nothing

i want to write but my pen is dry. i want to run fast and hard, but i’m stopped here treading water trying desperately to catch my breath, never much succeeding. i feel as if i’ve got nothing when in fact i’ve got everything.

there are things i want to say but i’m tired of my own voice. i resort to niceties, to subjects off topic: the looming weather, the lack of season. when all i want to do is stand before everyone screaming. it should be allowed that i scream.

a bend at the waist grab your knees kind of scream. from the belly, from the beast, from the core of who i am these days. my problem is that i dont’ know how to let it out with enough satisfying force and loudness. so it stays inside clawing its way towards the back of my throat. my own stifled scream is tearing me to shreds.

i don’t want to talk about the price of gas or the commute or the democratic convention. i want to talk about the sorrow of humans and the way we’re wired and how we affect one another seemingly so carelessly. the chemistry of people, the energy of relationship, and the fruits of friendship.

i fall silent because i don’t want to hear my own voice when all i want to do is shout “isn’t life so fucked up?! how are any of us upright, walking, breathing, living! how are we raising our sons and daughters to be true to their hearts. how are we in this world, of this world, when none of it seems to make any sense?”

i want to remind you of this reality. that i am not depressed. that there was a time when i was anxious. when i was in dire need and simply went without. i used to be many things. at one time i was the woman who tread water with a baby in her arms. there was a time for depression but that time is not now. this type of sadness is simply feeling life. this type of sadness is me not turning my eye away from the pain. this type of sadness is not what dissolved my marriage. the loss of love and trust and belief is what caused the sadness not the other way around. this, my mood, is simply a reaction.

i take those words, those thoughts, those screams with me and i get lost in the woods. i get lost looking at how grand the trees are, forgetting how the canopy blocks out the light and spins my compass to confusion. i do this when what i really need to be doing is kneeling in the dirt with my forehead pressed to the earth, frantically finding new seedlings that sprout towards a new life. what i need to be doing is rejoicing in that new life, as small and fragile as it might be right now.

thoughts swirl around me, overwhelm me. thoughts that should be shared pen to paper. but i resist myself. i let them fly away from me. knowing i do this, i become the jackass writer who smirks and says ‘leave me alone.’ i lay on my bed and the thoughts drip out my ears and eyes and i casually let them. ‘go away from me.’ i swat at them like nuisances, and then i regret it. the familiar empty feeling that fills me once i recognize that the muse is gone. she was there on the windowsill for quite some time. she waited patiently for me to hear her whispers. she must have grown tired of my own resistance. it’s true, if you ignore her enough, she floats away. now i’m left with these empty thoughts like flattened pillows. ramblings of life that are so syncopated they make no sense to me at all.

and so it’s times like these, when the well is dry when i’m thirsty and tired and wandering ~ wondering… that i revert to nothingness. and i accept that this is the place that we all come from. and there’s nothing left to do but begin.

worldwide

last saturday i stepped outside my comfort zone and actually tried to mingle with other local photographers in a photowalk. we cruised up and down south congress street in austin and found things of interest to us. it’s always fascinating to me to see the world through another set of eyes. this is why sharing photography is so important to me, and why i spend so much time finding my happy place lost in photographs.

all of this was in part of scott kelby’s worldwide photowalk. it was pretty amazing and inspiring that all across the world, photographers were gathering in cities to walk together. all in all, i believe there were about 8000 photographers participating that day in over 100 cities.

i had fun, even in the blasting sun and typical texas heat. what made it better was knowing that i was walking in spirit with two shutter sisters. kristin was walking the streets in portland, maine and hay was cruising around wellington, new zealand. well, who can figure out time zones, but we were all there in spirit that’s for sure and i think somehow it shows in our photos when collaged like this.

there’s something i cherish from a comraderie. even if we’ve never met face to face. it feels like a sisterhood of sorts: nikon girls…shutter bugs. it makes life feel that much cozier, like the world is a little smaller, and humans are a little more human. for that i’m ever grateful.

now, who wants cupcakes?! my treat.

reading

i’ve been doing lots of reading lately. i find comfort in shared stories. in glimpses into others lives who might be in a similiar headspace as me. reading is a relationship. the writer’s honesty and bareskin  in print for you to wrap yourself around while sipping tea or wine or water. the writer knows you are there, knew you were there when those words came pouring out even if the book or article or magazine is a few weeks/days/years old. you and me, the reader are what draws the truth from them in the first place. we, all of us, the human race, are one another’s muse. it’s the need to share. the need to feel human and revel in the wonderment of all that means. reading always makes me feel more understood. less alone. less crazy.

today a good friend of mine handed me a photocopied paper and said ‘this made me think of you.’ and i sat down tonight to read it and was reminded that we are all the same. we really are. it’s just how we turn our eyes towards life, how we package it up, how we box it and label it, how we breathe it in. those are the details that divide people. those are the details that bring people together. it’s all a matter of perspective. so when i find like minds, i feel lucky and gracious, and it makes me want to share. strangely enough, this was written when i was merely 14 years old and yet here we are almost 20 years later. today, this could have been my own voice.

~~~~~~~~~~~

this is from Danaan Parry The Essene Book of Days 1989

Fear of Transformation: sometimes i feel that my life is a series of trapeze swings. i’m either hanging on to a trapeze bar swinging along or, for a few moments in my life, i’m hurtling across space in between trapeze bars.

most of the time, i spend my life hanging on for dear life to my trapeze-bar-of-the-moment. it carries me along at a certain steady rate of swing and i have the feeling that i’m in control of my life.  i know most of the right questions and even some of the right answers, but once in a while, as i’m merrily (or not so merrily) swinging along, i look out ahead of me into the distance, and what do i see? i see another trapeze bar swinging toward me.  it’s empty and i know, in that place in me that knows, that this new trapeze bar has my name on it.  it is my next step, my growth, my aliveness coming to get me.  in my heart-of-hearts i know that for me to grow, i must release my grip on this present, well-known bar to move to the new one.

each time it happnes to me, i hope (no, i pray) that i won’t have to grab the new one. but in my knowing place i know that i must totally release my grasp on my old bar, and for some moment of time i must hurtle across space before i can grab onto the new bar. each time i am filled with terror. it doesn’t matter that in all my previous hurtles across the void of unkonwing i have always made it. each time i am afraid that i will miss, that i will be crushed on unseen rocks in the bottomless chasm between the bars.  but i do it anyway.  perhaps this is the essence of what the mystics call the faith experience. no guarantee, no net, no insurance policy, but you do it anyway because somehow, to keep hanging on to that old bar is no longer on the list of alternatives.  and so for an eternity that can last a microsecond or a thousand lifetimes, i soar across the dark void of “the past is gone, the future is not yet here.” it’s called transition. i have come to believe that is the only place that real change occurs,. i mean REAL change, not the pseudo-change that only lasts until the next time my old buttons get punched.

i have noticed that in our culture, this transition zone is looked upon as a “no-thing,” a no-place between places. sure, the old trapeze-bar was real, and that new one coming towards me, i hope that’s real too. but the void in between? that’s just a scary, confusing, disorienting “nowhere” that must be gotten through as fast and as unconsciously as possible. what a waste! i have a sneaking suspicion that the transition zone is the only real thing, and the bars are illusions we dream up to avoid the void, where the real change, the real growth occurs for us. whether or not my hunch is true, it remains that the transition zones in our lives are incredibly rich places. they should be honored, even savored. yes, with all the pain and fear and feelings of being out-of-control that can (but not necessarily) accompany transitions, they are still the most alive, most growth-filled, passionate, expensive moments in our lives.

~~~~~~~~~~~

i hear you

i am remembering a time when i was just about seven months pregnant. when i woke up with the sudden realization, the sudden knowledge, the sudden slip into reality that i was the only one who could bring this baby to light. if my husband was working, if my midwife was almost two hours away, if i was alone as i often was..the only truth i knew was that i would have to birth this baby.

it was common sense. but something factual that i had never accepted. we lived in the middle of cow fields and rusted tractors. we lived with the empty treehouse cabins at the edge of the river. this awakening jolted me into knowing i would have to find the strength, the power, the endurance inside of myself to come through it. i would have to be able to do it alone. somewhat frightening and exhilerating i’d say. over the next months, i grew strong and round and full of life. and at 41 weeks i birthed a near ten pound baby in my living room.

from that day on, i’m learning that there’s nothing that anyone can fix. there’s nothing that anyone can do. it must come from within. always always always. and when it does, it’s a beautiful thing. a sense of strength that overcomes all grief all sadness all fear. it is life. and life is empowering if you open yourself to it.

~~~~

tonight while eating dinner i was watching out the back door. the light was shining on the studio and across the fence and i just wanted to go stand out there before it was gone. what i actually wanted to do was stand on the fence to get as close to the sun as possible, but that would be a terrible idea to share with river and the fence would probably break in the process… so i grabbed my tripod (currently being used as a fire hydrant perched on the couch) and my camera and slipped on my shoes to ward off the mud. river went skipping barefoot in skivvies.

let it in. the light. stare it in the face and trust that it knows what it’s doing. it’s you, your instinct, your heart, your mind. it’s showing you something of yourself that you never would have seen. feel it. it feels real. it knows you better than you know yourself.

river hears the beeping of my self timer and shouts “no, me! no, me!” and goes running in this game that we have that begins a chase. he ran off to have his turn to stand in the light by himself as it was fading. as each minute was bringing the sun closer to the horizon. the light was white and yellow and blue. he stood in that light and i stood at the garden gate to his side, and i heard the shutter release. then i packed up my tripod, my camera, and stuck river under my arm with gobs of mud clumped to his feet to put him in the tub.

these two photos are what i saw after putting river to bed. one of me looking out and up and into the light. accepting it into my heart, letting it flow through me, trusting it to lead me. the other picture was river. stretching towards the light. like a seedling ready to grow, eager and strong.

he never says ‘i love you.’ and i don’t know why, but at the same time i do know why. it’s just him, his thing. who he is, where he came from before he was river and before he was mine. and i love him for it. for his keeping to himself. for his stares that penetrate and demand. for his need for hiding. for his spirit that came to me. he never says ‘i love you’ but we sign it silently when there is a need for reassurance. in this photo as he stretches, the first thing i noticed was his right hand. he’s making eye contact with my camera and smiling and signing ‘i love you.’

if there’s one thing in the world that humans need most, it’s the need to be heard. to be understood. as yourself. if you’re a nut or not. if your sense of humor is off, if you stutter, if you create your own reality. if you’re weak or strong or sad or angry. to be understood is a gift. i woke to this concept while sitting around the table with my two brothers in virginia. with few words, much was spoken of ourselves over laughter and a vase of mom’s garden flowers. and through my teary smile i thought ‘they get me. they really do. i am just like them.’ and that was the most satisfying moment i’ve had in a real long time. if there’s one thing i wish river to know is that i get him. i really do. and i hope that carries him far.

~~~~

this week a friend of mine shared a new voice with me, something beautiful that i didnt’ know i needed to hear. and in her doing so, i felt heard. i felt understood. some hundreds or thousands of miles away. and that is the true gift of humanness. that is the bridge we cross again and again as we reach out to souls and put our trust into others to care for one another as we care for ourselves.

i think today i am finding that woman in me who is able. who may tune in, tune out, or cry at the sound of a certain song. but that woman is strong beyond her own knowledge and is rooted to all others. and i hope i never forget that.

~~~~

Far far, there’s this little girl
she was praying for something to happen to her
everyday she writes words and more words
just to spit out the thoughts that keep floating inside
and she’s strong when the dreams come cause they
take her, cover her, they are all over
the reality looks far now

Take a deep breath and dive
there’s a beautiful mess inside
how can you stay outside?
There’s a beautiful mess
beautiful mess inside

Oh beautiful, beautiful

Far far there’s this little girl
she was praying for something big to happen to her
every night she hears beautiful strange music
it’s everywhere there’s nowhere to hide
but if it fades she begs
“oh lord don’t take it from me, don’t take it” 

She says, “I guess i’ll have to give it birth
i guess i have to, have to give it birth
there’s a beautiful mess inside and it’s everywhere

Just look at yourself now
deep inside
deeper than you ever dared
there’s a beautiful mess inside
~ yael naim ‘far far’

sunday

today was the first of many sundays. today i walked out into the world alone. today river spent the day with his daddy. today was a day of firsts for all of us. a time of learning for all of us as we figure out where we stand.

today was the first time river ever spent a whole day with kenny. today spanned a time of eight hours. today was the first time i had ever been alone for more than 4 hours in nearly 4 years. today was the first time i ever spoke to river on the phone. he told me excitedly, “i saw a water fountain!”

today was the first of many sundays to come. days that kenny will find his own way into fatherhood. days that river will get his cup filled again and again by daddy. days that momma will find time and peace.

it’s somewhat overwhelming. in the best sense. seeing this. seeing this split, seeing that this space can bring something so remarkable to all of us. something more than we ever had before. finally. somedays i see it like the greatest sacrifice. this outgrown relationship. this space can provide the greatest gift to river. two independently, individually healthy parents. in my eyes today two wholes are greater than two halves.

sit down

every so often you insist upon this.  and so i rip open my chest and lay it bare for you to see, for you to answer your own questions as to why. you’re baffled and that always leaves me with more questions as to how we could stand next to each other in different worlds for years. how was that even possible?

there is never closure. there is circular speaking with words i dont’ want to hear anymore, words that are wrong. wrong. wrong. words that make it all worse somehow. just stop talking would you? please? 

i scream at you and want to slam my own fingers in the heavy steel door to put vision to the pain. the pain you force me to peel back in conversations like this. and why? when speaking circular, we say what we don’t want to hear. we hover over the horse wielding big clubs, we swing madly out of anger and sadness and frustration and we beat the life out of that poor thing. it goes on into the night before i discover that i’m splattered with horse blood and my reflection tells me that i’m done with this life. suddenly i realize that it’s ok to be done. so i leave, but i can’t help but wonder why you are still beating a dead horse.

sit down to hear me. i am allowed this. this space. this time to let you go. to finally let it go away from me. and i feel lighter.  i feel healthier, more whole, more grounded, more focused. but most of all lighter. i can only wish you the same, because i think eventually it’ll feel wonderful, us each being individually whole.

they are the couple in the parking lot. they’d rather sit in the heat as the sun turns from yellow to blue to grey instead of enjoying a movie.

because they can’t go through the motions anymore just to move through them. the facade has come crumbling down. it’s messy and destructive and there’s danger and flammable emotions everywhere. the words come loud and clear and everyone is in the way.

and you watch. you with your died pink and black hair, you with your piercings and tattoos. you watch them. they, so obviously the mother and father with empty carseat in the back. a child is sleeping somewhere other than here.  you watch them and marvel in the wonder of how life becomes this. of how life won’t turn to this when you become thirty-something. you watch them and think that your life will be different. better. and i honestly hope that it is.

but what you don’t realize is that they were just like you.

portal

 

“writers keep writing about the cold dark place within. the water under a frozen lake or the secluded, camoflaged hole.  the light they shine on this hole, this pit, helps us cut away or step around the brush and brambles; then we can dance around the rim of the abyss, holler into it, measure it, throw rocks in it, and still not fall in.  it can no longer swallow us up. and we can get on with things.”

~ Anne Lamott

bird by bird

comings and goings

i am not myself these days.

these days just fresh from the beach with sandy feet and gritty heart.

i am coming. i am going.

going going gone.

it feels like i’m spinning madly around the room, frantically searching for a way out. holding the key, holding the reins that i’m gripping that i feel slipping that appear in a dream to be dripping. i’m making a mess. am i making a mess? i want to empty my wagon. i want to lift my weight. i want to unload my bags. i’m not sure how to start so i backpedal into overwhelm and anxiety and wonderment. i so badly don’t want to fill my cup with bitterness. please don’t let me turn sour.

please let me remember my heart.

 

whisper me your secrets if we are all the same. i believe and i doubt at the same time. how do you do it? how did you marry and have a child.  how did you com through sadness and bitterness and anger. how did you overcome and let go and not fall to pieces. and how can i not?

i am not myself but i don’t know how to be any other way.

the tunnel is dark but the light is there, i can feel the warmth it gives off. i feel like the moth fluttering sporadically towards the light. i can see that the window is open… and so i simply begin.

 

Everyday we wake up
We choose Love
We choose light
And we try, it’s too easy just to fall apart

Love can free us from all excess
From our deepest debts
Cause when our hearts are full we need much less

~ the submarines: you, me and the bourgeoisie

how it goes

you jump. you fly.

you fall. you land.

thud.

you hurt. you cry.

you stand. you walk.

you fly.

 

heading out tomorrow for the east coast. i’m looking for some beach sand and seabreeze.

thanks for all your support and words and thoughts and well wishes and love. i have felt them all.

see you all mid-august.

new moon

i guess i was a little surprised today when i realized i had lost a day. somewhere. somehow in the darkness of 3am the days changed. night became day. somewhere in the darkness, life changed too. soil eroded. sands shifted.

have i mentioned that growth is painful? that change comes at the most inopportune times? that sometimes life is very very sad?

i guess i was a little surprised when i realized that today was the first of august. and a new moon. kinda fitting for all the darkness i suppose. kinda fitting for all the newness that appeared with the sunrise.

mostly today feels like death. someone didn’t die. but something did. something that was thirteen years old. something that was born from something beautiful and pure. trouble is that something didn’t get watered over the years. it wilted. it got burned from the sunlight. leaves died from too much heat. roots shriveled with not enough love. i’m learning that just because you miss the beauty of the bloom doesn’t bring it back to life. and that can be very sad. that mourning. that loss of beauty is missed by everyone who loved it.

something that is thirteen years old is heavy. i carry it with me today. and it sits like a dead weight upon my chest making it hard to breathe. it hurts to breathe and life is sad. but i think with time and space the moon will rise, day will turn to night and back to day, and the path will be well-lit leading me where i need to be. one foot infront of another. into the fog or into the sun, i move forward.

“how are you sad and crying today, momma?” i’m just very sad.

“is kenny sad and crying too?” yes he is.

“how?” momma and daddy are having some troubles.

“i’m sorry momma” yeah, i’m sorry too baby.