Unknown Chance…

Solitary red.
Solitary red.

In the midst of sadness and grief over losing my cousin at the age of 35, I learned again the value of spreading your wings and testing your faith in life.

For some, staying immersed in a life that is comfortable and challenging to maintain, seems like the safer and more obvious choice. There may be missed opportunities, times when going left instead of right, was a chance worth taking. The Unknown.

There are moments that are hazy, hopeful, glimpses into the future of what might be….but the road is scary, blurry and unknown. What if you don’t succeed? Something whispers, “turn back, you don’t recognize anyone or anything here. Turn back.” Fear causes people to retreat, and fall back. There are loved ones surrounding you, encouraging you to leap. But if your fear is deep rooted and intertwined with the fears of others…though they love you mightily, they will not wish for things to change or for someone to grow into a person they don’t recognize.

Perhaps a beautiful and courageous soul cannot soar into the limitless possibility of their own lives when fear runs rampant through their spirit. If unwittingly the voices that are the loudest are also the ones that stifle ones faith in unearthing the treasures within, then it may be impossible for them to even try to vanquish every doubt and fear they possess. There is no recognition, no reconciliation, no expectation of the majesty, mystery and miracles that guide all of us in our daily lives. How can they be convinced to gamble their talents, wisdom, and love and to see what is as yet, unseen? How can they be encouraged  to believe they already came to this earth with all the tools they would need to live an extraordinary and joyful life filled with gratitude, self-love, and triumph? That life is grander and abundant and resplendent with beauty!

You can’t. It’s that simple. The lesson may be to know deep within yourself that God or your Higher Power wants you to emerge victorious. That there are bright colors, friends, family, strangers and magic all around. If you train your eyes to search for beauty, it’s all around us, through us, and in us. If we are open to it, the world isn’t just black and white. We can live in Technicolor.  Godspeed Love!

Abundant green.
Abundant green.

 

 

 

Wild Moon…

“Wild Moon Woman

You were not made to be tamed.

You are an earthquake shaking loose

everything that is not Soul.

Shake Woman Shake!!” elyse morgan

     imageedit_9_2721769336                                             My photos of the Lunar eclipse. 

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Lost and Found…

I have to admit that I lost my creativity.. Yup, it’s true. It just up and left me and at first, I didn’t even notice. I just thought I was doing the usual procrastination thing that I do when I don’t want to write. The one where I stall and decide that I need to reorganize the kitchen cabinets, do laundry, or (and this truly reveals the depth of my decline), clean the bathroom, rather than write or take a another photograph.

I stopped carrying my camera and that might have been a moment for reflection or pause, but I missed the warning signs, once again. Soon guilt tripped into the drama and I realized something was, indeed, off kilter. What could it be? Um, right, I haven’t had the urge, the passion, or the slightest interest in indulging in the one aspect of my life, that has saved my life, my art. Instead I invited the shadow dwellers of negativity to stop by and visit and I guess they never left and I never really noticed they’d taken up permanent residence.

Still, a small part of me kept encouraging myself to take a picture, sit at my computer and find my curiosity, wonder, and inspiration. It had to be out there, right?  I used to know just where to look for it. I didn’t ever have to look so far to find it. I didn’t recognize the signs of depletion and exhaustion that ate systematically through my joy and replaced it with a grainy, facsimile of my life. My priorities were all screwed up. It’s no wonder that I had lost my way. I was looking and walking down a totally different path than I had intended. It was time to get back to my world, my life, my spirit and let go of the things that are weighing my soul down. How?

I invited the shadow dwellers of fear and worry to leave and welcomed the bright light of restoration, reaffirmation, and reflection home in their stead. The veil of worry seems to linger longer than the rest, I guess that’s an improvement over my insolent indifference. I found myself walking along the road looking at life passing by and suddenly I stopped and looked back to see what had drawn my eye. It was nothing spectacular, a bumble bee, but the fact was, I saw it. I stopped to observe it and found myself enjoying the wonders of pollination and I realized, I found my creative muse right where I left it, outside, in this very moment. Turns out it wasn’t as far away as I had imagined. 

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Mother’s Day Evaluation?

imageWhat a great day Mother’s day is. I get gifts, my kids speak kindly to me while still nudging and pushing one another to see who gets to sit in the front seat. There are cards, and hugs and kisses, (at home, in private), and my children look like Angels that floated down from a cloud with silver wings and garlands of lilacs….editors license here.

My sons suggested that I get a report card, “you know Mom, to see if there is anything you could improve on, right?” Nodding numbingly and with little enthusiasm , I agreed to take part in my new Mother’s day evaluation.

What harm could it do? I mean, I’m a pretty darn good Mom. Sure, I loose my cool, curse, yell, lecture, need occasional time outs, “to pull myself together,” and there may have been tears from time to time, I’m not sure whose exactly. Okay, so there have been hiccups along the way but I’m working really hard at being a good mother. For a grade I would say B+.

My sweet sons exchanged glances of pity and listed a few, mind you just a few things that I could improve.

“1. Don’t yell at both of us at the same time cause you seem to get confused and for some reason it makes you madder when we point that out.

2. You do not need to get out of the car when you drop us off at the following locations: school, friend’s houses, sporting events, boats, buses, or when you drop off stuff that we left at home and needed you to deliver cause we Have to have it today. My 10-year-old pipes in, ’cause we just saw you earlier that morning.’

3. Don’t yell out at games, Ever.

4. Don’t call us by our silly nicknames in public.

5. Don’t nag so much about us washing our faces and brushing our teeth and cleaning our rooms, we like it messy.

6. It would be better if our bed times could be later, you do give us baby bed times now.

7. Don’t try to trick us into trying foods we told you we already don’t like. We still don’t like them even with gravy.

8. We should be allowed to spend our saved money anyway we want. It’s been a long time since you were kids and you don’t always know the right stuff to get. Plus you’re a girl.

9. Stop making us pose for your photos everywhere we go, sometimes it’s sooooo embarrassing.

10. Please, please don’t hug/kiss us when we are in public, please refer to number 2 on this list for uncool hugging/kissing locations.”

Other than that, my grade from them was an A+++. Frankly they think I’m the best Mom, Ever. However a more detailed list will be provided should I wish to improve further.

To all the wonderful Mom, Aunts, Grandmothers, Sisters, and Friends who love their children beyond measure, mostly. Enjoy your day!

#mothersday #motherslove #mothersevaluation

In the Presence of Writers

This fall I took a writing workshop on Martha’s Vineyard with the legendary, Nancy Aronie, who I have deemed a “Literary Guru”. As a writing teacher she moves fluidly, dancing gracefully through her life, sorrows, pain, and joy in such a way that it invites and inspires her writers to do the same. Nancy has the uncanny ability to create the space that allows each writer to submerge themselves in their memories, dreams, disillusionment, and prayers to evoke words, prose, and stories that made me weep, laugh, and applaud with astonishment and joy. Nancy creates a safe place for each writer to slowly shed their cocoon and emerge into the brightly beautiful butterflies we are constantly struggling to become. She allows us to become the writers we have each longed to become. Every day each person was required to write from one of Nancy’s daily prompts and no one disappointed, although collectively we bemoaned, “what would we say? Could we even write about ‘that’?” “Am I even doing this right?”.

These amazing writers showed up with their humor, their heartbreak, their tragedies and they wove a web of stories that enthralled and entranced everyone within earshot. As the rain steadily pounded the studio’s windows, these unique voices, shared their eloquent prose, poetry and purpose. They told stories that made me feel honored to have sat among the last vestiges of  fall’s, leaf-colored, canopy, in the in bleak ending of November and weep with unabashed abandonment. Tissues were quietly passed from person to person as we heard stories of suffering, and so much sadness that people have endured in their lives and have lived to tell about it. Each testimonial and written word was as individual as the writer but the collective experience of being human beings trying to navigate the morass of our own childhoods, teenage angst, and adult lives made me long to comfort them in some way. The best thing I could do was to sit silently, breathe deeply and bear witness to their incredible stories and then applaud like I was at a rock concert when they were finished.

You could hear a pin drop as each one of us were preparing to read our words, tell our stories and share our hopes and dreams and often revisit the very pain that had brought us there. Each voice was as distinctive as the writer. There was a richness, a catch in their throat honesty and the willingness to endure, that allowed us to be  swept away into their worlds and into their shared moments of dreams, triumphs, successes and sorrow. At the beginning of each class I was sure that we had heard the best writing and then I would be lulled, lead, and laden anew with fresh tears as even deeper stories emerged and these brave souls bared their spirits and shared their lives with such courage, writers who were strangers to me no more.

All writers were funny, raw, theatrical, heartsick, loving, imaginative, vulnerable and unflinchingly truth tellers who sat in a sacred circle and bared their underbellies for the rest of us to see. What I heard was a cacophony of vibrant voices, experiences, and writing styles, but these were WRITERS, true artists. No one else could have told their stories and shared them with 23 strangers with such rawness, profound honesty, honor and grace. Each voice, each piece was an expression of what that writer brought to the group and it could not be duplicated by anyone else. That is what being a writer is about, I suppose. Telling a story that only you know the intimate details of and making us see, feel, and step back into the piece with the same clarity and tangible, tactile feelings that the writer sees in their mind’s eye. It is the ability to draw other people along, to envision your steps, your views and your emotions that makes someone a talented writer and an artist.

As I sat listening, laughing, and languishing in empathy, sympathy, and pain, I realized, this is writing. Each person is responsible for telling their story, their way, with no apologies. Each writer’s words and voice lent itself to the story being told and on some days I wondered how it is that we have all survived. If you’re a writer, you put the pain, sorrow, and longing on the page and you tell your story because invariably the other people reading or listening are sharing in the triumphs and losses, just as your exquisitely chosen words intended to convey. It’s like writing music, the tempo, the melody and the visionary, inextricable placement of each word delivers the listener to another world, another layer, where you are the star and we are the audience, there unseen, unknowing, and unaware of where this beautiful song will lead.

I have been changed by this class and as my favorite quote reminds me, “When I move, Providence moves with me.” Stay tuned as I write about the other revelations that have emerged from this one simple act of stepping out on faith. It turns out, getting out of my comfort zone, challenging myself, and standing in the presence of greatness allowed me to find a bit of my own greatness amidst the crowd of writers that I now call friends.

#writers, #gratitude #inspiring