November 8, 2010 Part three of a seven-day meditation, with today’s installment brought to you by silence . . . This morning, I don’t have much to write.  Today’s minimal words stemmed from my Thursday afternoon watching the waves and finding myself blessedly quieted. So my recommendation and encouragement to you this day is to find yourself a moment of silence.  Park yourself in front of or take yourself on

November 6, 2010 Part one of a weeklong meditation, brought to you by the Pacific Ocean . . . I returned last night from a two-day women’s writing retreat at Nehalem Bay State Park on the Oregon coast.  We stayed in yurts, and my wondrous friend Sarah Kinsel led the experience.  None of these words seem to do justice to the fullness and richness of our time there, diving deep into words

On asking the Emptiness what she has to say . . . A few weeks ago, in brainstorming to play with some work challenges, one of the random ideas that emerged was holding workshops inspired by punctuation. I considered a Question Mark workshop to explore the mysteries in life and an Exclamation Point workshop to reflect upon what makes writing and life dynamic and exciting. I’m not particularly interested in

November 7, 2010 Part two of a seven-day meditation, brought to you by the Pacific Ocean, and about owning myself as vast body of water . . . So here we are, day two, installment two.  It’s November 7, 2010.  We’ve gained an hour of darkness, an extra hour for contemplation or sleep or to enjoy glow in the dark things stuck on our ceilings. The writing at the end

On getting quiet and making choices . . . This week I’ve been listening—to my body, to my sense of connection with the world, to the deep, wise rhythms of being.  And, okay, I admit, I also had a few teensy moments when I might not have been tuning in all that well. The week started with regrouping after a whirlwind of fun visitors.  This particular regrouping day ended with

Dear ones, my website has just recently been updated, and thus a new blog system is at work.  My talented and kind friend Claudette is working on a few kinks to get the comment system working and to transfer the great comments many of you made on the last blog.  I encourage you to keep reading what’s here in the meantime, and to know that I’ll be posting regularly again

On lavender and change and how attractive you just keep getting … Last weekend, I took a road trip with my friend Carlyn, east of Portland and Mt Hood-ward. We started with a stop at Hood River Lavender Farm, a place I never thought I’d visit. Why, you ask? Well, I’ll get to that, but first let me tell you how fun and luscious it was. Thank you so much

On remembering my place in this world . . .  I’ve been thinking a lot about belonging. And I keep stumbling into the particular anxiety of wondering where I fit. Like I’m perpetually trapped in a high school gymnasium, comparing my poly-blend dress to the other girls’ jeans skirts and wanting desperately to be chosen by some boy as his dance partner. Talk about No Exit. I think that one of

To be used when stuck in any given pit of despair . . . This last month, I had the great pleasure of training with a group of talented writers to be volunteer workshop facilitators for Write Around Portland—an incredible organization in my new hometown. As part of the training, we wrote a lot, and that reminded me of the abundance of ways and forms and shapes in writing, which led

On getting to a place beyond words . . . Wound—I like this word. I enjoy that it can be pronounced in two ways, can be used as three different parts of speech, and that depending, it can refer to an injury or to being coiled up like a slinky or a yo-yo string or that angry grad school professor I learned to stay away from. And I love that