To the weirdo who found this site w/o a direct link: this page is under construction.
Hi there, I’m Sadie!
I am a certified herbalist and yoga teacher, a practicing witch on the solitary path, and an amateur astrologer.
I enjoy making things grow out of the ground, walking by flowers which bloom exceedingly; listening to music that makes my wheels spin..; and riding my bike around Philadelphia.
*I’m writing this now in 2017… Great Mother knows when I’ll have a chance to update it next..!
On and off from 2003 until 2013, I went to high school and college for writing, eventually landing myself with both my high school diploma and my bachelors in writing (as a high school graduate with a concentration in “creative writing”, and a liberal arts degree in Fiction Writing). I still write, although in a more utilitarian sense than I’d like. I’d also like to take this moment to state that I’d like to change that. That last bit. The bit about writing only for utilitarian purposes…
I’d very much like to expand myself creatively in that sense. I would like to take an opportunity to do that here.
One of my goals in establishing this site is to be able to have an excuse (which I feel is necessary to state, both for myself and the public, what with my tendency towards (tendency, ha!)… my cornucopia of Capricornian characteristics…) to write more for myself (and my Self!), and to be able to share my inner most thoughts with those I love, and with other people who may seek solace in finding that someone else may share their inner most thoughts (and fears). Thoughts, perhaps, just too tender to consider speaking aloud… at least until the timing has more better worked itself out. (Who’s to say?)
I’ve done a lot of searching to have enough boldness to say the crazy shit I do with enough conviction to prove anything I say, or enough perspective to see the light on both sides. I’ve burnt myself out enough being angry to have found how to be gentle without getting old in the process.
This is huge news.
I seek to be a light in this dark work. I seek to carry an abundance of torches, or at least enough to be able to pass them out without worrying whether or not I have enough. Enough fire. Enough food. Enough love. All of that… I consider this my priory job: passing out torches I know I’ll never see again.
Although it brings in no monetary gain, what I’ve been saying for a while is that the one of the few things cheaper than money is talk. Typically, finer substances are be paid for with finer currency, in sweat, tears, or blood, for instance. I say “typically” so as to avoid technicalities here, although I do not necessarily believe it is typical.
I mentioned already that I went to high school for writing. It’s a long and twisting story of fate as to how I got there, but more to the point, I wouldn’t have the abundance I have now, the light which I readily share, without the incredible influences I received from so many people there, peers and teachers alike. Strange tales of fate woven, too, and which have forged lasting connections outside of and nothing to do with those walls, which caught flame by passing embers during my brief time there.
Three years. Most others attending with me would have been there for four. I was a transfer student, one of four to audition for the two openings available for the class of my major.
Many lights, many people who handed me torches, come to mind when I think of my time at CAPA. Some of those lights have gone out–from my vision, anyway–and some are still burning strong. The absence of some which I thought had gone out of my vision have only strengthened them. (Who’s to say anyway? Not me, I don’t think. I’m uncertain of almost anything anymore…)
Some are gone from this life completely. I’m talking about people just from CAPA, my high school (all of them it would take too long to list…): Dylan Shepard; Matthew Richardson; Patricia Stallworth. Bless all of their hearts. Patricia was worthy of a hashtag back when hashtags were still called number signs. (If anyone has the correct spellings of their names, please let me know. I’m just riffing here.)
One, though, another bright, bright, bright light of such abundance, we lost last year, in wading through the foulest drek a.k.a. 2016. I don’t need spelling any of his names. We were good friends. His name in his last incarnation was Harrison Israel Ziskind. He was the eldest son of Marcy and Zippy. Eldest brother of Miles and Lev. Sweet boy. Such a sweet boy, Harrison was. We called him H for short; just H. And more and more every day I realize just how sweet he was. What joy he gave us without asking for anything in return. Such a beautiful spirit. He was 30 years old. When he died, he was 30 years old. You can google how he died. I’m not giving you any new information except what’s in my heart, which I haven’t told anyone until right now as I”m writing this.
And it is to him that I sincerely wish to dedicate this site, as trite an offering it may be. But I really think he’d like it, anyhow. So I’m doing it.
Dedication to H
Harrison Israel Ziskind, who since I can remember knowing him was always called H, was self described as a habitually compulsive adventurer and a Citizen of the Road; a woodsman extraordinaire and a “piratenvironmentalist”; a guerrilla academe, a modern primitive, a farm punk and urban camper; a trail blazer; a hiking pilgrim. “Redneck intelligentsia.” An art procrastinator and a chainsaw libertine. I can attest to all of these things. A few years ago, when I asked a friend, “How is H doing?” my friend’s reply was, “Last I heard of Harrison he was living off the grid in Colorado, frying rattle snakes breakfast on the hood of his truck.” This statement did not surprise me, although it did delight me.
I would not describe Harrison in the above words, although I’m not a fool, so I won’t contest them either. The word I would use for Harrison, if I could only choose one, would be gestalt.
Love + light,