Summer Break
Dear Starlight,
I’m summer breaking. Slowing my roll and pumping the brakes. My weekly newsletters are on pause starting now.
I’m in the middle of drilling a well.
We went down the anticipated 250ft and didn’t hit water. Rock solid. Had to drill another 250ft–didn’t hit water. Had to call in the fracker to blow it up. Explosions this week. Now we have to wait to see if the slip, the mud, the clogged arteries clear. The well man tells me all this shitty spillage is a good sign.
Drilled into my cheek this week. Need to wait for it to heal before it gets a crown–it’s going to take a long time for that flash. It hurts to feel.
It’s weird we say, “Enjoy your summer break!” As if anyone ever responds, “I’m so looking forward to being broken!”
My tarot teacher says, “The Empress reversed suggests a very empty cup and a nervous system that desperately needs a break.” Then she quotes her former tarot teacher: “We don't need to have a breakdown to get a break.”
The well guy says, “We put on the brakes and wait for the mud to clear. We need to let the water settle in the well after the ground has been broken open.”
Simone Weil says, “Grace fills empty spaces, but it can only enter when there is a void to receive it, and it is grace itself that creates that void.”
Parataxis—a word I learned this week. A literary style that removes an orderly timeline, allowing everything to happen all at once. From the Greek: "to place side by side."
When I read the definition of break, it sounds like parataxis or a description of chaos as Grace’s mosh pit moves.
Break: Crush. Explode. Violently burst into fragments. Injure. Violate. Destroy. Rush. Sudden transition from one place or state to another. Short recess. Pause. Rest. Stop. Flash of mercy.
And brake broke free from break and was connected with French bras–as in arm, which pulled a lever, a bridle, or a curb–which became synonymous with slowing down and guiding the wheel.
I’m braking. Taking a short recess from weekly writing. I need to rest. I need my toes at the edge of the earth, where waves gently break ashore. It hurts right now to smile, laugh, or cry as I slowly heal.
I want to return anew: break of dawn.
I wish us all a great summer break–the kind we might call grace— that fills our core with the love it’s needed, like the water it’s thirsted for.
See you soon for season four of ever more exciting 2026!
