a cane and sit on an ass-pillow for several months-

image:

one warn ass-pillow, spinning wildly around a hardwood cane in the air-

6. What does it mean to be made in the image of god?

reply:

regret, ache, heavy guilt, & confusion. not in that order, & with no temporal significance. 

image:

a beautifully veined elderly hand slips gently off a wine glass and lets the liquid fall deep to soil-

dark stained soil-

every onlooker is gaze-locked on the soiled wine-

no one offers a mop, or to fetch more wine 

7. Where do you go when you cannot move?

reply:

when the chain comes off its gear, the air becomes honey, my skin feels dead, i have to walk through chewed bread-

i go to the shadowed forest-

the smell of things dying and growing, all being warmed or rained clean-

that is the closest to a home my heart has ever allowed-

some people are the forest-

the occasional urban tree-

often the desert works well for these things-

first, it is a smell of good dirt-

image:

i am lying under a stand of Bull Pine that i climbed, covered in pitch, sleeping on a giant black Newfoundland puppy.    

8. What is the sex of your language?

reply:

i am hopeful that there is not one for me- 

this is part of my personal ache-

sex/gender/sex are not things i want to be who i am-

i find the identity versions hurtful-

image: 

two bathroom doors-  

9. What do you remember about tomorrow?

reply:

one of my favorite phrases is  to "remember something new"-

this is an entirely secret one, but i will say it fits well as we learn to love our age-

image:

flannel sheets drying in the wind-

young people wiping flowers across the white cotton face-

creating shapes-  

10. What is the meaning of the color of your eyes?

reply:

there are things about myself i don't know, no one tells me about, and no one judges aloud-

i am troubled to find these things feeling good-

when i smile with my eyes they say certain things that work well with strangers-

that means i like to be as kind as possible with people-

image:

just enough water to keep the office plants alive-

no more than the least necessary-

the plants are as beautiful as the people who water them 

11. What are the consequences?

reply: 

how hard do we push, and with what-

truth might keep consequences coming in the warm window-

if it takes anything other than love and honesty i am not buying a ticket-

if the reflection is one of systems on rational vomit, i am staying in for a bit-

telling myself something i know. something i can tell you.

no matter of curtains will cover what comes back, nor need to do so-  

image:

the wizard of oz. some gentle form of naked

12. Who told you it was ok?

reply:

i did not ask-

image: 

a 97 yea old person with one hand on their stalwart hip, and the other fist shaking air in protest-  

13. Where is your impetus?

reply: 

to be with the earth, animals, other things, in the ways they want to be- 

to never not ask, no matter the cost-

to create until it hurts too much, then create harder-

to give, as much or more than feels good, followed by a forest-

my drive is to never stop learning, form the fingers and all others-    

image:

middle aged tattoo artist-

waking on a long winter morning-

covers pulled back just enough-

staring at their toes-

asking for the first time, "who's idea was it?"-

14. How will you continue?

reply:

with the same strong fingers-

& some new ones of varied sturdiness-

beyond that, i hope i don't know-

knowing, planning, scheduling, are things that give me pains in my body and mind-

i have an agreement with me that i will continue, until something gives out-

the momentum i feel is stronger now, but ultimately my compass-rose is playing darts with a borderless map-

image:

a young child wearing engineer-overalls, lying across chilled train-tracks, shoes rest propped on one side, head rests bent on the other-

the neighbor's gifted globe spins round in one hand-

a faint vibration of wonder in both ears-

day after 34

yesterday was largely spent riding old highways in the George, and latter reading Kafka while Penelope danced in sunshine.
before the sun slipped I put an old stove-top-wok on the sidewalk & lit a hot fir fire inside. after stacking chairs around, a bunch of neighbors came by and drank and smoked together. therein are more than three of my favorite things.