It's incredible when you have those windows, those moments of clarity--the low-humidity, cool fall-like day in the midst of July--and you remember that it won't always be summer. It won't always be so hot, so humid, so still. You remember that relief does come and that this day was a gift--a small reminder to keep… Continue reading Exceedingly Breathable
Even when we have nowhere to go, nothing to gain, nothing to flee from, nothing to race to, we still insist on, if not swimming hard and fast in circles, then treading water, looking around, trying not to be noticed not being busy. Just writing that was tiring. On those days, we float. And on… Continue reading Necessary to Float
When we move from the heart (and how is it that this is so easy to forget?), then there's never a question, never a fork in the path we can't navigate, rarely a choice that doesn't come easily. It's a matter of moving the habitual center of thought (perched way up there, tottering on the… Continue reading A Reflection of Heart
The beautiful thing about the simple belief that you are depth is that, by definition (my definition), there is nothing you cannot access. Perhaps you need to train your breath, your skin for the change in temperature, your mind for the temporary absence of light, but it can all be done, easily, a minute, a… Continue reading The Deep Sea
I try, as much as possible, to take my cues from nature, where the only rule is survival. So. Leaning, on occasion, if the structure is sound, falls well within that parameter.
The last day of July. I will never complain about weather (at least, I hope that's the truth); it's a waste of time, of energy, and a poor use of our profound capacity for observation. But I will tell you this: out of all the months in all the year, July ranks twelfth in my… Continue reading Slipstream
I had this minor revelation. We are not the only seekers--just because we have language and thoughts and worries and media and money and debt and love and loss and fairy tales and drama and history, we think, in that human-centric way we're prone to, that we are wandering alone out here, blindly reaching from… Continue reading Home.
Feeling small in a natural world is entirely different than feeling small in a human one.
When you come from a maternal line of artists, and when your own visual art skills are amateurish at best, then you take a lot of art classes. Perspective is one of the hardest skills to master, both inside and out of the studio. That you could become both present and absent enough to see… Continue reading It Always Was
I keep thinking that, at some point, this whole life thing becomes easier. But I'm not so sure. Maybe it's like what we say about yoga--the practice doesn't get easier, you just get better at dealing with difficulty. So this morning, in the dark of the pre-dawn, I'll listen to the bats chirp outside my… Continue reading So Large, So Old
