trust falls
꩜ for when you don't feel the net
That forgotten voice memo that still gives you the right message even through a distance of time and space. Dreams of caterpillars inviting you for tea. Moss. The audacity of stars shining no matter their life expectancy. Smooth jazz that you repeat for the 5th month in a row. That sweater you can’t get rid of because it smells of her. The scent still lingering from a version of you that had no clue, but she was still alright anyhow. Oh, how I want to be her again.
The feeling of a hand-crafted pen that makes writing just a bit more exquisite. The mere thought that you enjoy exquisite things. Crying in showers that leave you red. A peaceful sigh in saying “I don’t know.” The last sip of your tea before re-pouring. Dissappearing into a bookstore for hours on end. Going on airplane mode while flying into uncharted territory of yourself. A card in the mail. The shiver of synchronicity. A good Pinterest board.
The somatic touch of wind chimes in your lobes. The caress of linen that makes you remember gratitude for your mattress topper. A home. A space to call your own, even if you feel direly homeless. I’m homeless. Oscillating between an external abode and running away from my true home, me. A sailboat at 3 in the afternoon. The mid-century piece you don’t need on Facebook marketplace. Your thumbs miraculously holding a mug.
Organs filled with chi. A gardening apron that holds lavender in its minuscule pocket. Free shitty mints at the restaurant. That one password being automatically saved. Women giving birth. Making playlists for museums. Pancakes. Spending your last dime on a matcha. Make it unsweetened and in 8oz because you’re not fucking around right now.
I’ve been certain that there is no net this season.
Funny how certainty is just another word for belief.
Beliefs are only accurate if you give them that duty.
Becoming a commander-in-chief of your life only leads you to giving everyone and everything roles. What role are you playing?
When I zoom out, I see a speck of myself on a planet that is somehow spinning, yet standing so painfully still inside me.
Gaia has no net, but here she is, held by forces that are still magical to me, no matter how much studying has been done around her gravity.
My gravity is feeling depressed.
She has atomic waves of feelings.
I give her time to grieve, and in return, she carries me, even when I don’t believe she is going to come through.
I’m an astronaut projecting convictions onto an inner world that is crumbling.
My own Earth has had enough of me.
I’ve burned her with the idea that she is falling.
No universe to hold her. No trust in her ability to continue swirling.
Isolated without a galaxy.
She rebels against every piece of this.
She knows there is a net, but not if you are damn well fooled that there isn’t.
This spring is my reclaiming of the net.
To tell you the truth, I’m afraid of being caught.
There’s an irrational comfort with having no one or no thing there to carry me.
Feels too familiar.
I am utterly aware (deathly aware) of how I’m materializing this belief so it can confirm as evidence in my intestinal globe.
Digesting it is like forcing myself to take that childhood synthetic cherry medicine that I have no conscious interest in. The resistance is not in the flavor, it’s in myself.
Fine! I create my own reality!
The inner child is proclaiming.
She believes in me.
Do I?
This is a turbulent ride, this: everything is going to work out okay, and I’m breathing thing.
If you hopped on the one-way ticket to trust falling this season, my God, you are not alone. I’m sitting right behind you. Two movies in and 9 more hours on the map to go.
I believe that if we purchased the fare, let alone sat in our seats, we have created some sort of alchmey that will travel with us to that unseen knowing.
What in the soul contract is this about?
May we never know in this earthly body.
The heavens fill me with clouded peace to keep going.
Attempting trust is an act of kindness to your older self.
It’s a relationship.
It’s a garden.
It’s bravery.
May you tend to your lillies, snapdragons, and root vegetables with a badge of trust.
I’m afraid I won’t be able to give it to you personally, but the delight of you giving that to yourself is a farm-to-table experience that could only be eaten through your tastebuds.
Your tastebuds deserve trust.
They deserve the sensation that yes, your soil is always fertile, no matter the bloom or decay.
xoxo
sierra
Don’t be afraid to try new things on Substack. A few weeks ago, I published my first fiction piece here, and now I’m in the midst of making lists as a form of writing.
I’ve been on this platform for almost 3 years now, and it’s given me the permission to write in a way that feels healing, unconventional, and of course, offer me the opportunity to write even when I don’t fully see myself as a writer.
No rigidity exists here. If you would like to infuse more inspiration, liberation, and minerals into your own Substack, I invite you to watch the 2-hour workshop on All About Substack. My dear friend
& I lubricated this space for you.꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜ ꩜
Sierra, the way you see the world enchants me.
I feel this. Every single word.