how I have missed the churning pavement
beneath my feet.
Makes for finding me
I was brought to tears by a painting
John Singer Sargent
Mrs. Hugh Hammersley.
I brought my spouse to it.
He was not moved.
He had another agenda.
But my eyes were full
and my heart,
I wonder about this mother role that I jumped into without knowing.
After searching this famous photo of Dorothy Lange's for answers within the lines of worry and life upon the subject's face, I thought about how our functionality of being human has altered us -the current mother having so much choice. ..too much?
We are just looking to have the space and place to make and birth the babies, right?
Yet now, so different. With the competition to be "men" and handle everything.
Brings it's also to interesting launching points for the role of men- when we used too argue that we were just a uterus for the men, now we can say they are walking sperm.
Swung the other way the pendulum has, no?
And i, sitting with this book of photos, reflecting upon my own world- what do I have to say?
Where is my space and my place?
Do I get to find it even if I have already had the children?
I am not so lucky.
I have to dig around for mine
without using tools
without knowing there are tools
without seeing that there were gifts to awaken within.
mother is in the garden
weeding in the rain
father is at the computer
playing - or creating - a game
sister is sorting books
putting them in oder
me myself and I
All Pointing signs can be avoided rather than pricked on...however, this does not change the fact that they are still very much there.
This, from Galactic Rabbit:
Every couple of years I notice articles circling the internet describing the passing down of intergenerational trauma. How our fears and sorrows, our deepest sources of grief, are etched into our DNA and delivered into the bodies that come from our bodies. A sadness like a vampire inside you—immortal. These sorts of scientific findings compel me to wonder how quiet pain is measured. I think about the way my mother’s face turns dark at the mention of sex. I think about my father’s bad heart and how, when we were states apart, my body felt him fall to the floor. I fell down too; I cracked my chin open. Unconscious, I pissed myself and was ashamed.
In an essay about Serena Williams, in Citizen, Claudia Rankine writes:
Yes, and the body has memory. The physical carriage hauls more than its weight. The body is the threshold across which each objectionable call passes into consciousness—all the unintimidated, unblinking, and unflappable resilience does not erase the moments lived through, even as we are eternally stupid or everlastingly optimistic, so ready to be inside, among, a part of the games.
Libra, yesterday your body was a living record of all that has happened to you and before you. Today, your body is just a human body—it is muscle, blood, and bone. In order to protect it, the stories that evoke shame must have a different ending. You must be brave enough to write them.
The fact that my friend Tory is a forest fairy.
Wallie & Steven
The seasons of my youth.
The Library experience.
Esalen... for real?
Sing to the birds.
Build garden houses.
Write, read, breathe, walk, run, dance, sing, be.
I went to a women's writing group this eve- as I came about it in a serendipitous way I figured I would try and go.
We are all so very different, the 5 of us, and with writing bringing us together it just might work.
Next meeting, 2 weeks and I shall have something to read aloud to this new audience. I am looking for prompts as to which of my many ideas I will go with to develop and...why not...consulted my Purpose cards as I found them frighteningly right on the mark twice now. I was called an Oracle by the younger set so it seemed fitting to get the cards for our weekend away.
Tonight, I asked what to dream about, a three card spread. And, this is what came up.
We shall see if I can remember.
Until then, stories abound!
Wrote for 10.
Plank for 60.
Read a book.
Cooked dinner & didn't set table or clear.
Got little boy to bed after bath & books in time.
Halloween decorations in progress.
Talked with friend.
Planned a future event.
Daydreamed a fun scenario.
12 days till 42.
12 days till tipsy.
12 days to get through 41.
Took a photo.
Walked the dog.
Laughed with a big boy.
Thought about decorating improvements.
Sat in the shade.
Concentrated on breathing.
Did a good deed.
Planned a better one.
Experienced a creative moment.
A random postcard brought me to tears.
Received a compliment.
...all in this day.
tho diligent I may not have been.
Discovered a place where my efforts on paper can be appreciated
spent 4 hours on an agenda
It seems as if that little voice
whispering upon my shoulder
when not shushed by the no-can-dos
actually can do.
with the reminder
that I do not need to guess
For anyone else but me
I can live free.
Last challenge before 4:15am
find a passage of harmonious truth
to share with other souls
Meditation is up to 7 minutes, yikes!
Still haven't written the gratitude letters, making no good clear time for myself...
Writing sporadically, almost every day however in Evernote and not here.
Fell back in old habits, kicked them out (sort of).
Back walking almost every day.
Interested in this 6 month permaculture class, ohmygee- it would be amazing.
School begins this week and I find myself wanting more in-house-alone-time... big boy needs a job.
Byron Katie is amazing. Keep folowing.
Mountains & ocean, who can choose?
Trees, trees, it is all about the trees.
when I focus on the shortcomings
all I see
I seek out what I like,
that what likes me comes back.
Byron Katie = amazing.
pixie dust was sprinkled
and then she hands you the jar.
I sprinkle my toes
so I have some wherever I go.
amid the ferns
side by side.
on a tree lined balcony
the city spread out beneath
with the white Persian cat weaving between my ankles.
The coffee is hot
and the cinnamon still swirling.
I am looking off into the clouds
and feel the mist
from the leaves
from the depths
from the forest floor
so far away
so far away
the newspapers will arrive
and I will have some such thing
want to read to me about how the day was done
I already know
because I wrote it.
in the octtage,
the walls speak.
clearer thoughts coming together.
today I saw the white cat about my ankles
crossing from left to right in the mirror of my dressing room.
when I looked down, she was gone.
the persian princess had been smiling.
uncertain about where to be one thing vs another in my world of boxes,
I muddle things up and can not keep them straight everytime.
A lesson which finally resonated enough to stick was that it is the practice and not exactly making it to the finish that counts the most.
Perhaps I knew this as the medals held no triumph for me.
for some reason,
on a new trail
with a different band of women
mist still hanging in the sky
awaiting bright dawn light
I heard it again and it struck.
is where the perfect is found
the other way around.
I must articulate myself wisely.
reading a book by Jean Shinoda Bolen
daydreams about visits to greece
research of history vs. mythology
aching to touch maps and follow the lines of streams
It feels good to have a daydream.
The good is in the practice.
Also, had an idea for a short.
The tale of Artemis, the twin of Apollo
being withheld from her father until it was safe to meet him
and amused he asked her what she wished:
A bow and arrows,
and to find them herself.
Nymphs to follow her
and to find them herself.
Hounds to protect her
and to find them herself.
And the perfect woods, streams, meadows...
and to find them herself.
Laughing, the delighted God granted her this
and off she went.
The hunt for each item as exciting as the item itself
and lost in creating her own world she was.
I always thought it was him,
it very well may be me.
Took a day off from writing, etc, due to a bad food experience and yes, found how easy it is to rack up another excuse. Didn't walk for 2 days, feel awful. Boo.
Going back to thoughts on being media free for awhile again... there is just so much noise coming in and not enough concentration on me.
Delving into what is authentic
is it ok to live in denial for a huge section?
I know the answer as I write this...
yet why do I shy away from truth?
would I council anyone else to live like this?
Stuck in crud. Of my own design.
for 30 years now...
I am not what I expected to be. ..
upon further investigation it turns out I just don't want to work hard for it.
That is ok if I was willing to settle but since I am not, I am my own royal pain.
So, enter meditation and walking and enforced writing. ..
enter ideas of being in that tiny house by the sea (I can hear the waves crashing even if the train rumbles close by & my neighbors wear underoos in the daytime. Big whoop).
or maybe the mountain one is right for me.
tap, tap, tap go the fingers on the keys
coffee and cinnamon please
some swirly skirts
a beaded arm
early mornings on the beach
the bite on a juicy peach
and more blah.
why didn't this publish on time?
dunno, just keep going.
Renewed interest in eatoeating raw.
reading about 5 books at a time:
women's quests in mid-life
saving the family cottage
men are from Mars, women are from Venus
Mary Oliver haunts me,
as does Jean Shinoda Bolen.
Thinking up what I would do if I could do anything... start that leucadia beach circle on Sunday eve
do I really want to be there every Sunday eve?
Seeking a partner in crime for shenanigans...
looking forward to champagne, Dirty martinis, and that freaking mango margarita.
Salt lamp, check.
meditation up to 5 minutes
cracked my self out of bed this am reluctantly however always so glad to go out.
love the cloudy skies, marine layer, fog.
too much sun for me!
23 years ago I had a baby.
Here I am again.
I understand a reason why I am unable to fully live this life and
that many others have known this all along.
Dressing it up,
engaging in diversions
even quite intricate
don't change much.
coloring the glasses.
When the mind is made up
it is made up
even if there is dress up.
because I love dress up.
I had an inkling.
And it rages.
I am good at closing doors
and walking down other hallways.
That its good news.
I cooked a new meal, sweet orzo salad w/feta & carnelized peaches. It was from Hello Fresh, a food prep delivery service. I really like the idea if this thing however all organic coves would be key. Their packaging is far better than the competitor Blue Apron. Regardless, I realized I like orzo lots However the peaches were sort of odd and I am not a fan of cucumber either. I'll toss the recipe but retain the interest in pursuing orzo.
Mailed package to Balin, Happy Birthday! 23, holy crap. What was I doing 23 what's ago? Better yet, what was I doing 24 years ago? yikes. Getting older is...interesting...
Got further in on my story idea.
General gist its down with some motivations still need to bete worked out. Not to bad.
Got re-interested in a writing group.
Reading a book about women's circles... Perhaps there is a connection?
Trouble waking up to walk because of late bedtime. Love dawn. Must get up. Boo.
That's the news i'm willing to blab...
Perhaps because I have always had those things that I needed to do
and now I have time.
Time when I thought I would be finally able to get my own thing done
and I am frozen.
I think in prose
dream about painting
see myself writing songs
imagine the dresses and beads and braids
I don't challenge the status quo
yet I allow myself to be dreary because of it
the great "it"
whatever it is.
and on and on and on and on and on.
I have many things bursting to be said yet
the topic is too much of a challenge to handle
i can not manage how my audience would hear it
and I don't believe myself strong enough to care
so, I sit.
and I do the dishes
and I get fat
and I allow it.
All the news talks of doomsday
and I wait for it
under that type of duress
my skkills would shine.
I live the life that people die for
that people are dying for