Moving Me 2.0

Kate Inglis My fellow Maritime girl.  She writes books (real ones).  She takes  pictures (fantastic ones).  She takes care of rude pink-shirt-wearing guys in bar lines (you had to be there).  For sheer talent with words, Kate brings me to my knees every single time. Plus – she’s the only …

to be moved…

{I want to be moved} I want to be moved damn it. so move me move me make me feel push me past my resistance info that wide open space give me something beyond the ordinary beyond what you give to the rest of the world show me your naked …

this is for me

I’m running.  Not fast, but I’m running.  The gravel is loose under my feet and I can feel my left ankle – the weak one – twinge a little.  My chest burns and I know my face is ridiculously bright red.  I want to stop, especially on those low slung …

Let yourself be moved.

Pretend I’m an ancient guru. Yes, it’s a stretch, but humor me for a minute.  You’ve got a good imagination, and you probably owe me a favor or two.  Come on….put aside your skepticism. I’ll even help you out. I’m sitting high on a rugged mountain top and you just …

green

It is green here. So very green. I marvel at the layers and layers of emerald, chartreuse, lime, avocado, dark forest, bright apple. My eyes trace the landscape, delighted by the many forgotten shades that exist in the natural world. I am weary of the desert by now.  My eyes grow …

Lyric

6.11.10 (one year ago) The light is the color of wheat this morning.   A dull golden glow, not yet fully committed to the day.   Later, it whispers a promise to pulse and blaze with the heat of the desert.  Right now the light is present but not yet the living, …

What I Wish For You

Every now and then in cyber space, you stumble across a teacher.  Someone you are meant to know, learn from, and grow with. Several years ago, one some fortuitous random night of blog surfing, I came across 37 days, and I’ve been there ever since.  Every new post.  Every new …

my muse

{my muse} my muse she is awake and she is calling me coaxing tempting in a seductress voice dripping sweet with honey and sharp with desire there is a tug and my words they have been gathering in the dusky light and they have been swirling liquid whirlpools forming and …

Choose Life

Choose Life, only that and always, and at whatever risk. To let life leak out, to let it wear away by the mere passage of time, to withhold giving it and spreading it is to choose nothing. (Sister Ann Kelly)

fear by jeanette leblanc

fear, baby.

You are afraid. Yes, baby, of course you are afraid. This is so much bigger than you. Your heart is pounding with the magnitude of this space you are in. There is so much risk. So much potential for it all to fall away; breath by imperceptible breath or in …

you can’t take your eyes off of me

  you can’t take your eyes off of me. can you? not now not here yes there have been plenty of days {there will always be plenty of days} where I am the forgettable wallflower turning myself almost inside out to keep you from seeing please don’t look but when …

bow down and worship by jeanette leblanc

bow down, and worship

{this one is for my witches.  women of fire and ice.  of spells and incantations.  of fragile baddassery.  of power and beauty.  you know who you are.   this one is for all of you.  for at one point or another, I think you all will be the grace that …

let her doodle

she doodles everywhere. faces and shapes and lines. simple and complex. fantastical, nonsensical free flow and elaborate, deliberate worlds. on letters, and envelopes, and the back of her sisters advent calendar. on the clipboard attached to the wall above my desk. on checks waiting to make it into my bank …

a mama’s heart.

I have a mama’s heart. It may have something to do with the two girls who lie now in their rooms just down the hall from where I sit tonight pecking away on my keyboard. The older, stuffy nose and red swollen eye be damned, is stealing a last few …

breath. life. hope

{this life right now, it leaves me little time to do more than scrawl illegible lines in my journal, or fragments of thoughts on grocery receipts.  there are words branding the deepest reaches of my soul – but this is a time for diving,  not for surfacing.  and so, i …

art is always real

We were in Julie’s room one night, my eldest daughter and I.  I wanted to show her how the canvas painting she had carefully labored over for Julie’s Christmas gift was framed and hung on the wall. I said, gazing at her masterpiece with no small amount of motherly pride, …

forever {or something like it}

I don’t believe in -forever- not the version I was sold perfect and pretty and tied with a bow placed (by request) on a pedestal to keep itself safe My forever is fleeting and flawed and humble in its inherent lack of promise it’s not easily subdued nor naive enough …

words :: revisited

{on my desk sits a black fabric journal.  it is a plain, ordinary, nondescript book. from the outside, it looks as if it could not possibly hold anything important.  only I know that it holds the most valuable thing I possess. my story.} 5.22.09 I’m in birthday party hell. I’m …

for all my fellow makers of pretty things

I am blessed to be surrounded by artists and dreamers, in life and online.   I hear – in our whispers, conversations, songs, and dreams the same yearnings, the same daring, the same questioning of our worth and purpose and direction . I think this video will speak to many …

peaceful space

The window looks out over a thicket of woods, right where the yard drops off steeply into an impenetrable tangle of trees and brush. If you lie in this room and you close your eyes, it is the crashing of waves, and the croaking of frogs and the rustling of leaves that lull you to sleep. This bed, ancient iron with flecked paint and sagging mattress, cradled me the night my truth began to travel home to me. There is peace living in the walls of this space. Peace and simplicity, whispering a reminder of how much I have, and how little I need.

i will own it {revisited}

The creative drive.  ‘Tis life force and relentless demon in equal measure.    We artistic misfits cram ourselves into a culture is usually centered on new, better, different.  What to create that has not yet created?  What to do that is better than what has already been done?  How to dig …