Halifax Fall 2018 – Home Life

Leonard Cornelius Rose Akhilandeswari

Leonard, or Leo as we call him is the sweet little fuck that was literally dreamt into our home. Found in a storm, starved and small he was found by Emma after she had a dream about him. Both of us had been thinking about and imagining getting a cat. He is a toilet trained holy terror that shows us love and teaches us patience. 

It’s been interesting to see how we both raise him. Emma is kind and sweet, always worried about him. I am more passive, trusting more in his feline energy to guide him with the curiosity he needs. This often means he digs up my plants and poops in them, but it also has given us many occasions for laughter and learning about practicalities of living like communicating when he’s been fed, talking about training processes, splitting bills. He has been a part of my life and development in more ways than just kitty litter. He makes me conscious of conversations, of how I leave my spaces, of who I am and want to be when I get angry. 

Everyday Staples & Spirituality

We are witches in this house, which is a strange thing to say but also comfortable. We believe in energy, in natural remedies, in the power of all things – the power of our own beliefs. 

These past 3 months have been a spiritual cleansing. The staples of my day to day life have changed drastically – things that I used to use for pleasure or ritual or as a “special” thing have now made their way into my day to day life or evolved. We light candles all over the house almost every day. I carry crystals in my pockets and have them at various points all over the house. There is always some kind of tincture, tea, or brew being made with intention and love and the labour that goes into listening to oneself and finding where support is needed. I bought 50 moustaches on amazon because I enjoy wearing them; I think it is funny, I think it is handsome, it makes me feel like Edgar Allan Foe and I love how much I love them. 

I take salt baths. I diffuse essential oils. I water my plants. I make real food. I also eat lots of ice cream. I do my laundry regularly and burn incense every day. I wake up at 5:30AM so I have time to meditate. I sleep in until 10:30AM and don’t have coffee until 1PM on other days. 

Small, Manageable Disasters

This is my surrendering to myself.  This is where I wrote my second book manuscript, where I am learning more deeply to read tarot because I am learning to trust my intuition. Where I am forging new connections with myself and my relationships and my intentions in the world. This is where I walked away from my means to an end – kindly. This is where I met my next beginning. This is where I am asking myself questions. This is where I still colour coordinate my underwear drawer because I like to, not because I will have a panic attack if I don’t. 

I have lived in extremes for so long. Of pure efficiency, like a machine. Of the deep lethargy and apathy of the depressed. I now am feeling human. I am now feeling myself sink into the wonderment of my own messes and finding the physical curation of my life to be a beautiful replica of my emotional life. My spiritual life. My creative life. 

My angsty teenage tumblr was called eunoiaoffo.tumblr.com – eunoia means beautiful thinking. It was a place to put the things that inspired my thoughts, my feelings, that represented the world I saw and wanted to see and lived in. It was the beginning of how I wanted to frame my life and how I wanted to live in my life. I wanted to be a person who had beautiful thoughts – not just in poetry, but about life. A point of view. 

I feel like that was a subtle magic I forgot I was manifesting. Here I am now at 23 with a beautiful home, with my needs covered, with ideas and the ability to produce them. With room to explore and grow. Without the crushing tone of thoughts. Here I am with the work I’ve done and the ability to appreciate it in the present. 

Not What You See In The Mirror

She thinks about strangers and the way they make her feel poetry without words, falling in love until her eyes fall away sometimes up to 100 times a day. Feeling as easily as sun comes through a window; warm and stuffy, blocking out the cold and the breeze. She’s a little more lost with a map, a little less tough with a frown. No rose petals falling from hips nor wisdom from mouths, no gold from hair nor feathers from fingertips. She is just the kind to tell you with such conviction that her dreams are truths that you start to believe in the religion of her mind. Don’t be fooled, salt water eyes will drown you not refresh you. She has a storm inside too strong to be seen on the horizon, no calm before because no-one ever taught her to be silent. Cursing life in the same tune she sings it, falling in love with strangers with gardens that need rain in their eyes.

Having a Hole In Your Being

Sometimes it’s more that you’re missing the part of yourself that was taken when they left, rather than the thief themselves. You jump every time your phone buzzes hoping it’s a message from that piece reassuring you it is safe now in hands more gentle than the ones that took it from you, that it is being put to good use. That although there was no instruction manual, it found it’s place quite nicely nuzzled in another chest. And that it misses you, but somehow feels it is better off. You look at the patchwork that is yourself and all of who you are that is bit’s of other people while trying to remember if that was ever a part of you that you had a right to let be taken away – that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Taken? Or was it ever even yours to own? You are emptier now, a little lighter. A little heavier in the parts around this now gaping hole. But hopefully the next lesson will fit nicely in that cave. Hopefully it is something the skin of your soul won’t reject.