Dear Anya, Death Is Real And The Skies Cry For You Too

This Newsletter Pertains to Death and Life, Loss and Love, The Realness and the Heartbreak of What Is Left Behind When Someone Goes

4/16/23. Lost Files From My T*mblr.

Sotce, two people I knew took their lives this week. They lived at my university dorm. One of them I had a big fight with last year, and I used to be in elementary school with the other boy. It has been raining today, I feel like the sky is crying for them. I found one of their Goodreads and will be reading the books he wanted to read for him. Please, how do we deal? Love, Anya

Dear Anya,

Death is real. The sky cries for you too, in your carrying and realizing. This is a rare burden. If you can, let it dissolve into basic space. everything you carry is with you. And for you. There is no love quite like the love of loss. it is a beautiful gift to read his books, Anya.

3/29/23. Lost Files From My T*mblr.

Sotce. Why doesn't he like me? I cried about it this morning.

I don’t know the answer to this so much because I’m not part of your life in that way, but it might be swallowing him. There is nothing wrong with your like but there’s so much of it, it may be too much for a human boy.

2/15/23. Lost Files From My T*mblr.

Sotce, do you think being a girl in love is a type of freedom or shackles?

I was in love once and I was trapped in an orb and the orb was a very wonderful space for play and imagination. At the time I was of the mentality that i liked being in there with him more than I liked being anywhere else. I liked it because it was deep and beautiful like a morning dream and i had never felt so safe and cared for. It was like cloudy tea and watercolors. It was splendid and drowsy. I didn’t dare to dream beyond that space because I knew the sacrifice. and yet the outside persisted, or maybe it was some part of me persisting towards it, or maybe it was fate, I’m not sure the reason really matters, but I became big and hungry in my bubble.

I’ve seen people do things differently in love, and so I wonder how much of my mind to hide inside it came out of convenience. I tend to hide. I wonder how much of it was me wanting to disgrace the world, to turn away from it and forfeit my seat. I knew when I met him that we would build this together, and we built it right, beautiful and holy with a low frequency all around, whale music. I talked to him the other day and he told me he didn’t know where all that time went. I’m not sure I know where it went either.

When you spend all your hours with someone, and I mean all your hours, every shower and sleep, you become the same.

There is a smooth red language that permeates the two of you.

You come to share a single body and it is a beautiful thing, it is something I recommend that everyone try out at least once. Doing it with someone kind and strange is a blessing, it is something I can sit in even now, even apart from him, and feel so grateful for. Just knowing that he exists and that he was there, that he remembers when we were the same.

But it ages you in a certain way, to build something with walls because you just can’t really leave. Even when you convince yourself that you’re going on a trip or you’re going out with lipstick on you’re still in the mind you share, you know what he’s having for dinner, you know what time you run back to him, you know what you can and can’t do while you’re apart. it ages you to see him in his underwear at the computer. It ages you to argue over mundane things, the dish soap and the laundry.

There are many kinds of love to have. there is obsessive yearning love, safe warm love, sex love, dark love, but it is all the same energy sort of, the same electricity powering all your devices. live in it like a dance and pull away when the dance gets tired, find the dance in your art and prayer and do not fear any fight that will lead you home.

2/23/23.

Sotce, how can this hurt be spiritual? Why is it purifying? It's so sad.

Tell me the hurt isn’t beautiful, tell me it isn’t strangely familiar, like an old song you don’t like to remember, because of where you feel it, tell me that feeling doesn’t know you best, tell me it doesn’t show you who you are.

Below are some questions I have received that I have not yet answered, or have answered very shortly and swiftly. There are reasons why I may leave a question unanswered, untouched. Sometimes, a question will pang at my heart too much for clarity to shine in. Sometimes I do not feel qualified. Sometimes I feel confused why the questioner chose me. Sometimes the asker is more telling than asking, and the tell screams for something soft to ground it, like a photo of a dog or a short poem. I’d like to leave some of the responses up to you.

1) Sotce, I have been estranged from my sister for a long time. Recently I’ve had the urge to burn incense next to a beanie baby she gave me for Christmas. I imagine the smoke protecting her and healing her as it floats up into the air. I don't know what this means.

2) Sotce, I was away but now I’m home and I have this unexplainable feeling that I will not be able to change my life. Ever.

3) Sotce, I feel so cold and like stale bread but I want to feel warm and like fresh bread. What can help me feel better? (I did answer this one, I told them to exercise and a make sure they have pristinely clean room. But maybe this person needed more. I’m not always sure).