I committed to my own therapist that I’d be writing, I don’t feel like writing in my journal, processing and tracking seem obsolete right now, but this, this sitting quiet, breathing deep in my corner. Smudging with herbs I grew and blessed and harvested myself. Candle dance touching that spot in my heart that muscles…
Tag: the writing life
Since the time of the desk
The last time I went on vacation I drove 45 minutes up the coast highway and landed in a cheap boarding house I’d booked the night before on a 3rd party finder. Room cheap like the plastic blinds had runners missing in halves and a busted fridge that smelt like hot breath cheap, and a…
I went camping to soothe my soul: Thoughts, Final Harvest Moon
I walk a lot on empty beaches. It helps me breathe from muscly places in my belly that otherwise I can’t feel because they’re so deep. So last Monday I guess it was, walking along the roiled and wilen coast, beholding the brown and black and steel greys of Hurricane Maria’s deeps, there came this…
Oh Hobbit House.
Oh blessings on this gift, which is my hand-made life, woven together of benediction and surrender, embracement and loss…Oh I look around this morning and give such thanks.
New Moon: She takes up pen, again.
It’s been a million days of this I think, and as I write such words I see the gray slant of my ceiling in the morning, the days leading up to, but especially following, Aunt Mary’s death. Grief, which sits like a bone in the air. Its smooth, cold, calcium-yearning. Always there, blocking the place…
Wild Women Wisdom 