darkly
shadows selves and other fit checks
sweet and sour samhain a cosmic cauldron a friend with her mask on sugar in the night and salt in the wound the forever funeral, a fuming moon your face pressed up to the veil pushed through a looking glass into the next room a space without time where you are always loving me always leaving me always going too soon hand in hand with my shadow arm in arm with our grief all we have is our memory and (they did warn us) our memory is for keeps
sitting directly across from beltane on the wheel of the year, they complement each other. they thin the veils together. beltane is for the living, and samhain is for the dead.
most of the year, we are encouraged to pack our grief up neatly and look forward, but at samhain we get to revel in it for another minute—go slowly through the pain and pick up every piece, turn it over again. without the sour, the sweet wouldn’t taste.
the poetry tour continues, but I admit I skipped a stop. I was feeling burnt out and honestly a little careless for signing up for a 12+ hour outdoor event, so I set up at my friend’s yard sale for a couple of hours instead of going to tangled string fest. what I really needed that day was to get a little too stoned on my friend’s front porch in the early autumn weather surrounded by loved ones, fresh coffee & jo’s banana bread.
my mom remarried, almost exactly a year after my dad did. I remember it was surprisingly weird seeing him stand up with another woman, though it was touching watching my mom stare into her new husband’s eyes at the altar. but it was easy to be happy for my dad and his new family, while it’s difficult to see my mother embrace hers. a very strange yin and yang.
work is hard, go figure. transitioning into a production role, adjusting to making less money, having less time for my art, having less mental space, not having a set schedule, putting more wear on my body, changing plans, grieving over changed plans, making concessions… I am angry. I’m angry at my ex-employers (all of them). I’m angry at my teachers, all of them. I’m angry about things I thought I had moved on from—
meaning, I guess, that mostly I’m angry at myself. I’m newly ashamed of things I thought I had forgiven myself for. not much is linear.
and I am honestly happy. I’m still easily amused and easy to please. time is an illusion, so I’m still the same girl I was at 22 and at 7 and at 14, too. I’m still stuck in all those rooms, and I’m always on the other side, too.
“every time i step into a forest i am connected to every moment in any forest i’ve ever spent—time is nothing, as in all of these things are happening at once; and time is everything, as in its weight has never pressed so hard on my shoulders.” —from my journal, sometime in september.
johnson city zine fest was like asheville, but better. even more crowded, even more new friends, even more meetcutes and the kind of conversations you only conjure at a zine fest. jacob still had to stay home and take care of lily, but I stayed with my friend, and I didn’t have to be so alone. it’s still hard to admit at my big age that I need people.
ann took me to a hookah bar in jc where they played music I listened to the last time I was probably in a hookah bar, and it felt like a time machine to my twenties. when I got back home, I met up with a friend I haven’t seen in a while but truly grew up with and became myself next to. we got coffee and got caught in a hail storm, had to run inside a restaurant where I used to work. they covered us in bar towels and poured us wine. this liminal flavor of timelessness has really been a theme.
something I was afraid of happening is happening: the posts I write between sabbats are dwindling, meaning I’m only writing when I think I should be. first of all, I tell myself, this is better than not writing at all. anything is better than that. I’m adjusting to a new schedule and trying to give myself grace. I’m still managing to do things I love.
all in all, I am so content. I love my friends, my jacob, my pets, my hobbies. I’m grateful for what I have, and I want more, too. I’m already okay. now comes the long dark, and I’m ready to hunker down in my choices.
the shadow knows
at samhain, we honor the darker side of life and ourselves, all the things we generally shy away from. putting on a costume is a way of connecting with your shadow self. it can also be a protective spell. a mask can be a shield, in so many ways.
over the garden wall party, take two! I am the ever-dreamy albeit suspicious queen of clouds who appears in greg’s dream and convinces him to trade his soul for his brother’s. some say she herself is the beast in disguise. honestly I did it better 2 years ago, but I lost the wig. alas.
jacob, as my true north.
greedy prince harold and the kind-hearted rosella from ‘the fairy’s mistake.’ rosella is rewarded/cursed to spit out precious gems every time she speaks. my aunt used to read it to me when I was little.
just a work outfit, but on halloween. rest in peace, katie of thistle thistle, the artist behind this sterling teapot.
my zine fest outfit. comfy lounge set dressed up with the vintage embroidery skirt from for love & lemons, a vendor badge, and a teacup book on a keychain.
on my altar
acorn squash because it looks like a mini fairy tale pumpkin
mums for mourning
bonne maman pumpkin pie filling
poesy’s ashes
chewie’s paw print
sterling teapot from thistle thistle for the late and great katie
my corsage from my mom’s wedding
a coffee sleeve my friend dylan doodled on
the 1 in 144 super secret le petit prince figurine (nbd) with his cloud on a string
little trick or treating ghost blind box figurine
a collection of creeps zine by haypeep
instant gesha from luminous
a super cozy vulpix card
fishwife x chunks sardine hair clips
rowan coffee box from neuma coffee
bats zine by talia scarpelli
gingerbread house pen holder by sydney jackson
my jc zine fest vendor badge
60 $1 portrait by elizabeth kidder
more altar pics live on instagram, if you’re into that. blessed samhain, little ghosts.
xo, teacup. 🌙💀✨