Shutdown

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It doesn’t take much these days

Oh were we back in the olden times

Where choices and new adventures

Brought excitement

Giddiness

Joy

Where choices and new adventures

Didn’t just collapse her

Today, she stands at the refrigerator

Yearning for a way out

But choosing

The Same

.

Its an over and over again thing

The thing that keeps her safe

Safe

But

Nearly

Dead

Ironic, that

What once was crafted for safety

Now imprisons her

High above, crumbling

Standing at the edge, frozen

Standing at the refrigerator, frozen

Standing in the face of

His pulsing and

Unexplainably overwhelming

Energy, frozen

Standing before the page of purposeful, frozen

Standing before the questions, frozen

Standing before the gaping maw

The Invitation of her life,

Her one precious life, frozen

Again

She chooses the same

Where less always makes it better

Just to thaw a little

Does she

Really

Have

Control?

.

He asks her

Unconscious, profession

What’s wrong with you

And she replies

Everything

But Nothing to be put into words

For your system to compute

And come to tidy conclusions

That exist manually, chemical

.

Everything is wrong

Despite emergency lacking

And what she needs is support

To find the voice within the terror

Within the Shutdown

Digging way deep

And perhaps far back

Cradled

Beyond what meds can do

.

To finally find Her

And where she’s been

Frozen

For so long

The collapse of mind

The mush of executive function

The wordless, stammering

The blankness, the blankness

Everything is wrong

But Nothing to be put into words

But Nothing that fits into old paradigms

But Nothing to be medicated

Frozen

Again

.

A Shutdown

Its the only clue, left without crumbs

How then

Will She

Ever

Be found?

Spring

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Why commit, she asks

Again?

Why push through obstacle

Beating sun, erratic rain, whipping wind

Beady-eyed Invaders and

The threat of those who may

Cut me down

Hacking through essential limb

All that time it took to grow!

Again

Why commit?

To opening tender, hidden center

Unfurling, reaching, receiving

Again

Why invite

Pollinators

Who dance with temporary passion

In heated summer mirage

Why

Commit

Again?

To this extraordinary

Alchemy

This focus of all lifeforce

Risen, pushed forth, creation

Expressed…Exhausted?

Over and over and over

This cycle

Why commit?

To emerge from safety of root and bud

Knowing

Again

It will grow cold

And this form

Will die

Dissolving back into Void

So far away from Sun’s garden

Hanging

Knowing

Again

It will

All

Return

To

Zero

Why commit?

To this great and effortful creation

Again

This great reaching out

Into material physicality

Again

Does the Springtime ask?

Again?

Does the bud

Remember

The

Zero?

Luminations

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Actually, She’s always full

Only choosing to lift Her skirt

To show us the meaning of Time

Laughing

.

Bathing under ever-present

Full and glory glow

Run rampant with climax

She knows, She knows

.

She knows our hands

Need tempering

Our wild mind wolf soul

Needs titration

The lucky

The lucky

The lucky

Can follow

.

Actually

Her ever-present fullness

Unseen

She knows

She knows

When Void will deepen us

When the knife will push us on

When the contrast

Of sparkling nightime oceans

Will give us strength

And awe

To continue

As our tears, begging

Dissolve into sand

.

Light and Dark

She’s all of this

Always

.

What we see is another

And Her magic

Her rhythms

Her wise coy reveal

Always, actually

She’s full

.

And with Her magic

We learn

How to Be

With the fullness

And the emptiness

Of the everything

And the nothing

And the in between

And the question echoes we hide,

The terrifying disappearances

Floating, thrashing

Desperate for core

She knows

She shows

This

That we truly are

Always

A Sense of Comfort, Pt. 2

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The warmth of sun

Graces

Sneaking leftover pastries of wealthy

Chocolate milky coffee silkness across tongue

Glass latte mug, smooth on palm

Bubbly effervescence ale

Clamoring dishes, hearty laughter

His hand on mine

His eyes on mine

His breath on neck

Darkness around me

Leathers and blacks and chains

Deep bass pulsing

Electric vibrations squealing

Bodies smashed and circling

Collective roaring, thousands

Viking hair brushing skin, ancestral

Dancing body, drunken

His kiss, in haze

Papers, goals, shuffling in fingers

The sound of pen scribbling

Kitten fur velvet on cheek

Fabrics variety, costuming skin

Sliding on identities

Rough taffeta, smooth polyester, heavy

Vinyl

Eyeliner tip on lid, transforming

Wine, astringency puckering and calming undefinable terrors

Neon shadows furry desert dances

Fishnet leg over lap

Sunrise rooftop afterglow

Tiny gelatin circumferences, azure and cream

Resting in shamed and methodical palm

Odorous vapors rising in dry heat of trail

California sage, Manzanita holding

Bright blue contrasting desert dust

These eye portals

Eggy brunches and green tea

Cool shade air under pine forest canopy

A place of purpose, embracing

Until there was none

.

Ancient drumbeat earskin

Elders voices tendrils re-minding

Diagnosis aura crumbling

Terror, excitement mingling

Sweaty bodies lodges, chanting

Kachina dreams

Re-membering

Re-membering

Re-membering

Food Memories Hits The Shelves!

Pardon me for interrupting this regularly scheduled program, but I’ve to announce…Food Memories is in a real live bookstore! This is The Kingfisher Bookstore in Coupeville, WA where the virtual has become reality:

Meg and Brad Olson, owners. Neil Gaiman on shelf :}}
Photos from Carolyn Tamler article in Whidbey Local:https://www.whidbeylocal.com/article/view/2615///the-kingfisher-bookstore-in-downtown-coupeville-has-doubled-its-size-providing-an-even-greater-selection-and-space-for-events

This is so exciting. Said bookstore has arranged a book signing for me to enact my author identity with others…and I love a good role-play :}. I’m also honestly nervous to becoming more visible as the author behind this book…but I’m giving it the good ol’ heave ho. The soul creation that is this memoir deserves it from me.

I am also incredibly grateful for this unexpected opportunity and look forward to meeting the Coupeville community that is welcoming me. You can read more about The Kingfisher Bookstore here: https://www.whidbeylocal.com/article/view/2615///the-kingfisher-bookstore-in-downtown-coupeville-has-doubled-its-size-providing-an-even-greater-selection-and-space-for-events to find out about the deliciousness they’re brewing up (Coupeville = filming location for Practical Magic).

So stay tuned folks, I’ll be headed to Coupeville/Whidbey Island to accomplish this task next week and may have more of the adventure to share!

If you’re not familiar with the book I’m mentioning, here’s additional information:

From the back cover:

“In this deeply moving and honest memoir, successive food memories take us on a journey through the author’s struggles, joys and ultimate awakening to her relationship with food and body. In her narrative, Reagan forms a provocative question: ‘What if the symptoms of an eating disorder and of depression can ultimately be something sacred? Not something to fight against but instead one to learn from and work with as a teacher?’

If you have struggled with food and body and found yourself wondering if there is something more to the wrestling; if you have been in recovery and found yourself caught in reoccurring symptoms you know have deeper meaning, these words may meet you. They may also challenge you. Recall, and perhaps re-write, your own story of food and body issues in ways you never imagined as you read along. Come, step into Reagan’s journey…and understand your own.”

Reader Feedback:

“In this heartfelt and creatively arranged memoir, Reagan takes the reader inside her life-long relationship with an eating disorder. Her journey gradually unfolds, refolds, unfolds, and refolds through poetry, reflection, and powerfully rendered memories of eating. More than a recovery story, Food Memories is a thoughtful exploration of how to care for ourselves in the midst of pain and loneliness, and welcome our “dis-ease” as a soulful path of transformation. Honest, brave, and illuminating.” ~T.H.

“The tales and the writing in “Food Memories” are not only joyful, at times sorrowful and intriguing to absorb, the experiences shared here about first-hand experiences with the nuances around food and eating and the struggles as well as the triumphs are artfully rendered and reflected upon. This book helped me connect with deeper layers of my own challenges with food and I heartily recommend it to others who want to find deeper perspective on eating, food and ways to work with these in fresh ways.” ~C.C.

“A disciplined and visceral memoir covers the authors journey with anorexia from childhood through her ongoing struggle to understand the messages of her body. These vignettes offer insights into the state of mind and trauma psychology of eating disorders, but go beyond the usual obsession with body image and societal messages of thinness. Her story becomes a rite of passage and a search for initiation. The journey to wellness as the author grows compassion for herself in turn made me feel cared for and offered numerous insights into the complexity of growing up female. Her desire to help others in the same predicament and how she learned to get help for herself speaks volumes about how little we really support or understand women. A brave and courageous act of self invention as well as a compelling piece of writing beautifully written and artfully put together with intermittent third person summations and poetry.” ~B.T.

“This book really opened my eyes about the complexity of eating disorders. Detailed, sensual descriptions of food experiences tell the story of a truly human love-hate relationship with food and family. The brave vulnerability demonstrated by this author is healing in itself. It includes some lovely poetry, mystical experiences, ugly and beautiful interactions with others, all strung together by miracles generated by forgiveness.” K.M.

“My friend recommended this book to me as I have numerous friends that are struggling with eating disorders or have family members struggling. I really like how this book chronicles the author’s experiences over time and it gives great insight into how some people enter into this situation. I felt like I was on this journey with the author and I could empathize with many of her issues and situations. It is written almost like a poem going in and out of memories and I found it very powerful. I recommend this book.” ~P.

***

Food Memories is available through all major online booksellers. If you’d like to support a small bookstore through your purchase you can go here:

https://www.ebookwoman.com/book/9781689839075

or search for Food Memories by Reagan Lakins on any major book selling website.

Thank you :}

A Sense of Comfort, Part One

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Soft mound melting roof of mouth

Vanilla cream trickling throat

Chilled silver resting lip

Beastmaster and misty swaying pines

Electric green moss carpet beneath hand

Arranging mushrooms, leaves for tiny folk

Croaking of gulls at seashore

Lighthouse moans in fog

Fingers squishing anemone

Coffeemate crumbles dissolve across tongue

Kitty fur, purring

Closed bedroom doors, horror pages turning

Crisped edges salty potatoes

Glistening crackles lemon chicken pan

Forest nooks and fortresses, wild onion and sorrel crunching

Warm sun bakery window scone

Early morning farmer’s market bustle, auntie’s basket heavy

Echoing awe gregorian chant episcopal stained glass sunbeams

A quiet night, safety

Schoolwork structure, pencil scribbling

Strumming cardboard guitars, mommy’s black knee high boots

Vampire bites from neighbors

Mommy, sleeping, working

Mommy not screaming

Mommy not grieving

Mommy not drinking

Mommy not self-destructing

Weight watchers rules, measuring cups

Empty stomachs

Substitute psychiatric mothers

Concerns in eye

His kiss

The auric field of wolf protector

Gooey pancakes, assigned and accompanied

He who fights for me

His arms holding in sweaty roiling pit

Mildewy stone wood cabin shower

Marie Callender flaky pot pie crust, juicy chunks gravy

Walking, forever

Disappearing

Admittance

Being forced to eat

White, bleached linens

White, bleached linens

White, bleached linens

Being sick enough

Low blood pressure readings, dizzy

Cafeteria coffee smells

Treatment team “not ready” declarations

Ensure, ice cubes bobbing, slowly straw slurping

Watered down amazingness hitting tongue

After crossing fasting abyss

Someone to take care of me

Someone to protect me

From Her

Feeling not alone with it

After so many years a parent-child

Hope

Veggie burger patty melted cheese

Cafeteria privileges, grown up coffee drinking

Crazy talks with other crazy birds

Twisted tribe

Worry in whitecoat eyes

Another admittance

Safety

For awhile

Not having to fight Her

For awhile

Hope

That this time’s the last

The War Within

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Free me

From the old, outdated

Despotic government

Within my own tissues

The linear

Rule and fear based

Trajectory decision

Making factories

Housed within

.

Free me

From this continual War

From the fear

That I will have nothing

.

Nothing

Beyond worrying about food

If I eat enough to not be starving

Beyond the plotting, planning

.

Free me from the fear

Of feeling too full

Of old, archaic terrors

I’ve no real understanding of

Nor skill of navigating through

Alone

.

Free me from feeling unattended

Lost

Abandoned

With this struggle

Unmet and misunderstood

.

Free me from eating less

In fear of all of this terrifying mystery

Arising

In fear of whatever this is

That keeps me in this hidden

Non-emergency

Yet ever-whittling

Cycle

Of depending on measuring spoons

And calories

And minutes

To hold me

To hold it

At bay

.

Free me

From whatever it is

That keeps me focused on this

And distracted

From the fullness

Of what I could be living

Of what I really desire

Of the sheer and overwhelming

Vision manifested

.

FREEDOM

Would look like

Truly feeling my body tell me its hungers

Truly knowing what would feed it

Truly giving myself that

Truly knowing when it is enough

Truly feeling the result of a met desire

Satiation

My

Little

Girl

Fed

.

Her

Beyond the calories

And meal plans

And minutes

And cups

And measuring spoons

And fear of fullness

And orchestrating my whole entire fucking existence

Around this constant

Fear

Of fullness

Around this constant

Fear

Of…

Freedom?

.

Some days

When I haven’t just collapsed into numbness

Of just accepting that this

Is

all

there

is

I pray so hard

So goddamned hard

The spit chokes me

I pray so goddamned hard

For something to support me

In this unimaginable transformation

One it seems I have tried

Every position of attempt

And arrived at

Nothing

.

Covered in this slimy residue

Of grievings

I wail

FREEDOM

I want it so bad

To hear this desire

Spontaneous

To know how to feed it

To feel myself feeding it

To feel myself feeling full of it

To feel myself enjoying that fullness

This

FREEDOM

Is it possible

Is it possible

Is it possible

To feel something

Beyond this?

.

I’m praying

Again

I’m wailing

Again

I’m risking

Your complete and utter

Lack of response

Again

I’m crying out

Anyway

To

You

~Originally written as “Her Hunger” for Liberty. Breath, Death, Soul. A Literary Collection by The Sisters of The Holy Pen, ed. Pamela Eakins (2020). Shared with respect to all of the intense and horrendous things others are experiencing in their outer worlds…but also inside their inner, and perhaps holographic, ones too.

Holding hope for the planet and the Soul of our species.

Healing

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Past the superficial engines

I went deeper

Into the central rooms of myself

There

I found ancient ritual

Thick tapestry lining walls

Humming, haze

Of handrolled sticks alight

And a baby in my arms

.

Nervous, unsure how to support

The young flesh absorbed into mine

As usual, skilled in simultaneous flight

Without memory

Of the secrets of their chantings

I wonder just what happened in that core

And what the digested matter

Is growing in me now

.

The crows in the distance

The snow beneath feet

Now I’m running

But

Old prisons abandoned

Now I’m rising

Requiring reality

A sippable sensuality

Beyond the programming’s pleasure

.

There I find her

Grown and reaching

She’s waving media

And dark vibrations

And asking for my guidance

.

Do I have the tools to raise her?

Nervous, unsure how to support

I take her hand

And we begin to walk

Absorbing

Into the question

Together

Ribbons

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I watched it

Rise

Spiraling through

Sensuous curvature

Shadows

Steam

I watched it

Rise

Skin slick and yearning

Fire slithering

Helixing against core

Lips parting

Spark visible

Undulating gyration

Shadows…..

…………………………..Steam

Thaumogenesis

Reverbating

Tears

Violent

Ripping from center

Wept

I saw it rise

This fire

Sluiced in rapture

Silk red tendrils

Loosely embracing

A dancing

Terrible

Hunger

Yearning

Lips parted

I saw it rise

This fire

And grief

From

Beauteous core

Pixilated

A mere projection

Ripping out these hidden desires

Aching wetness

And red ribbons

Ribbons

Ribbons

Ribbons