what's your anchor?

It was one of those days. The kind I wait 300 days for. The kind I beg and plead the sky for December through June. The day that the sun is so hot I actually sweat. It’s light, it’s big bang of energy, it’s sensual wake-up, it’s gigantic unforgiving shine had finally arrived {in august}.

So we go straight to the lake.

The college girls scatter everywhere with tan, taught backsides I remember having once long ago. Monster sub sandwiches are washed down with Mountain Dew or perhaps thermos' of vodka and lemonade and chip bags are crumbled up next to wet towels. Kids sticky with popsicles shriek with giddiness on inflatable hippos and dogs splash after thrown sticks. The pines can't even filter the light; they bow and give permission to the sun to do it's thing fully.

The girls and I settle on a small little beach, somehow we land a good spot inches from the water. We spread out, pull out watermelon, lemon water, and sunscreen. We kick off our flip-flops. They head in the emerald green lake, immediately dunking their heads and starting a game of Mermaid. I lay back on the tapestry because I cannot get enough of the heat. The heat I love.

After splashing a bit Sula sits next to me. Her wet body against my warm; she cools me as I heat her. We hear music coming behind us. There is a man, in his 60’s, shirtless, his hair and beard white, his eyes glazed over, his swim trunks an electric shade of blue. He feels his way foward with a walking stick. On his shoulder he holds a small boom box playing The Velvet Underground:: Some Kind of Love. He walks until his feet hit the water. He stops, turns around, lays down his stick on the sand and puts his boom box right at the exact space before the water covered the earth. He heads in. He swims out.

“Mama, why did he leave his music here?”

“It’s his anchor. The sound tells him what way to go when he wants to come home, back to land. The sound lets him know he is never far away, he is never lost. He can't see with his eyes."

The entire time I browned my skin and watched the energy bounce off the water, the whole time my heart smiled at my children while they swam under crystal blue skies, I thought about him, his music, his extraordinary hearing, his black space of sight and how this sound was his anchor, what brought him back, what stayed somewhere in his world to remind him of where he came from, where he was going. I received this as a reminder to honor my anchors, the pieces in my life that guide me back when I go and journey out, get lost on accident or on purpose, take blindness as a virtue + vice and head straight In It. My anchors always guide me where to turn, which way leads home, back to my solid ground from the dark waters that I explore.

:::

I am anchored back home when I spend time in the herb garden, remembering the way of my grandmother's, the stories from the earth's pushing out medicine to cultivate or to just sit with and listen.

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the sun on my shoulders, sparking my flame, the fire of my gut always bring me back home.

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the dark of the pines. the cool of the earth. the morning run all alone. it is my compass, my path, my tunnel back.

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the smoke of bliss + spirit:: sage and santo paulo brings me back to earth, in my body, a reminder of i am flesh and alive.

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We got lost and carried away sometimes, we all do. We wander, we seek, we find. He put his fingers on my knees yesterday, "what does that feel like?" he asks. Home. He brings me home.

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In the darkest night of my fears, of all the could-have, should-haves and what-if's I go to them. Curl myself around their bodies and smell their hair. The are more than my anchor, they are my raging salty sea and my safe red cave, they are my burning fire for more and my spring rainstorm to fertilize. They bring me always back to my wild importance and my simple existance. The real big reason I always come Home.

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and rooting down, rising up, and wording out. My writing always anchors me back. Like just now. Doing this. I have found my way.

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{the soundtrack to my moment:: what the man jams to when he ventures out to "sea"}