i am going through an African in intensity initiation right now. i’m in my tent, high as gravity when a spiral about not having a roof over my head began to wind. clearly dysregulated, i sought out water for regulation.
as i draw the curtain of my tent, a chrome and white striped spider dances on the earth’s stage—its legs in pirouette-like shapes, aerial silking across the shifting sun rain atmosphere.
my eyes leaky, i smiled real big and thought, “this is what it’s like when the stars are your roof.” i emerge as to not disturb the spider’s silk performance, tiptoeing about to receive a gentle shoulder brush from the orange butterfly in town.
delighted by these interactions, every anxiety and insecurity part of the now eons ago spiral, evaporated. i prance over to the hole we dug for pooping to see about how i’d use the loo. i stretch horizontal across the 30” pit and stumble, unable to stabilize—triangulating my body over what seems to be much more of a task than i had imagined.
naturally, i pull my shorts down and tuck my hips between my legs to squat. a surprise stream of urine fired shots—i am not supposed to pee in the poop hole. as the liquid splays diagonally forward, i notice micro-movements below. my eyes focus, and i see a crimson spotted frog enjoying a golden shower.
the ants (automatic negative thoughts) in my brain go marching alarm emergency until sentience reminds me i am safe and connected—wanted even. it feels good to be wanted. it feels necessary to be close, and so absolutely life-affirming to not be alone.