Apres Storm, drawing
Apres Storm, drawing



A month later

I am still hurting, ravaged and raw from all my edgelines all my scars all my boundaries down to the blood vessels under my skin being torn, sanded and eroded down to oblivion, down to invisible, as if I weren't even here.

Jenna and I try to make sense of our boundaries now being violated to the point of unacceptability. We're feeling our way through the experience of being violated by the tornado, opening our hearts and home to a fellow victim, giving ourselves permission, time and space to heal, and then reaching the point of needing our space back, needing our lives and sense of "selfness" back.

What is it with having all this guy energy around since the tornado? Are they helping the energy, or the structure within which, around through and over and under the energy flew and now flows?

The first person to make contact after the tornado was Barry Petri (who is probably the most significant guy in my life right now). He called from 1,000 miles away about 5 minutes after the tornado hit. We decided that we were deeply, psychically connected. A kind of cellular contact without the technology. He knew my life force had been disrupted and had to check in with me.

Deep Scene, monoprint
Deep Scene, monoprint

I called Jenna's dad immersed in gratitude that we had survived intact due to his excellent job on restoring the house years ago. And to let him know we were okay before the news hit the fan.

My younger brother called next. The news had hit, he had heard and was concerned.

Our neighbor's 25 year old son knocked and checked in. We came outside with him in the rain to check out our house. The winds had lifted the porch roof and shifted it to the left about 6 inches. The 3 columns were tilted onto their corners. The house looked pitifully wracked and wrenched.

The other older neighbor on the other side had been hit pretty hard, house blown apart, the owner's brother, who was the only one home, was in shock. The front porch was gone and the front window had disappeared. He tried to get under the bed, but the force of the winds tried to suck him out the window. My other neighbor and I both helped him the best we could.

Then my special manly friend called and came by. He and his friend and daughter checked over the house pretty thoroughly to make sure it was okay to stay in it the night. They checked out the neighborhood too. He hugged on us a lot. And left us with a big flashlight, as our power was out.

Wail, drawing
Wail, drawing

Interesting to note that even the houses that had been hit pretty hard, the residents stayed that night in them. Jenna and I stayed in my room. We plied the night stand with every candle and oil lamp we could find. The sirens and rains wailed all night. The dogs, who usually sleep in the living room, were scrunched up against the side of the bed, and wanted to get in bed with us. Jenna and I finally fell asleep in each other's arms.

Since then, all kinds of guys have been crawling all over my life trying to salvage the wreckage of the torrent of energy that was a huge devastating whirl of raging air.

Photo of Swirls, detail of Collaborative Painting
Swirls, detail of Collaborative Painting

Women have helped with rejuvenating the energy: a trip to the health spa in Hot Springs, friends like Julia and Andy who have offered unconditional support and validation. Jenna and I mucking our way through the restoration of sanity and clarity in our space. Margaret's work with healing her bout with the storm. The ladies at the bank who helped get the $$ energy moving along.

Men have helped with the guidelines, the course it's all taking to get the flow of life world energy happening again.

Bridgement, drawing
Bridgement, drawing

And today, a month later, I chose a new view of the Arkansas River, from unexplored places east of town. Turns out its the Fraternal Order of Police Lodge. Big hunkin' guys pulling up in their trucks. Isn't this the ultimate in manliness, having police powered hunkedness right here in this moment of creative expression as I write and draw in my journal?




digging with many hands ruckus, oh my! muckity between the toes


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This work is © Copyright 1999-2011 by Aimee Colmery of MudSoup Studio, Santa Fe, NM, USA
It may not be reproduced in total or in part without the author's express written permission.

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