so many buns in this oven


Someone had mentioned after I was on bedrest for months that I must be very disciplined, given all that had gotten done.  As if I was the one who had done all that good stuff.  Hardly.

I'm grateful that when I'm down, the community rises up.  Not for me, per se, but it's certainly a thing to witness from the bed.  People are amazing.  They're in action.  They take care of each other and add value to each other's worlds.  It's...wowing.  

I guess I just want to say all that first, before I get started with the buns in the oven.  I just really want to point out that when we make our community the "self" worth developing, a lot of shit gets done.  A lot.  It's exponential, it's holistic, it's relevant & related to it's members, it's realized potential.  

That said...

Amulet, our Field Guide, made me cry the other day.  I began reading it, and my heart broke in two.  Two moved, exquisite pieces of me felt two totally different, sublime feelings.  For one, I felt deep, deep, deep pride at my sister*publishers and Legacy alumni.  I released Amulet this past summer, and there's a love letter inside to that community, that I'll post here, soon.  So I received a gift Danielle and Marybeth may never recieve ~ the chance to see it with fresh eyes.  And be Completey.  Blown.  Away.  

The tools in there.  The raw honesty.  The fully-lit, dangerously true magic of woman and her tools in full-on rock-star diversity and quality and...I just can't really say enough, because I'm talking about emotions here.  I held it in my hands and I cried.  Cried happy, delirious, proud tears that have carried me for days.  I think the biggest thing is, this issue, Autumn, is completely an expression of Marybeth and Danielle.  They made choices that I would not have made, and they are the right choices.  The healthier, brighter, edgier choices.  D said that he sees how huge Amulet will be in it's pure form now, and it's such a thing for me to play witness.  

It reminds me of a walk I used to take each day in Marina del Rey (LA).  I'd have spent hours in fast music with fast people in creative whirlwinds of fame and fashion.  And then, there was just the white noise of a thousand boats, gently swaying in no waves.  In the water I'd find my solace, creativity in it's purest form: moon jellies, tiny sharks, fish, the occasional sea lion.  My favorite, seered into my heartskin, was a tiny, perfect, jubilant dancing octopus.  Decidedly feminine, she moved from rock to rock, with no momentum, in the most natural gesture of power and ease.  As she landed on each surface, her tentacles found a distinct home, asking for a distinct movement of curl, adjustment, wave or point.  All eight of them, in assymetrical synchronicity, moving to each stone as if it knew each stone.  Changing color, and skin texture to match the nearby shells, weeds and rusty flotsam.  

It was this way, once, with women's magic.  We hid, with both power and effort, and blended in, best we could.  We still do, but it's now an act of mesmerizing self-expression.  And when, once we've trained our eyes to it, the act is seen...well.  It's truly watching Spirit in action.  


That made me cry.  And then there was the second thing.  It was the stories inside.  The cover girl.  Being a California girl, and coming from a Spanish-influenced culture, I'm more familiar with Dia de los Muertes (Day of the Dead) than many.  But it's never spoken to me visually.  It's been a day of ancestor worship in my mind, and my ancestors feel very close to me, every day.  Diving in to the stories of grief, I'm new to another possibility: it's a day that some of us honor our despair for those lost.  The missing, the gone souls who we didn't descend from, but those whom we were intending to live our lives with.  Those are the ones who we don't carry as close, because we cannot begin to fathom what has come of their physical expressions.  As my friend and son's Waldorf teacher Cindy Toy said the other day,  "People like that don't die!"  Indeed.  

So this issue, it's cover eyes in honest mourning, has brought me home to the season of Fall.  To a deeper connection to the women in my life.  In step with the Abuelas, the grandmothers who live with loss as a constant, making humor, mirth and warm love a consistent neccessity.  To an appreciation for the shedding around me.  As a Fire Snake, I'm constantly shedding, it is my Way.  For my sisters, this is a source of pain and raw truth.  The Fall can be depressing for some, a rich harvest for others.  A chance to store away goodness for the quiet months to come. For me, as individual and as community, it is a season of Birth.

I've so many things to share with you all.  It's coming.  xx, Maya