shuffling towards understanding, with apologies and gratitude to Joan Didion and Phoebe Bridgers
in the ongoing devotion to unfolding the truth of my heart, turning around is a practice of forgiveness as much as a practice of figuring out why I didn't (and couldn't) know better then
I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind’s door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends.
—Joan Didion, Slouching Towards Bethlehem—
During the final weeks of semester break, I’ve spent time with friends and beloveds, eating sushi, gathering for Winter Solstice, celebrating the publication of Jacaranda Journal’s 13.1 Breaching Boundaries, seeing the movie Obsession, learning what Yo-Chi is, hiking/walking around Mount Coot-tha and Enoggera Reservoir, sweating my way through a yoga class under a full moon, and watching replays of the World Cup.
But I’ve also spent time with myself. I’ve taken ferries and walked kilometers in the rain to art shows and ritual performances. I picked up new-to-me books at Bookfest and finally got my butter dipped vanilla ice cream cone at Harajuku Gyoza.
I noticed rainbow after rainbow. I scrolled for hours with my cats beside me. I cleaned my apartment, then had to clean it again. I made food. I went to bed early. I got up early. I wrote things. I wrote down lists of ideas for books and short stories.
Even with all that, I meant to ‘do more’ during this break. My brain still wants more from me. But instead of trying to leap ahead, I’ve slowed and caught up with myself.
And she’s pretty lovely.
Lately, my wired headphones have carried Phoebe Bridgers’ “Lost Boys” on repeat as I’ve made my way to a bus stop or ferry station. The weather has been just as moody, moving from warm bright sun to cold almost-rain in minutes.
This song echoes Joan’s wisdom—how we can’t escape from who we have been.
In a twin bed
Where all will be forgiven in an instant
Hands in each other's hair
We are born again
So who cares where we're going?
In the morning, you are not there
The song is layered with ideas of loss and disconnection. When I hear the words of not growing up, I hear a plea for accepting the child as much as the adult who still carries their fears, their wounds.
But we likely won’t wake up with the people we’ve been or known, even as our dreams recover their faces and stories. My dreams have brought ex-lovers back into my bed lately. People from decades ago return to sit beside me, as though no time has passed or no terrible things have happened yet.
There is a greater softness in these half-asleep moments. I know I will wake up and they will not be there. So I hold myself a little more carefully. And my hands can carry forgiveness when I am not trying to learn a lesson.
When I am not trying to lay my unknowing to rest, I too can be born again.
I might even make amends.
in love and magick — Irisanya
Self Devotion ‘Challenge’ Update
In last week’s essay, I committed to 31 days of self devotion practices, in devotion to myself and also to Aphrodite. Starting July 1, here’s what that looked like for the first 7 days. I wrote in more detail on my Instagram account, which shares with my Facebook author page, and I also made content for TikTok.
Water
Deliberate Rest
Intentional Boredom
Silence
Altar
Awareness of Beauty
Read an Aphrodite hymn/poetry
The list continues in that first post, so you can follow along, and I’ll post the next 7 ideas on my social media accounts for you to see, share, and use.
Already, I feel myself having an easier time hearing myself and connecting to myself. While I haven’t felt like I’ve wandered away, I also know it’s always a good time to come back to myself. My strong people pleasing is helpful, but when it’s out of alignment, it’s a recipe for resentment and exhaustion.
I hope you find this helpful!
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This resonates. I've lately been becoming acquainted again with my past self/selves, learning both to forgive them and to understand that I'm still all those people. Must be something in the air.