love: the original movement

Love that pulses—
irresistible, irrepressible—
through poems, drumbeats, sweat, and tears.
Through calm presence and quiet glances.
Through mutual gazes remembered forever.
Through shared laughter,
cackles that crack spells.

These reorder and rebalance.
They move the current.
They shift what’s stuck and stagnant.

A love that commands,
“Tuck me in really, really tight, Daddy.”

A love that surrenders,
“Fine! I’ll be home by midnight!”

A love that asks,
“Can you listen to me vent for twenty minutes?”

A love that remembers,
“You smell and taste just like last time.”

Love, a systemic wash—
rinsing shame, loosening fear,
dissolving distortion in the line.

Love makes room.
Makes space for disillusion.
Completes interruptions.
Opens space for true exchange.
Charges the body electric.

Love, the lighting of a candle.
Love, the letter unsent.
Love, a world beyond empire.
Love, a message whispered to the dead.
Love, dancing in the home-field of what’s emergent.

The love that speaks before language.
The love that arrives as raw instinct
and makes sense of everything.
The love that rethreads the wild.

Oh Love!
restorer of the field.

Love, the original movement, resumed!

Lineage of the Unfelt

“I had to face more about them than they could know about me.”
— James Baldwin, No Name in the Street

Beyond the waterproof center,
in the formless fields,
the unfelt coils beneath.

To the ones who carry what others cannot face.

When you're out from the center,
you can see it.
You hear its cracks.
Feel its irrepressible ache.

Cisgendered —
Honor the trans makers of gender fluidity and freedom.

Whiteness —
Honor culture and realness.

Straightness —
Honor loving in wide and pluriversal ways.

Marriage —
Honor ceremony, blessing, and the many ways life is woven.

Parenthood —
Honor planetary accompaniment and care that buffers and betters.

Employment —
Honor those laboring beyond systemic convention.

Higher education —
Honor uncertified compassion and wisdom.

Capitalism —
Honor ritual and reciprocity.

Citizenship —
Honor stewardship of the directions and land.

Orderly mind and balanced body —
Honor prescient chaos and those who walk nonlinearly.

Housing —
Honor the makers of home in exile.

Language —
Honor those dreaming in non-western tongues.

Wealth —
Honor unseen riches and abundance not counted.

Honor the residents of the margins, emergent.

Honor the weight.
Honor the cost.

Honor the keys without locks.

Honor the forgotten sorrows of the system.

Honor the weep of tears eternal.

love, respect and the fallow

There is a natural flow in relationships—toward and away—just as there is in nature. When that natural movement is interrupted, whether by force, guilt, or interference, it can disrupt a deeper balance that is trying to unfold. Love includes movements of toward and away.

Connection grows from understanding the delicate balance between distance and closeness, silence and conversation, independence and togetherness. Just as nature thrives in cycles, so too do we, in our interactions, our bonds, and our intimacies.

Sometimes, the natural rhythm of a relationship brings us closer to someone, weaving our lives together in ways we never anticipated. At other times, it pulls us apart.

When we honor the space between to receive fully the gift of what’s been, we often return to each other with a deeper understanding. We learn where self meets other in iterations.

We can come to understand that the strength of a relationship is not measured by its intensity in any given moment, but by its capacity to endure over time and space. Like a river that carves its path through the landscape, a relationship that follows its natural course will find its way, through obstacles, shaping both individuals in the process. Or like a field that lies fallow—not because it is useless, but because it needs rest to regain its strength and allow the soil to renew.

Family Constellations shows us that the natural flow of relationships extends beyond the immediate bonds between individuals. It reveals that our connections are shaped by deeper, often unseen forces rooted in our family systems. In every family, there are unspoken patterns, loyalties, exclusions and entanglements that influence the way we relate to one another. These invisible threads can either support the natural flows of life and love or interrupt it.

When we step into our family constellation, we begin to understand that we are part of a much larger web of relationships that stretch across generations. These ancestral patterns can manifest in subtle ways: inherited fears, interrupted movements, or unacknowledged grief that influence the way we navigate the world, including our relationships. We are also part of a larger web of resourcing than we might normally remember and perceive.

Just as nature has its cycles, so too do family systems. There are periods of harmony and times of tension, moments of closeness and moments of distance. The movements of toward and away are part of the larger dance of healing and belonging.

giving up to keep going

I give up

so I can keep going.

Obligated to live

to change

to engage

to regenerate

I surrender -

I’m good at this

I’m not good at that

I give up

So I can keep going.

They’re like this.

I’m like that.

That’s just the way we were

That’s just the way it is

I release them so I can accept me

continually

When I say let go, already

I mean to hold the stillness that is me, essentially

I give up

So I can keep going.

Choice

Fate

Destiny

I make contact

So I can keep going.

Lost it all

I give up

So I can keep going.

It’s all my fault

It’s not my fault

I give up

So I can keep going.

Gave it all up

I give up

So I can keep going.

Something new comes in

And just like that, irresistible

I’m pulled in

Faith

Trust

Dignity

I’m pulled in

I give up

So I can keep going.

Cara Andreina

Right now, they’re holding your funeral in Padova. I’m holding your hand. Mi manchi.

Grazie, Andreina.

When I write your name, I’m immediately grounded. My sit bones deepen. My shoulders go back and my chin goes up. My lip trembles. My eyes well with tears and I’m held in them. I smile. I place my hand on my heart.

When I spoke to you on your last birthday, you were in a lot of pain. Yet you still greeted me with your characteristic effervescence.

You lived over 94 years. You hid under a bridge in Vicenza from American bombers in World War II. You practiced fascist calisthenics as a girl in the piazza.

You were a very independent young woman and insisted that you would never get married. Instead, you were the first of your girlfriends to marry when you met your man from Abruzzo. He died young. I wish that I got to meet him. I met him through your daughters and granddaughters. La nonna.

Thank you for taking me to your cherished Dolomiti with you on Sundays. When your daughter wrote to me, she said:

Ed è andata nelle sue montagne in serenità.

The first thing you asked me is why I described my ideal host as a single older Italian woman. No other ragazza americana had asked for that before. I said that my grandmothers both died before I was born and…you interrupted me with an abbraccio forte.

Then we went for a passeggiata to the supermercato. You taught me how to take the bus. You taught me how to make risotto. You said, “Brava, Mattie!” after I outlined the history of Venice at the dining room table.

We made fresh tagliatelle con pomodoro e piselli. We went to the prosciutto and Prosecco festivals. When we visited the rose garden, I was so proud to help you hold steady on my arm.

You and your family welcomed my aunt, my ragazzo sorrentino and many friends for meals over the years. When my mom came to visit, you two went to the De Chirico exhibit together. You didn’t have a language in common but came back delighted to share that you kept pointing with preference to the same paintings!

You and your family came to the agriturismo that I was working on outside of Bologna to celebrate your 80th birthday. We chuckled about the curmudgeonly owner.

Thank you for always asking about my brother.

I thought I would spend a semester abroad and that would be it. Instead, you ushered in my love affair with Italia and ultimately, a decade-long global lifestyle. You knew where the marvelous and mundane met. You knew how to stay down to earth and rise up all at once.

You used to say, “let’s have a goccio of vino so we sleep well tonight.” Dormi in pace, Andreina.

Con tanto affetto,

Mattie

Che forza. Che tenerezza.

spirit, make me congruent, make me a resource

We want to work with these times in many different ways.

It’s important to know how to feel good, play, appreciate, make love and trip the light fantastic. It’s also important to know how to widen our capacity to be disillusioned and the meet the moment we are living in with a devotional seriousness.

Keith Aaron’s Transformational Coaching - Actually transformational. I’ve worked with him for a year and a half. I thought I had the embodiment piece down. I didn’t really. I’m gratefully deep in that groove now.

Matthew Stillman’s Poetry Course - When I attended the first time, I reconnected to what’s real and alive in me. When I attended my next time, I deepened inner counsel while in the liminal between the urban and rural. In the current one, I’m accessing reinvigorating life force through aspirational devotion to Red. Let the poems get in you, and they just might enchant or reconcile a thing or two for you. I’ve known Matt for 8 years.

Clarinda’s Matriarchial Marketing - Clarinda actually comes from a culture. (American is not a culture.) Actual indigenous wayfinding. I’ve been connected to her for 5 years.

Idola Stellarum’s Talismans - astrology & psychology minus superficial / predatory bullshit equals Magic. Sirius & Venus. #iykyk

Engage with the material of great liberatory writers beyond one-off (often white-washed) trending quotes. James Baldwin’s Nothing Personal essay is a good one.

Reesma Menakem’s book The Quaking of America.

The whole abuse of power / narcissism thing isn’t just an individual pathology. People without a culture, without an attachment to land, tend to attach to imbalanced personality dynamics. People racialized as white are behind. We need embodied reps to build our capacity to confront and be a part of the change. I love the practices in this book. Repetitions to fortify our minds, thicken our skin and soften our hearts. Until we’re dead.

People’s Institute for Survival and Beyond - One of the most potent anti-racist experiences available from a 40 year old organization. Understand structural inequity. Go from stunned to serious.

SURJ Showing Up for Racial Justice - Affinity group for white folks serious about undoing racism. I’ve been connected to them since 2016. Just sign up and show up.

Have you widened your worldview yet to be aware of the racialized imperial structure that we’re steeped in? This grounding will help you quake less, understanding the left and right are closer than they appear.

And of course, singing, dancing, and other art-making.

Oh and Constellations and other consultations for soul-nourishing balance and order repetitions with yours truly.

Amò is neopolitan for love (Part 3/3)

part one

part two

Ciao bella! I remember well when you told me, “You know, I also like being called beautiful.” So I took great pleasure in calling you beautiful regularly. You would dress yourself with great pride and I would look you up and down and say, “Wow, quanto sei bello oggi, Amò!” “Wow, how beautiful you are today, Amò!” You also taught me how to dress as we prepared to “fare la passeggiata sul Corso,” to go for a walk down the main drag, to see and be seen.

Meeting your mother was a very big deal. The word for mama’s boy in Italian is mammone. Mama’s boy doesn’t quite grasp the quality of attachment. The literal translation of mammone is large breast. Your mother called you beautiful a lot.

Your mother was bed-ridden when I met her. I didn’t understand her Neapolitan but I would listen and respond with “lo so.” “I know.” She never got over having to leave her hometown, the next town over. She didn’t understand me either but I would complain too and she would say, “Uffa!” Mirroring my frustration. Upon arriving at her house, I said that we needed to clean the place out. You said, “Good idea.” And I said, “No, I mean right now.” I gained your older brother’s respect from that. He was as serious as you were not. He was a frame artisan. I’m looking at my wall right now with the exquisitely framed sketch of the inside of the Pantheon by an architecture professor from New York.

-

You had a dream to live on Corso Italia, the main drag of Sorrento and so although our relationship was already flailing, we moved there and we had a balcony that overlooked the bay of Naples. And the other balcony, the town of Sorrento. In the course of a year, we’d entertain almost a dozen of my guests from the US. I remember still the look on my brother’s face when you told him that he could, indeed, have the entire pizza, for himself. He relaxed around you like I did. He still uses the Italian canvas bag that you got for him to put his catalogs in.

We started to fight something awful. It was so bad that it was embarrassing to see our neighbors the next day. You’d tell me to ease up and I’d tell you to take your life more seriously. You’d try to read my favorite books in Italian translation. I’d help take care of your bed-ridden mother. You’d go to English language school. I’d show you the world is much bigger than being the King of Sorrento. I’d grow you up, you’d grow me down. I’d enjoy the affection of your many friends, colleagues, older brothers and sisters in law. And you, Tu Vuo' Fa' L'Americano - you’d enjoy capitalist Christmas in the US.

-

When I said how much I loved you, your land and your people, you’d reply with “You’re just an American refugee, you’re going to leave us.” I’d say, “Come back with me, we’ll live in NYC and you can work at Eataly!” But you were never going to leave your home.

I said I got a job up north as if that wouldn’t completely and irrevocably change everything. You couldn’t protest because you knew I felt tearfully suffocated in the isolation of the peninsula. “Why are you crying? It’ll be fine, we’ll visit one another,” I said. And we did. I took you skiing and ice skating for the first time. Southern and Northern Italy are very different - you enjoyed regaling your friends with tales from the North. They called me Polentona, a term southerners adopted to make fun of northerners, mocking their propensity to eat polenta. The term was a response to anti-southern prejudice and epithets.

When we said goodbye on the train platform in Naples, I lost control in my grief, just as I lost control of so many defenses in the field of your love and land.

a mother sits beside her daughter

The forces of a larger magnitude pluck the mother up

And place her right down beside her daughter

Just an inch back

Just enough to place her hand on her youngest’s back

She remembers patting her back

When she was a newborn baby

Over her shoulder

Before she pulled her hair

In the backpack carrier

Asking are you my mother?

Do you even want to be here?

It was hard to bear that her daughter wanted to be near her

Aren’t I making it worse?

Just by existing here?

In her big Need

She couldn’t understand how much she was needed

She understood today, however

Because her body told her

The bottom of her lung cavity

Filled with air

For the first time in 38 years

It was then that her father died

And just like that, went all her resources

She hadn’t realized that she was holding on to him from way down there

She hadn’t had a breathe of fresh air in years

After the lung-chucking grief

and her never-ending tears

complete

all goes from static to conducted,

the flow of life runs through like a current!

in her awe-some surprise

she widens her eyes

moves proudly in place

behind her daughter

Determined to protect her

She had stayed out front

Facing backwards

Hips forward

Shoulders and gaze backwards

She realizes now

It’s facing fully forwards

That provides the most

For everyone’s secure-yet-surely-doomed future

The daughter can now be rightly responsible

With the feeling of this privileged weight

Comes a rush of tears

A babbling brook, embodied

That will never end

But allows a continual cleanse

Right within her

Sourced endlessly from those who came before her

The patting isn’t a “stop those tears!”

It’s a “keep that tap going now, dear!”

“That’s it!

Let it all out now

I’m not going anywhere.”

The grandmothers are in chorus above, back and down

Singing out and clinking glasses, “oh my goodness, finally!”