a woman tried to hand me a pamphlet titled 'the secret to happiness'. I politely declined and kept walking

listening to the scenic designer all evening

I am drowning in all the things I don't know yet

I do know the powerfully successful ways I get noticed

begin to rise above

but here is the tender space

where I have to contend with my fallibility

and the designer was so tender with me, when he so often is not to anyone

my colors are on point, instinctual, noticeably correct

but the application I put on, then wipe off, put on, then wipe off

The color is good, you just have to trust it, he told me.

His aged friend worked with us in the quiet of the theatre

as they rambled and told battle stories

they talked about a color that was missing

agreed

their intimate awareness of the thing-that-was-color

a thread connecting them to something

in the space between and underneath the words they were using

and I realized I had cut that out of my life for some reason

chosen to learn the languages of others

rather than speak in my own, with people who were fluent

getting off at my subway stop, at the edge of tears

I am full of so many feelings

I am amazed I can keep moving one foot in front of the other

choices I've made about the future choking me with their definitiveness

humbleness, day to day admitting where I come up shortness

potentially living constantly in a state of not being good at a new job, different job

fear of picking a direction I won't like the taste of, that I will regret putting in my mouth

anger at friends helping to dig this hole I might never climb out of

the prism I always talk about wanting to be like

this is what it feels like I realize

and maybe I can feel all of these things

knowing the foundation has been laid

and inertia set in 

when 

in a moment of clarity I made a choice about my future

maybe I can feel all of these things 

and still trust my instincts

let one foot fall in front of the other on their own

while I take the time to savor each refraction, emotion

without getting lost

thinking about the designer who we had been so angry at earlier 

for the impracticality, unnecessary grandiosity of the set

hearing them talk reminded me of Tony from the carpenter's union

retired, but kept showing up

not for the money, but because that is what he is shaped like

and I realized this lame little theatre with its blue haired audience

was a twilight stage for them to live in the shadow of what they had once been

because that is what they are shaped like

and all of my frustration shifted into love

a clue.

a thread.

'Our sun is an eight-pointed star,' the magician explained

'Stars don't have points,' the astronomer replied.
'Oh really?' the magician asked,
'Try drawing one.'



My friend issued some homework for me after one of our intense 4+ hour spiraling conversations tracking from superficial ideas down into the depths of where they emanate from - To fill a single spaced typed page answering the question "Who am I?". Halfway through I realized so much of it was the dregs of previous stories that I never stopped telling, things I present as, or want other people to know me for, other disingenuous lenses through which I have been perceiving selfness. I thought about starting over right then and there, then decided that maybe it would be useful to document the starting place of this line of questioning and attempt at defining, the lines that I have tried to circumscribe on something as amorphous as it is resolute - a shape shifter. A Magician. Myself.

*Done in the style of a tarot book my mother used until it fell to pieces - as if you were drawing me like a card from the deck.


Sometimes loud / sometimes will go all day without speaking, unable to summon the energy required or unwilling to break the spell of silence / Freedom Fighter / currently engaged with the prison of my powerful and successful survival mechanisms / Child of Con Artists / Real / Present / Thoughtful / Cautious / Passionate / Vigilante / Forward, especially when being sneaky / Deeply protective of those I deem deserving of my love / Child of the ocean, of myself, of circumstances beyond my control / High standards / Full of weight, gravity / Curious with an earnest contemplative gravitas / Honest, sometimes to my own detriment / Someone who listens in multiple languages and planes at the same time / A Kaleidoscope / A Prism whose light only leaks out through the holes in my patterns of self preservation / Filled with light that often escapes in the form of Laughter / Laugh like my mother, like all of the Bussell women, but especially like her / Hosts delusions of Ego and self importance / Deep belief in my potential destiny to have a healing impact on the world / Drawn to broken things, things wearing their history / Watching for evidence of the past rippling into the now and creating structures that will manifest in the future / Masterful anticipator / Compulsion to heal other's pain and my own through physical contact, often accidentally manifests as or gets confused for sexuality / A scared little girl in a woman's body / Siren / Fool, refusing to fold into society, living on the outskirts so my voice isn't lost, remains differentiated from the chorus / Fearful of committing to something, for how it necessarily removes other potential manifestations / A sculptor of experiences / An Agent, but not a free one / Bound in the spider web of associations, which I play like a harp to get what I need from people / Letting myself be filled with other people's needs so I can be called into action by the room and its constituents, like a holy weapon / Filled with poison, but skilled at modulating its affect on my system / A Scorpion / Endless reserves of patience for those I believe in, respect, love / Strong at my own expense / Clever, truly crafty at hiding my weaknesses / Aware of the spotlight, of how to use its luminescence to get what I need done / Lonely in a quiet, animal, skin-to-skin kind of way / In a constant process of transformation, never quite recognizing myself in the mirror / Often starting processes I've done a hundred times from scratch, like I didn't bother to make a map of the landscape, or notice the pathways I used to get somewhere or do something / Obscure to myself / Protective Steamroller / Reformed Stress Response Addict / Overwhelming fear of helplessness that often leads to paralysis / Vessel for something, not sure what though / Laser / Force / Listening constantly for the intentions of others, unconscious or not / Deeply curious about how things and people work so I can anticipate how to be and respond appropriately / A consummate performer / A highly skilled translator/ An alchemist in training, my life's work is looking for the space where the immaterial becomes material and back again.