Without hesitation she asked,
“What needs to leave”?
“Idle chatter,” I said, without hesitation.
Her nostrils flared to sniff my resistance and stared unwaveringly into my wavy, black pupils.
I gulped knowing she would devour me with her tined tongue if I didn’t share the truth.
That the resistance is around watering the plant, filling the cup, lying down if need be.
“Abundance is for you, not me.”
Exhaling steam, her body waited, doggedly at that.
“Fear of rejection, separation, being unknowingly hurtful, misunderstood, fear of
death,” like beans, the words spilled out of my mouth.
Her eyebrows lifted one wiry bush at a time, with questions.
It was at this point I knew she wasn’t going to offer me any answers so I explained what I was trying to practice in order to work with this stubborn resistance to abundance.
Call me mundane
The weight of the cat finally landing in my lap
The sparkly reflection of the daytime sky in the puddles that lay on the earth
Whenever he laughs uncontrollably, which surprises me every time because I think it surprises him every time, the blood in my body cozies
Bird-fuckin-song!
Sweet potatoes when they aren’t factory-produced, taste like accomplishment, like emotional stamina, wings on my back
“Let’s go find thunder” the child says unaware of his genius
My whole body trembles in a laughter so sensual it’s like itching the itch I’ve wanted and wanted to itch for so long
It’s working, thanks to her patience wrapped as an invitation.
Satisfaction engaged!
Flow-state activated!
Zooming out as we speak!
The whole picture is always there for me to see.
As soon as I know that I know this, the hoping begins.
“I will remember this,” I hope-think.
Immediately sadness pricks the marrow of my bones.
Hope feels distant, over there, not here
I want here
Intimacy so close I can smell and taste the salt of my efforts with my own forked tongue
What’s it like for me to ignore what’s here so violently? …my satisfaction?
Sand in my teeth
Rigid
A stony sculpture domesticated by its own overbearing constitution to defer dancing and making with other shapes
A stone thrown from reality
The one I am living now, despite my magnificent efforts
Connected, shape by shape, shaping each other
Tumble, turn, rock, click
Begin again
Satisfaction, where are you this time?
My foot?
The warm air twirling out of my nose?
Her voice, a warm bell, woke me from my poetry, “Are you talking to your intuition”?
I resisted idle chatter and said nothing for a moment.
Then the mercury animated my mouth.
Open your hands as often as you can and receive generosity
Open your hands as often as you can and share generosity
“A voice speaks to me no matter how much I ignore its presence” I offer quietly. “The voice is neither mine nor someone else’s.”
“Goodbye for now,” she slithered and left.
I wrote this splattering some weeks ago. The body, a few steps ahead of the mind like usual– unsure of what was leaving or at least gazing out the window with puppy eyes, wanting to leave.
The space bet
ween the
exhale
and…
inhale.
Smack in the middle, I’m practicing trust without even recognizing it.
Automatically walking into the dark forest without a guarantee of coming out alive.
Auto-trusting.
The inhale arrives
automatically.
Phew is an understatement.
Without periodic recognition, my trust-muscle lacks, loosens, goes unnoticed, unused.
Slime.
The executives in my brain don’t play nice either, which is to say, they don’t lay trust in the unknown. So the mind gets worked into weird sales meetings, the smell of burnt coffee crowding the air, curt conversation, rushing from room to room, trying to know, know, know—a-chomp-chomp-chomp-lish!
The animal body licking its lips, unwashed with matted hair and stinky pits can decode mystery with creativity. Saying goodbye to a career as a professional musician is what the sinews share with me now.
I’m about to start school again. Textbook weight on my back, the tedium of words being organized into essays, and the sweat that erupts from the face when two or more bodies are in the same room feeling things together. About belonging, identity, support and lack of support. This sorta stretch is social work. What I know of it, which is why it will be a stretch. Learning again, unlearning again. Putting things down to make space for what is unknown and already arriving whether I like it or not.
So goodbye profesh music career. Apparently my constitution put down the emotional stamina needed to play your game a few years back. All of that movement was implicit, however. Now atop a rainbow horse with a gnarly orchestra backing me up, I am waving and sending air kisses. Goodbye, I love you, thank you. (Drama helps sometimes!)
Sand play
Fingernail dirt
My hands make shapes on this piano. The sustain pedal holds a community in this chord and there are goosebumps. Hair standing like pencil-thin trees in a strong wind. About to fall apart.
Music has always solved math problems for me. Not literal ones, that’d be great... more like life math.
Hot equations that wrinkle between my eyes, keep me up at night, haunt the dark corridors of my mind, birth brainy execs that make shit coffee in my brain.
All of that becomes ash when I sing and play. Ash, I’m telling you.
I’m convinced there's a coven of Sicilian Nonnas (grandmothers) sewing notes together, making up the sauce constantly in my noodle. I feel them more these days and especially since I became a mother. The Nonnas do not invent recklessly or without intention. The Nonnas are my ultimate safety and satisfaction.
Warm water kissing the back of my body, head to toe.
It’s a pass on the plate of dizzying idle chatter. No thanks.
Snake-slow and stealthy through blades of tall grass.
Smashed and chewed between my teeth, music is green without a shape, a beginning, potential.
I don’t wish to uphold an admirable image, rather a sincere one.
This isn’t a crisis. This is a ritual of renunciation. Playing pleasure.
It makes sense at this middle-ish point, I’d need to pause to purposefully pave a path for what is present and compelling.
Three again, the kick drum, bigger than my entire body.
Reverb, like screaming into the grand canyon for the first time.
Slaps of water, the best snares I’ve ever heard.
Songs pour like water, I is the faucet.
Birds, sweet potatoes, sensual laughter,
everything, awe-
some.
It feels so good to let go of the programmed desire.
All this girl ever wanted was to play music to learn, understand, communicate, express, collaborate, enjoy, luxuriate in beauty.
To allow something so solid to become liquid, this clearing is a happening.
How can I be student with you? Someone I’ve known more than half my life? How ‘bout you? An old friend, a family member? Even you, someone I barely know? How can I dissolve the patterns, allow for the bones to reside but the behaviors that are no longer generous—the layers of story and close-minded conditioning— to die.
It’s time, thank you, patterns. You can die now.
Death an offering for birth.
Birth an offering for death.
A promise so generous.
What needs to leave?
Love around,
Jess
Community IV
What?
Community Intuitive Voicing (IV) is a virtual practice space for creating intimacy w/your intuition and re-connecting to the wisdom of your body+mind through live music and meditation. Only your presence is needed!
45 min in length, come + go as you please
Learn more about Intuitive Voicing
When + Where?
Thursday, July 11th
Live, virtual gathering from 8pm EST / 5pm PST
By Donation, Venmo @jessica-zambri (no one is turned away for lack of funds)
Hope to see you there!
The album, Intuitive Voicing, is available to listen + purchase on Bandcamp!
Listen to the entire 30 minute guided meditation included on the album
Listen to “Foresting” one of my favs :)
"...astounding, psychedelia-spangled new age." -Bandcamp
This was beautiful, Jess!
This is incredible!! What a brilliant mind you have!