7:30 AM, 7.14.2018.

My little brothers wedding day.

I’m due to the admirals suite in 30 minutes.

For hair + make-up w/ the bride + her bridesmaids.

Speed says ::

Got. To. Get. There.

Today is all about my brother + his wife.

So you bet I get to that suite on time.

Here, I am.

On time, but off.

Does my simulated smile fool you?

It seems to.

Won’t someone see through me?

Please see through to my exhaustion.

I’m dead. Tired.

Of sacrificing my tempo.

For yours.

I want to slow down.

{*we* want to slow down – generations of us martyrs}

But can’t.

Not now.  It’s time for cosmetics.

The make-up artist tells me I’m beautiful.

Whose beautiful?

Surely not me, I’m not here.

Sadness swells on top of the fatigue + face primer.

Surfacing this reality :: I’ve never felt beautiful.

And perhaps won’t until I surrender,

to my

p  a  c  e.  

Maybe than I will see my vibration, reflected.

4:30 PMish.

Mere minutes til the ceremony.

I have no spare adrenaline.

To fuel anymore simulated smiles.

I’m just a body.

Standing lifeless aside an alter.

Fantasizing about lying down.

And collapse I did.

Between ceremony + reception.

In those hours where I disappeared from the wedding party, my subconscious recoded its sacrificial story.

My sacral story.

That I must make love for you.

‘Must’ mitigates choice + leaks my life force.

It’s several days later + I’m still recoding.

You too? I can feel this as joint.

We’re redefining our sacral story together.

So together lets intend to ::

  • commit to our tempo
  • see our beauty, reflected
  • make love for ourselves

That’s why we’re in gravity.

To mark the end of generational martyrdom.

To conclude :: you, first.

We got this my sensitive collective.

On three.

One. 2. 3. Full Moon Eclipse {Manifest ^That}.

Xx, Kate

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