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Here With You

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Sinking lips into your tiny round cheeks, I'm home. Holding your tiny head to my heart, caressing my chin to your downy baby 'chicken fluff' we'll come to call it later, I'm home. Taking in your baby magic scent, I'm home. Pressing nose to nose, forehead to forehead, staring wide-eyed into each other's eyes, I'm home. Toting little bum and dangling legs around my middle, I'm home. Filled with purpose as you point where to go, what you see, I'm home. Your eyes, new windows to a world I thought I knew, I'm home. Holding you with fever, picking you up when you fall, I'm home. Navigating the years between, boxes of your firsts, every paint brush and pen stroke a miracle, I'm home. Saving pottery penguins, turtles, shiny red roses, a burrito with all the fixings immortalized in clay, I'm home. Kid sister fruit and craft stand on the corner, change clinking in coin purse, magic for the neighborhood…
Recent posts

Partaking of the Fruit

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What I most struggle with in creative writing is that there are some ideas that just feel like they belong in the ether, in the natural born clouds. They aren’t meant to be pinned down, and every time I try to pin them down into a practical form on a page, I wound them a little bit, and must throw them back up into the ether for repair, to restore their more nebulous characteristics. This content isn’t supposed to have legs and weight, and to make noise when it walks, or to have such things as a name and defining characteristics. Rather, just whiffs of possibility that hint at an undercurrent of parallel worlds so vast and amazing as to put any Tolkien or Rowling to shame. Its just supposed to hang there, ripe for plucking, but the plucker beware. The fruit bruises easily.

And yet, there are those books that seem to pin down something that doesn’t maim the central cast of characters, and in fact broadens the material into something that changes al…

Storyholder

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I’m standing on a cliff overlooking the water’s edge. The sky is present, hanging there in its vastness, holding this moment with symphonic strains of gray and electric buzz. Watching, suspended, sensing.

I see to both sides of me vast white cliffs carved out by relentless grasping of the ocean extending down the coastline.

The earth where I am standing up above gives just the right yield and welcome, with its soft grass and dainty yellow flowers, falsely giving the impression of delicacy, when anyone can see that they are hardy to withstand the harshness of forces here.

There is an undeniable tightness of gravity here, pinning me down, tugging at me, slowing down my step. I feel as if this force could just sweep me away with the littlest of a flick, like an ant off the table. It screams danger while it beckons.

My life had been recently taking on new grander design dimensions when this place and I met. Dating a new man, after being a single mom for…

Inhospitable Beauty

Photo by Kerry Pexels.com
It was at the Norris Geyser Basin in Yellowstone national park that I heard the siren call. My husband and I were walking on boardwalks constructed to lead us around thermal geological sites. We were chatting amicably about our trip, and how well our trip had all been falling into place.

I felt an inward tug get stronger and gravity pulling down right through my center. As we walked it became weightier and caused me to toggle between two worlds: the one where I was doing the Yellowstone tourist thing, and the other, where the landscape was reaching out, beckoning for me, pulling me down into its underworld.

It was a strange call, spectral, because it seemed to come from a Hellish place. Perhaps from Persephone, herself, held prisoner under the earth’s crust for so long, she’d become it. I could imagine her skin, the pale, fragile crust ready to give way beneath my feet, the magma of her torment less that 15 miles deep from where we were standing, pushing up…

I want to remind me...

My thoughts drift back to when I was a child. I had a little toy kitchen sink and stove, no nouveau riche set, à la pottery barn, but very basic and snap together. It was set up in the unfinished basement on top of orange Muppet shag rugs that covered some of the cold concrete. There was a giant TV that looked like it had been built in a giant dresser. One top of its console lifted to play vinyl records and the other to play LP’s. Look it up.

My kitchen was set up in the corner by the window well, where I could see cobwebs and spiders filtering the outside light shining through.

I don’t remember playing much as a kid, but I do remember cleaning up the toys stored in giant Tang cans down there--organizing and reorganizing them at my mom's bidding, to rest the perfectly sorted toys in glowing metallic green cylinders, on pastel yellow metal shelves, the quiet yellow that sort of softened the Muppet rug domination, but added a utilitarian feel to the unfinished basement. I should me…

RIP Poltergeist

After over ten years of an incredibly intense journey as a seeker, I find myself lying fallow. Taking a rest. When I first discovered this uncomfortable fact — threat to the hamster wheel that was my spiritual rat race, I surrendered for dead, but something wouldn’t let that fact sit as truth. I was lying fallow, but this implied that after a good rest, fruit could follow. This had nothing to do with death.

I am humbled at the courage it takes to write. For many years I kept a blog read by only a handful of very supportive people, and you’d think that after sharing writing for so long with perfect strangers, writing would have gotten easier. Actually, it got harder. In fact, at one point I was so paralyzed, I just stopped writing altogether. It was just too vulnerable. There was no trust there anymore, and I attributed any courage I had had to my youthful ignorance.

However, life continues, as it inevitably does, and there is still this pang to write, and it grows stronger and strong…

Mountain

Okay, I am just here writing, because I can't quite tell you how important it is that I have full permission to write, right here today, with this energy that I am holding. To stand strong in the truth of my being, that has felt quite weak and wavering in moments, and equally strong and clear in moments, as if these parts are truly at war with one another, and I am watching to see which one will win out, but the funny division between the two is merely this, the more I let the two up for air, wrestling and churning up and me trying to find which team is going to win, which one is going to end up on top, there is just simply me, sitting on the sidelines, and really tired of watching the back and the forth, and so, I just sit and put my hand in the sand I am sitting on the beach, and feel the texture of the sand, feel it running through my hand, and there is just this amazingness of this sand moving through my hand, and it feels timeless and I begin to see shapes and outlines in the…