Here We Are. Listen.
Here we are. Listen. Listen, listen. Be still and know yourself as god and goddess. Stop fidgeting. Relax. Find your body again. Stretch up into it. Inhabit it. Know yourself as true because you are living as true. Know the difference between a crutch and the power of your own legs. Thank you so much for reading. You might notice that I don’t have a space for comments, but I’m
Taking My Own Medicine
This past month brought me some sharp and unexpected heartache and has left me feeling like a turtle stuck on her back, my protection in a useless place and my vulnerable parts bared to predators. I’m still processing what happened and perhaps one day will be able to write about it, but today’s not that day. All I can say at the moment is that after being dosed with cruel
Watching the Credits
On slowing down, taking life in, and watching movie credits all the way to the end . . . My mom and I are different in many ways, but as I get older, I’ve come to see how we’re actually quite similar. We are both stubborn, love nesting in our home spaces, take in books like oxygen, enjoy a good Christmas Carol movie marathon as well as a good NYPD
Where Jesus Flang Them
So one of my favorite parts (one of many) in Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life, comes in the “Character” chapter. In this particular part, Lamott discusses the need for letting bad stuff happen to your characters–not that it all has to be bad stuff, but just that it has to be life stuff; it has to ring true. To bring home the point, Lamott writes
Overload: Breathing Our Way Forward
Let me start by saying this post is ultimately about breathing and compassion. So if you’re holding your breath or withholding compassion from yourself or anyone else, take a moment right now to kindly and mindfully fill your lungs. And now a question: does anyone else out there feel exceptionally full in heart and mind and spirit? I find myself tuning in each morning to NPR, watching Facebook for updates
A Forgiving Sort of Entry
On forgiveness, unicorn heritage, dead whales and horses, and some Bob Ross to boot . . In case you, too, are finding yourself in a moment in which you could do with some gentleness, this entry comes with a wish for you to go easy with yourself. And as usual, it stems from a reminder I’m giving myself right now and from the experience I know best: my own. I
Taking You to the Coast, Part Seven
November 12, 2010 Part seven of a seven-day meditation, this final installment a fairy tale for you, about waking up the light within . . . I choose a fairy tale to end this week of writings from my time at the ocean. I wrote this in response to an unusual prompt from Sarah. On Friday morning of our retreat, Sarah took out her singing bowl, struck it with the
Taking You to the Coast, Part Six
November 11, 2010 Part six of a seven-day meditation, today’s installment including a council of ex-lovers . . . I want to share with you just the beginning of something I wrote while on my coast retreat. Here it is: “I am not meant for loneliness,” I say. “I am meant for lovers.” And they nod when I say this, all of them gathered here on the beach: this council
Taking You to the Coast, Part Five
November 10, 2010 Part five of a seven-day meditation, today’s installment including a sea beast and some transmutation . . . Today, I want to share with you what happened when I approached the free write I posted yesterday in a new way. For me, it felt magical, and I recommend you try it with a piece of your own writing. Basically it involves rereading what you’ve written, looking for
Taking You to the Coast, Part Four
November 9, 2010 Part four of a seven-day meditation, with today’s reflection as a matter of life and death . . . After several hours of personal time spent at the ocean on Thursday of the retreat, one of the prompts was “Out of this solitude,” and what’s below is what came out for me, again with just a few edits. Thank you so much for reading. You might notice
- « Previous Page
- 1
- …
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- Next Page »