New Moon Weekend Chronology

new moon

Resting Enfolded in Wings

The new moon comes when the moon hides inside the glare of the sun. A time to rest, assess, begin again, let go of mistakes and celebrate all that went well.

Saturday:

Early morning yoga – it’s chilly, my muscles tighten with resistance and then the warm rush of muscles releasing. I lose the rhythm of my breath, find it again in the stillness of child’s pose and the scent of Sweet-grass helps remind me of my feral nature.

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A new moon bath – sinking into the water, light reflects off the water and the sliding glass door in blue and green tinged white, the ‘plink-plink’ off water dripping from my wet hair, the scent of Clary Sage soap rises with the steam of the hot bath.

The rest of the day – long naps with intermissions of journaling, reading poetry in the new (to me) Catamaran Reader, rambling conversations with the sweet man.

Sunday:

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Morning swim – Floating in the pool looking up at the June cloud cover begin to break apart leaving trails of blue and white ripples across the sky, the glide of water across my skin, drying in the sun with my extra big yellow sunglasses reading Jenna McGuiggan’s article in Bella Grace.

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Organizing – bits of writing notes, making a list of the next steps for the projects I’m working on, noting, with a deep breath of satisfaction, the check-marks by the things I’ve accomplished so far.

Monday:

Writing- the soft ‘tap-tap’ of my fingers on the keyboard, new posts, new poetry, the soft whir of the fan in the background, inspiration rising up out of the hum of my thoughts, backspacing, rewriting, the “yes, these. This.” when the right words move across my screen, the dash and splash of color in my art journal.

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At the Keyboard

Cooking – onion, tomatoes, mushrooms sizzle in the skillet, the bubble and steam when I add the chickpeas, chicken baked with the sweet man’s oh-s0-good blend of spices.

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In the Kitchen

Cleaning – everything propped off the floor, pulled away from baseboard, the roar and whir of the vacuum, the cats scurry up to their secret resting places, the sweet smell of orange peels.

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Bertie

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Miss Nikki

And now, one good and messy day at a time, we live into the fullness of the moon to come. Saying yes to it all.

Much love.

 

Summer Portraits

summer When Summer Solstice came around this year, I greeted it with contradicting feelings – I love trips to the beach, swimming and the delectable melons that arrive in our CSA boxes, but when the heat pumps up over 85 degrees or the humidity dips to single digits and then within a few days jumps so high I turn into an aggravated little puddle, that’s when Summer and I have a hard time working out our issues. Even though I’m a Fall/Winter kind of girl, there’s always something to delight in no matter the season.

Summer

Found MaGICRR

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After a Vanilla Honey Sugar Scrub

 

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Wishing you delight all Summer long!

I Am Gorgeous. Not Kidding.

“Women try to tame themselves as they get older, but the ones who look best are the wild ones”
- Muiccia Prada
       Capture

 Nothing changed – I haven’t lost weight, changed my nose or dyed my hair. I still have all my curves along with lumps and bumps. Still, when I looked in the mirror this morning, my wild self winked back at me – pure gorgeous!

I’ve written a short bio for a project I’m working on and I can see that age has brought with it the advantage of experience, so many crashes and stumbles from trying to follow rules I didn’t believe in along with the tiny and huge moments of breaking free. But I’m also recognizing that I’ve been living into this gorgeous freedom from the moment I first noticed that not everything made sense in the formula for living that I inherited from my family or my culture.

When I turned seven, I got retainers to straighten one little old crooked tooth. It made no sense to me – I liked my crooked tooth, the damn retainer hurt and eating ice cream wasn’t fun anymore. So I did the reasonable thing and buried the unholy apparatus in my grandmother’s vegetable garden.  That didn’t make me bad, it just made me seven years old and up against some stubborn adults with crazy ideas about what smiles should look like. Sure, I ended up with another retainer, but to my credit I never told them where I buried the first one. Looking back, I’m sure that my grandmother must have found it eventually, but she never let on.

My life unfolded and I often found myself bucking against circumstances more baffling and painful than dental equipment. I’d feel helpless, but eventually I had to bust out of whatever straight jacket I ended up in even if I didn’t always think it through and ended up on my ass. With practice, it happens less often. For some things busting out happened within hours, days, a few months. A few traps took years.

Writing the bio has shown me that my wild, gorgeous freedom didn’t just pop up one day and say, “ok, you’ve weathered all the storms, you’re free now.” I’ve always been this gorgeous.

Let’s all step outside all the things that don’t make sense to us and experiment with following the pull of our heart’s intuition. We are all gorgeous. I promise.

The Fertile Territory of Edges and Margins

“Edges- places where forest meets meadow or ocean meets shore- are often the most diverse and fertile parts of an ecosystem.” Starhawk

 

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CROW LOOKING FOR TREASURES AT THE EDGE BETWEEN STREET AND SIDEWALK

A few weeks ago, I lay in bed listening to the crows wake up the morning. They make a raucous sound for some, but I enjoy having them around. A bit later, I reached for one of the books I won during the Poetry Week give-a-ways (Fire On Her Tongue: An Anthology of  Contemporary Women’s Poetry Ed. by Kelli Russell Agodon and Annette Spaulding-Convy). I turned to a random page and found Joannie Kervan Stangeland‘s poem The Crows Song; in her words I felt the familiar pull of affinity with the Crow.  The last stanza of the poem:

They told us we had / no voice, no song, / and yet we wheel, we fly / a swarm of black wings / flinging dusk. / We sing of beak and claw / of scavenger trash. We sing / and we welcome the dawn / before anyone.

Both family and culture told me, as it has most women, that we have no voice, that we should only echo what we’ve been taught is proper and keep secret our experience and truth. In spite of that, so many of us learn how to fly and we call out from our very core with our truth.

For that we get told to silence ourselves, or at the very least to censor ourselves – make our song sweeter and more palatable. We get pushed to the margins of culture where, to our amazement, we find treasure, we find our “twig and old silk, / twine and foil.” As ecologists know, it’s at the edges of ecosystems that we find the most diversity. We find others like us, and those so different that they help to shift our perspectives and enrich our art. We find our voice, our dreams and the inspiration to make them into reality.

Sure, there are a few unsavory aspects of the territory of edges, but as crows know so well, sometimes that’s where we find the most intriguing, uplifting, brilliant, open-hearted ideas and people. I love the song Drag Queens and Limousines by Mary Gauthier because it speaks to the not only the diversity, but the kinship we can find at the edge of our worlds.

The lines in the last stanza sound too true:

They tell me they miss me, but I know they don’t understand / Sometimes you got do / What you gotta do / And hope that the people you love / Will catch up with you.

Those spaces at the boundaries between culture and subculture are full of artists, poets, story-tellers …. a dazzling landscape of creatives. We creatives can feel alone there in the mainstream of things- going about our business at the farmer’s market or Laundromat, sipping on some good whiskey at the local bar or a good down home glass of ice cold sweet tea on our front porch. But we need to show up as ourselves in these places, the whole messy brilliant package that we are, so we can find one another.

While this post took shape in my notebook, Jen Lee’s film Indie Kindred became available -  a film about the kinship that we long for with other creatives and the truth that we can find one another. Jen and all the creatives involved with the film have inspired me to continue on this journey of showing up as myself whether I am in a local café or posting here or in other social media sites. It’s a film made with love, sincerity and passion. I’ve fallen in love with it, watched it twice and want every creative that ever felt alone to watch it too. Here’s just a bit of the goodness:

Indie Kindred – Trailer from Jen Lee on Vimeo.

Here’s lookin’ for you, kid!

Much love.