My teacher is the molting spider.
I’m shedding daily. Inspecting the skin for too long sometimes, even trying it on. Some portals are one-way and the best i can do is a big-chopped loc or braid. Somewhere between his 3 year death anniversary and 3 years since his funeral (portal), we cleaned out Dad’s wardrobe. Mom’s bedroom things were relocated to the living room for a paint job and why not make use of the wardrobe in the foyer? I remembered why we avoided it when I accidentally on purpose smelled his shirt, found the softball jerseys he was meant to distribute to his team, saw the supplements we suspected accelerated his heart problems, and beheld the green sweater I got him many Christmases ago. Tears. But there is my old microscope kit among Mom’s things and I wonder if “it’s” still there. Sometime between 8-10yrs old, I was gifted this kit complete with vials, non-toxic chemicals, specimen containers, and more. While absolutely ignoring instructions and making a perfect mess on the carpet, Dad offered me his big-toenail.
“Ew”
“Take it”
“I don’t want that”
“One day I’ll be gone, and you’ll have this, and you’ll be happy to have it” in his Mufasa bit.
I mean, it was the whole nail. Not a clipping but entire toenail and I had seen what it once concealed. It wasn’t the first time Dad lost a nail at work. I’m sure I continued to reject it but he made his case and he was right. Discovering the little plastic box labeled “toenail” transported me. Ben and mom were astonished and we laughed. YES some portals are oneway AND when you are ether there’s no telling how you’ll slip through. We shed, and love is someone holding our toenail like a feather.
What did I leave behind during my acid trip at Honcho ‘24? My first tab ever came from an experimental lab somewhere in Europe and was gifted to me by a fairy in every sense of the word, except I saw them at the ceremonial Honcho gas station and have their number. Their slice of reality affirms again that magic is a state-of-mind. The acid suggested maybe so is constipation. My third attempt to shit was only successful because Ben joined me in the stall to quiet god in the wood grain. The right side of my face was melting and it rained on broken tent zippers and new friends. One wears a kaffiyeh, they’re a death doula who came to Alter earlier that day. Back when I was a facilitator and executing function. Now I was a puddle. I hung my head in the sober space, someone is getting hammock head in the distance. Purple light settles on us like we’ve just been returned to Earth and I think about the years I’ve been holding my breath. Endurance might be about surrendering to what must be done and I don’t get to breakdown like this. Shedding so I can find my web.
This is not my big Honcho post. Perhaps letting it stream through future transmissions is the best way to tell that story, or any story. I got home craving root and crown medicine. Below are the sonic experiences doing it for me (they all made me cry).
