She’s So Good at Jazzing

My favorite season of the year is cackling her way hotly around New York City—birds singing wildly around my terrace… flowers blossoming with the promise of fruit… me delighting in the warmth of the morning sun… and Sanaa, over at Prompt Nights, asking for “summer [poetry that] sets upon [the] earth’s bosom bare”. I’m feeling rather giving, so here is my wee bit (which I’m also linking to Poets United, Poetry Pantry 308):

“She’s So Good at Jazzing”

She glides under the full moon,
spreading herself over dirt and skin.
Her heat is rouge blushing
the chilled cheekbones of the soul.

She’s so good at jazzing
everything she touches—
tickling blooms into fruiting,
arousing the wild kissing
of pelvises and hips.

She is summer
dancing after spring,
never fearing the fall,
baring breasts and kindling,
not caring if winter comes.

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Rouge, by Magic Love Crow“Rouge”, by Magic Love Crow

The Good, the Bad, and the Crohn

Knowing is best. Whoever said that ignorance was bliss must have never spent years of her life waiting for a medical diagnosis. Not knowing fills the gut with anxiety that eats a soul from the inside out. Having answers can hurt, but the alternative promises much worse than pain.

After more than two years trying to make sense of my symptoms, I’ve finally been diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease. To be fair to my doctors, Crohn’s was one of the first prognoses. But since my body didn’t experience some of the symptoms the illness is known for, my doctors couldn’t be sure. For instance, aside from ulcers, stomach cramps, the occasional bleeding, and constant feeling of tiredness, one of the most common symptoms of Crohn’s involves going to the bathroom dozens of times a day. If I watch my diet—and I always do—I’m spared the horror of using enough toilet paper to destroy a small forest. I’ve experienced all the other symptoms, but my doctors (and me, too) always blamed them on the weird bacteria in my belly, on the chronic pain I’ve lived with for years, on eating the wrong thing, and on life’s random suckiness.

Anyhoo, after way too long treating the bacteria, pumping steroids (without getting the cool muscles, which I think is pure crap) and poking and slicing my innards more than is comfortable for anyone, much of the inflammation is gone… But the ulcers, the exhaustion, and a few other things refuse to offer their farewells. So, yes, I’m Crohnic (aren’t made up words just precious?).

Many people I know (and some I haven’t met) would probably be very upset to get a Crohn’s diagnosis. But I couldn’t be happier, my Wicked Luvs. When one goes from possible leprosy to cancer to Crohn’s, one feels an intense need to kiss the gut-eating bastard on the mouth, and tell him, “Come here, you son of a twisted man-whore, and watch me kick your ass!” I mean, we can try saying that to leprosy and cancer, too, but that pair doesn’t seem to care much for threats.

There is no cure for Crohn’s Disease, and treatment of the symptoms is a lifelong process that includes daily ginormous pills, which come accompanied by possible horrid side effects. I’m hoping to get lucky and not be too affected by them. However, since not treating the illness tends to promise anything from a bleeding gut to cancer, I’m willing to withstand a side effect or three.

If my hair falls out, I’ll wear cool hats. And I think I would look fantastic with a henna crown. If my eyes turn yellow, I will tell everybody that I’m a werewolf… If my skin turns yellow, I will say that I’m part Phyllobates terribilis—who doesn’t love golden poison frogs? Some of the possible side effects are not nearly as glamorous, but I’m sure I’ll think of something if they are to visit.

I know that the idea of adding another chronic illness to my collection seems like a huge burden. Some of you might think that I’m mad, that nothing about this can be good. But trust me… there is a lot of good. The biggest good is that I no longer have to wonder why I’m tired all the time.

I always pay attention to my body, so I assumed that my being tired every hour of every day meant that I needed to sleep more… so I slept more… and I was still so damn exhausted… I started mistrusting my body… but no more. Now I can tell my sexy flesh and bones, I know you’re tired. It’s the Crohnic Bastard (yes, I think I’ll call it that), but you got 7-9 hours of sleep. You are fine. So stop asking for more sleep, and let me write… or there will be a reckoning.

My flesh and bones and moi will be quite all right. We didn’t know what to do against untreated holes in our gut, but we know how to bare our teeth in the face of pain. And we really like hats…

…and woody rainbows…
Love Is Love
…and sparkly toes…
Sparkly Summer Toes
I wish to thank those of you who always remind me that I’m not alone. When things look rather grim—and no, I am not talking about looking in the mirror *cough*—few things are as comforting as knowing that we are not paddling alone. Not because we really need someone else in our boat… but because someone is willing to paddle with us, even when we haven’t asked.

My Flesh and Bones Need the Sun’s Warming Bright…

…and the Moon’s cooling Dark, too.

A witchy soul can’t adore dirt and green as much as I do, without also being in total lust with the magic of Sun and Moon. The Moon is my great love—I chant to her when she’s dark and when she reigns full over the night. I respect the Sun, since he feeds the Moon (and everything alive). But let’s face it, Mr. Fix-Your-Eyes-Upon-Me-and-I-Will-Blind-You isn’t very approachable.

Still, today I celebrate the Sun’s might. For although I’m more Me under the coolness of Moon and the soothing of Dark… for balance, my flesh and bones need the warmth of the Sun. The Summer Solstice won’t truly start until this evening, but I began celebrating at sunrise.

I sat on my terrace, sipping orange juice… thinking bright thoughts… waiting for the Sun to kiss the treetops… After Mr. Scorching smiled my way, I grinned back and returned to bed (my body can no longer do the whole staying up since 5am bit). I’ll spend my day cleaning and cleansing my house, dressing my altar in summery colors, and listening to Neil Gaiman’s Stardust.

Once the day is almost done, before the Summer Solstice dances into the Northern Hemisphere, I shall walk out to my terrace to have dinner (something sunny looking, perhaps squash soup and steamed yellow plantain). While I eat, I will share sunlit thoughts with my plants. Then I’ll wait for the Strawberry Moon to rise… and for my Piano Man to get home from work… so that we can celebrate the Sun and the Moon in the most natural and basic of ways… 😉

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For the one who asked me, “What’s your usual Solstice ritual?” I guess… I just live.

Happiest Summer Solstice, my Wicked Luvs!
I wish you a day full of bright… and well balanced dark

Tomato FlowersMy wee terrace garden is also celebrating the blooming brightness of the Sun.