On my soul, my eyes, on my body. 
So much weight. It feels hard to move. 
Stuck in the muck of life. 
Rooted in the ‘not enough part’. Not enough, so must 
consume and consume and consume,
Too much, too many, too, too, too.

Is it loving to write these words? To indulge these parts.
Or it is feeding the shame? I can’t tell anymore.

Moss in an early winter storm.
Not sure if I want to reach out or in.
Things have changed. In me and out there.
Is there a difference?

Seeing so much beauty in every thing, every one else.
Can I find beauty in myself, my heart?
Can I hold both the grotesque and the exquisite in the same breath?

My instinct is to silence these wailing parts.
Muffle them in food, technology and sleep.
And perhaps…
I might soothe them just by witnessing their existence.
Holding the sweet tension of numbness and aliveness.
Bearing witness to the complexity that is my self, my
experience and my beautiful human heart.

My Heart is a Voyager

My heart is a voyager
Feeling the unknown like a tide
Feeling the pulse and pull

She sails the high seas
Through ups and downs
Calm and storm
She calls them waves and rides them as they appear

My dear heart
She moves toward the dark
The depth
The beasts

At the same time she moves closer to the light
Stars and splashes

There is no distinction
No direction
And yet…she knows where she is.

Words and picture by Christy Lochary

Here I am again

Here I am again.

Do I give myself up for other? Do I stay with myself, my experience? I want to want me. I can feel it in my core. Solid and warm. Right there. When I stop and breathe, there she is. Tiny and wild, naked with mud on her belly and feathers in her hair. She jumps from branch to branch, knowing which will hold her weight. She jumps and rests, and feels and talks to the animals. She’s not afraid to look you in the eyes and scream and cry and laugh.

I want her.