I Become The Thing That Changes My Life

Baude Cordier - Belle, Bonne, Sage

I’ve written a book and I thought I needed to come here to tell you why you should buy it. All about its process and how it came to be. But that doesn’t feel right — for right now. What feels right, is telling you about what self-publishing this book has given to me. A knowing. A deep knowing. A deep, impactful knowing, that I am the one who changes my life. I get that power, I just have to remember to use it.

I wrote this passage below in the air on my way to New York City.

& you can purchase my new book, It Will Start With A Feeling — here

If you have already purchased, thank you for being a part of the greatest joy in my life.

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I feel my life change in fragments. As if I was the Earth shifting my masses like Pangea. What lies in a familiar song — a code. A departure to a feeling. What you thought you lost but you still have. Things about you that you didn’t need to hold onto to make sure they would persevere. Inside of you they were already turning.

Inside of me I feel a performance growing. The songs beat out of me a new story. Or, perhaps a story that has been waiting. Waiting for me in some way to activate. To meet at its home. Its root. So, that I could take that seed and extend its growth. Send it outside of myself. Becoming something that has grown through me, that now interacts with the world. I grow these stories like plants or like limbs, and make sure we get enough sunlight to account for this growth. I give myself over like a sermon to the changing tides. To the way my body will replace what is dead, but may be not forgotten. What may have another resurgence. See, you can cut the stem but you can’t reach the root. What is meant to grow, will continue to, albeit pauses in its living.

And I think I maybe was a cut stem in my own life. That I took all of me as dead, unknowing, in that there was something still persevering at the root. And that growth, means a multiple amount of things, one of which is stagnancy. The replenishment of a pause. Because it is when I slow all movement and come to a screeching halt that I realize the disconnection from my source in the soil.

I re-activate the juice of my living seeds and puncture, and re-puncture, puncture, and re-puncture, puncture, and re-puncture. I understand that even limbless I am strong. And that it is not what has been cut but what chooses to live underneath. I focus on that ball of meaning and tunnel it outwards, simultaneously inwards, and watch the act happen. The act of living — growing, spurting. I become the thing that changes my life. New limbs and all. But not so sparkling new. Therein lies a knowing, a history. A re-purposing of what is shedding. And what can never be dead.