sunday grace

there is a week in summer when caring for the garden becomes less a joy and more a chore.  its tendency to delight me by the most mundane of moments--a tiny shoot of life, the seduction of a honey bee, the sun lighting up droplets of water clinging to its petals--is tempered by its insatiable need for maintenance.  maintenance that is tender one day and resentful the next.

the bright newness is replaced by the inevitability of change.  the carefree ease gives way to a mindful commitment of care.   the energy recalibrates to fuel less the outward show, more the network of roots forged over time that will see it safely through cycles of resignation and hope, spark and smolder, rupture and repair, death and rebirth.

sunday grace: the grace and privilege to heal

yesterday i wrote about my recent experience with severe anxiety and some practical things i did to make it through.  today i want to acknowledge the other side to that healing journey:  the unseen elements of flat out grace and the privilege of this life i am living.

privilege first.

most of the things that worked for me, that allowed me to shake off the debilitating panic and fear, that helped me calm the explosion of rogue chemicals cursing through my body, were things that i was able to access mostly due to my privilege.

i have lived a life with access to healthy food, clean air, safe relationships, health insurance.  i am allowed and know how to question authority without repercussion.  i do not have to think about the possibility of discrimination based on my skin color or sexual identity.  i have friends and loved ones who are doctors and therapists and yoga teachers and natural healers and grace-filled poets and good strong trustworthy people.  i have access to information.  i have financial means to pay for those things my insurance does not cover.  i can take time off work.

these things did not go without notice and gratitude during my experience.  many days i considered how much more difficult, if not impossible, healing would have been without them.

i want to note that during my six emergency room visits, it was wonderful to observe that the doctors and nurses treated everyone with kindness.  we were quite the mishmash of humanity up in there in the middle of the night and each of us was met with tenderness and quality care.

i also want to note that even though i have health insurance, our current system does not recognize the value of alternative care.  i paid $3.00 out of pocket for a one month supply of drugs that almost killed me, but my insurance won't cover the nutritional supplements or the acupuncture and those were the things that seemed to make the most difference for me.

now for the grace.

grace is when you are pacing the house at 2am and the only thing that can soothe your soul is softly singing that song you sang around the campfire at hume lake when you were 11.

grace is when your prayer starts with, "i'm sorry, i can't think of anything to be thankful for right now, but i need help."  and then you immediately recall all the goodness in your life.

grace is a loving husband who can work through his own fear of what the hell is wrong with her? and lovingly drive you around for hours every night so you can get to sleep, as one would do for an infant.

grace is the morning when your eyes open and it has lifted away.  you can breathe again.  you can live again.

sunday grace: swarm season

swarm season.  acrylic, ink, paper on wood.  april 2018.

there are specific times of the year when bees and birds and butterflies swarm, drawn together in a seemingly chaotic instinct to find their place.  i read an article that described swarms and on that day i felt all my worries, fears, regrets, and shame had similarly swarmed in my body, frantically congregating in crowded quarters beneath my rib cage.

this year i have experienced an unexplained and sudden onset of panic attacks, chronic high anxiety, and insomnia.  during the past month i have essentially been disabled by this, unable to work, drive, be alone, eat, or sleep.  my life was hijacked.  even though my panic mostly feels like an infestation of hungry invaders, i have reframed the urgent fluttering presence in my body as my swarm.

there is no apparent root cause (no situation or event) that we have landed on yet.  could be cumulative stress or secondary traumatic stress, could be hormones, could be sensitivity to the growing collective anxiety in our world, could be genetic, and on and on...

i want to write more on the ways i managed the worst of days when i was overcome with fear and energy, because i know it can be helpful for others to read (especially for those like me who are sensitive to medication and have a desire to go the most natural route possible).  i'm not in that space yet.  i'm still barely hanging on over here, trying to remain an objective observer to this madness and focus on the day when the swarm moves on.

with all dark days, there are moments of light.  even though it has been hard to see and acknowledge, some goodness has come from this.  this is the grace (and quite possibly the purpose) of swarm season:  attention, vulnerability, deciding to do things differently.  here are a few moments of swarm grace:

• i cut out caffeine and it was relatively painless.  all the cortisol and adrenaline cursing through my veins cushioned the typical withdrawal symptoms.  after decades of two cups of strong coffee daily, i am now enjoying one cup of swiss water processed decaf every morning.
• i asked for help.  and not just for help, i asked for exactly what i needed.  and you know what?  people responded in the most loving and supportive ways. 
• i finally got it that i really do need other people.  
• i cleaned up my nutrition. 
• the breath is fucking magic.  magic.
• i have an entirely new appreciation for the exquisite beauty of an ordinary day, a night of sleep, someone who holds your hand, people who know things, people who are able to hold space.

here's looking forward to the day the swarm has done its thing and lifts in gentle flight.

sunday grace: solstice

december morning sun in the kitchen on gypsy hill

the winter solstice arrives this week on december 21st (for those of us in the northern hemisphere).  it is one of my favorite times of year, this point in time when we teeter on the edge of darkness and light.  from the latin sol (sun) and sistere (to stand still), solstice is a moment to become still and reflect on the past, release that which no longer serves, and prepare for what is to come.  we see and hear the wisdom of nature:  darkness relieves us of our capacity for busyness, animals rest, snowfall brings its exquisite hush.

there are so many ways to recognize this tender transition.  here are a few of my favorites:

• create a tiny solstice altar with candles (symbolizing light), photos of ancestors (symbolizing the past), and bits of spruce, pine, or juniper (evergreens symbolize life during winter).
• reflect in your journal:  what were your accomplishments, lessons, and losses during the past year?  what are your best hopes for the year to come?
• burn a solstice fire.  on a piece of paper, write down something you would like to let go.  put it in the fire and see it dissolve in spark and smoke.
• join a community celebration.  we will be gathering with our local waldorf cooperative at a community potluck, solstice spiral, and bonfire where the children will be reading their poetry.
• no matter the weather, place your bare feet on the ground outside at night.  simultaneously sense the solid support of the earth and vast unseen possibility of the dark sky.

happy solstice friends.  i wish you just enough darkness to see the stars and perfect light to illuminate your beautiful life.

sunday grace: a blessing for the feast of st. therese of lisieux

blessed be the wildflowers who stand magnificent but unnoticed in a world of glittered supermarket chrysanthemums.
blessed be the sensitive souls, the tender hearts, the triggered.
blessed be the empaths, the listeners, the reciters of plath and cobain.
blessed be the little girls who bring home strays and hide them away in the garage, sneaking them scraps of dinner and carefully making a nest of old beach towels on the concrete floor.
blessed be the boys of poetry and music and dance and kindness.  (good god, protect them in this place of narrowly and brutally defined "man".)
blessed be the ones who choose depth over breadth.
blessed be the loners, the hopeful, those who see beyond this moment, this day, this world.
blessed be the truth-tellers, the secret-keepers.
blessed be the those whose skin registers the subtle sea change of a room when sadness enters.
blessed be the misfits.
blessed be the solitary tidepool explorers, foreign film seers, 2 a.m. taco truck diners.
blessed be the forgivers.
blessed be those whose hearts break open at the suffering of others.
blessed be those whose second language is sky, or preschooler, or unspoken emotion.
blessed be the unloved, the forgotten.
blessed be the childless who mother and father beasts and ideas and gardens and communities instead.
blessed be the true.
blessed be the wildflowers.

· · · · ·

the feast of st. therese of lisieux (the little flower) is october 2.

sunday grace: the grace of beginning again

in this moment, irregardless of the chaos or confusion or exhaustion or despair, the option to begin again is available to us.  even if it's the fourth beginning today.  this option comes with each breath until the moment our breathing ceases.  the breath is our regular reminder to clear the table of the debris of failure (actual or perceived), stupid words, careless deeds, worn out ideas of who we are. the breath is our regular reminder to see with new eyes, love with an open heart, and take a first step into our ordinary brilliance.

"a friend.  is someone who supports your breath."  -nayyirah waheed

sunday grace: how to be remembered

friends, why did it take me so long to get my hands on our world, by mary oliver?  in its pages the poet remembers and honors her beloved.  something real and raw resonated here, in the words she uses to describe her love.  talk about #lifegoals.  i will have considered my earth mission complete if one were to think of me like this:

she "had will and wit and probably too much empathy for others; she was quick in speech and she did not suffer fools. when you knew her she was unconditionally kind. but also...you had to be brave to get to know her.  she was style, and she was an old loneliness that nothing could quite wipe away; she was vastly knowledgeable about people, about books, about the mind’s emotions and the heart’s. she lived sometimes in a black box of memories and unanswerable questions, and then would come out and frolic — be feisty, and bold."

it really got me thinking about how else i would want to be remembered (and honestly, there wasn't much to add). thinking about this was a fantastic exercise in life clarification:

• she would walk into the mess with you in a heartbeat
• her home reflected the world she wished to live in:  colorful, quirky, diverse, full of life and the endless possibility of transformation, safe and peaceful, even if a bit disordered on occasion.
• she stood with children and the vulnerable.
• she stood against those who harmed others, who treated others unjustly, who used others for their own advancement.
• she did not tolerate narcissists, large-scale or small, nor those who willfully looked away from examining the complexities of life.
• she cherished true belonging while maintaining comfort in the roles of loner, misfit, outsider, rebel.
• she celebrated and attended to the details, both beautiful and mundane, while never losing sight of the big picture.
• she loved art and dogs and sunsets and mountains, california wildflowers and the bracing cold fury of the pacific ocean.
• she never outgrew being read to.

#workinprogress

sunday grace: the grace of losing my religion (part one)

spanish head composition by george condo, 1988.  

(captured by me at moma, 2013)

it is not easy when i call out, talk about, and resist the epidemic of toxic christianity.  i was raised a christian in a small baptist church in a conservative town in california.  i have felt the deep love of jesus, the sense of belonging that comes with being one of a 'flock', the accomplishment of learning and knowing the bible (ahem, junior bible verse champion over here!), the joy of singing peace like a river with twenty friends around a campfire at hume lake.

so many people i know and love are true christians. christianity is part of who i am, even if i no longer identify with the religion.

the thing that pushed me away from christianty was not the thing we were all warned about by our christian parents. it was christians who pushed me away.

it was the christians who told me to stop thinking.  to stop dancing.  to stop asking.  to stop being angry (or insert any other human feeling).  to stop loving people (especially those who were different).

it was the christians who chose to pretend the child sexual abuser in our midst could not possibly have done what the children said, because he was such a good christian.

it was the christians who preached kindness, but were the cruelest people i've ever met.

who preached forgiveness, but held massive grudges.

who preached mercy, but were steadfastly merciless.

who preached courage, but were astonishingly afraid of life.

who preached grace, but were devoid of it.

it was those who silenced me when i tried to talk about how being christian meant living the values of jesus.  as humans. on this planet. with others who may be living a different set of values.

it was those who implicitly and explicitly ordered a girl who was organically interested in those who were different, to stop doing that.

but more than all that, it was the christians who saw all of this, who may not have done these things themselves, but chose to ignore it, who pushed me away.  it was those who, for whatever reasons (fear, denial, etc.), were silently complicit in the oppression that scared me the most.

as a girl growing up in the baptist church, my sense of self was dismissed, my empathy mocked, my intuition called 'dangerous'.  very early on, i associated my very strong empathy and intuition to the voice of the holy spirit herself; to be told that was wrong was crushing and confusing and rendered me lost.

i was told that safety is achieved through restriction and control, rather than thinking, exploring, reflecting, regrouping, practicing, learning to set healthy boundaries.  the message was loud and clear:  you need not develop personal power and agency, safety is your reward for adhering to these rules.

later in life, as a social worker (and a woman who continued to think and explore despite the embedded fear of hellfire), i learned that these are the characteristics that describe toxic people.  these are the people we should be avoiding in life in order to be safe humans.  these are the people who hurt others, who seek control through manipulation, who wield fear and power and duplicity with a smile.

all of this is to establish the foundation for my deep concern about direction of the evangelical movement in the christian church. i want you to know that my protest of toxic christianity comes from a place of knowing and experiencing, not just reacting.  i want you to know that they are dangerous, on an individual level and now, to the freedom and peace of our nation.

i believe that the most powerful way to stop them is for true christians to speak up.  to stop ignoring. to stop silencing.  to stop accepting the hatred and control as an extreme interpretation of the bible.

seriously, what would jesus do?  let's do that.

_____

in part two, i write about what it's like for me to live in lynchburg, virginia, home to jerry falwell's liberty university and its associated mega-church (so, say you were a toxic christian...this would be your mecca).

resiliency toolkit: grace is tiny

those moments and gestures of grace that save us, they are typically not grand.  they are often so small that we might not even feel them if we are not present and paying attention.  this particular week they looked and sounded like this:

• an accidental yoga sequence that is rocking my world
• jasmine, sprouting up and blooming in unintended places, scenting me home to california
• "being a flawed ally is really the only way to be a true ally, i appreciate your humility."
• facebook is not really functioning well, so i am there less and allowing myself to be organically weaned from the fucking nonsense while maintaining the meaningful connections

and on the regular:

• that first cup of coffee
• falling asleep to a story read aloud
• the steady loyalty of my dog luca
• slow living: leaving behind busyness and multitasking and overscheduling and any remaining needs to be seen and approved of
• when the smoke from incense or burning sage fills the room and the sun beams upon its swirling magic

(tiny ganesha was captured at the sublime bedford yoga studio)

sunday grace: the garden and preparing for glory

yesterday was the first perfect day of spring in virginia:  sunny, clear, clean (lots of rain earlier in the week), and a beautiful seventy degrees.  we spent the day preparing the front and back yards at gypsy hill so that they can achieve their maximum glory in the months ahead.  the work was quite unglamorous in the sense that it involved more shovels and fertilizer and wheel barrels and trash bins than flowers and lemonade.

i couldn't help but think about the work as a metaphor for life, soul, and embodiment right now:

• where are the spots that require more digging?
• how is the ground?  is it packed and settled so tight that it supports, but is bereft of nutrition and aeration?
• what areas need extra nourishment?  which balance of nutritional components is optimal for current conditions?
• what are components that may require thinning, pruning, transplanting?  how will they thrive under different circumstances?  more light needed here?  more shade and shelter for this?
• what needs to be respectfully moved to the compost bin?  how did it once add to the beauty and meaning here?
• who are the people who show up to do the hard, down and dirty work with you?

i'm reminded of a poem i first read in my adolescence.  it's totally corny but i still love it so much. upon reading these words at age eleven or twelve, i began to discover my first real sense of personal power and agency in the world.  

comes the dawn

after a while you learn the subtle difference

between holding a hand and chaining a soul.

and you learn that love doesn't mean leaning

and company doesn't mean security.

and you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts

and presents aren't promises.

and you begin to accept your defeats

with your head up and your eyes open

with the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child.

and you learn to build all your roads on today

because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans.

and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

after a while you learn

that even sunshine burns if you get too much.

so you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul

instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

and you learn that you really can endure,

that you really are strong

and you really do have worth.

and you learn and learn,

with every goodbye you learn.

-veronica shoffstall

plant your own garden, actual and metaphorical.
happy sunday junebugs.

sunday grace: the hard season

bleeding heart liberal (work in progress)

the hard season
will
split you through.
do not worry.
you will bleed water.
do not worry.
this is grief. 
your face will fall out and down your skin
and
there will be scorching.
but do not worry.
keep speaking the years from their hiding places.
keep coughing up smoke from all the deaths you
have died
keep the rage tender.
because the soft season will come.
it will come.
loud.
ready.
gulping.
both hands in your chest.
up all night.
up all of the nights.
to drink all damage into love.
– therapy

{nayyirah waheed, salt}



i've got work to do.

recent events (the election, the murder of black americans, standing rock, to name a few) have left me angry with and ashamed of my country, my race, my gender, the religion i was raised with.  

angry with and ashamed of my self.

i'm unpacking the painful discovery that knowing and caring are not enough.  

i want to be a true and effective ally. 

i want to see and know the whole awful truth.

i want to come out of the soft denial of my own experience, privilege, responsibility, and responses to that whole awful truth.

i want to stand and speak and act against that whole awful truth.

grace will help, but it is not the whole story here.

i've got work to do.

sunday grace: thank you

hopeful me, circa 2008

on tuesday, november 8, 2008, i voted for the america i believe in.

the next day my friend meggan told me the story of how she fell asleep before the results were final, but left her radio on.  she woke hours later, in the dark, the voice of her next president, a kind, smart, dignified human being, in the near distance, graciously accepting his charge.  and she was filled with peace.

i've thought of meggan's story many times in the eight years since.  when i'm feeling half-asleep or in the dark or disoriented, and when i disagree with that very same president, i hear the voice of calm, the voice of kindness, the voice of humanity.

i've thought of meggan's story so much this week.

and i can hear the voice.

thank you, president obama, for your voice.

thank you, president obama, for your leadership.

thank you, president obama, for your dignified diplomacy, for reminding us that we all have a higher self and we need to use it.

thank you, president obama, for the way you laugh, the way you look at children, the way you father, husband, friend, and president.

thank you.

we are in the dark.  but we hear your voice.

sunday grace: the magical month

{bits of october, 2009-2016}

october.  let it transform you.

sunday grace: just be true

"the privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are."  -carl jung

i used to have a favorite t-shirt designed by my friend jen lee that read, "just be true."  i really miss that shirt.  i lost it at a yoga festival a few years ago.

but even though i no longer wear the words on my body, i carry them in my soul.

a few weeks ago, i worked through a values exercise with a class i was teaching to clarify our most important personal values.  top of the list for me:  authenticity.

i work really hard at showing up as my genuine self.  i don't pretend to be anything i'm not.  i enjoy being a beginner, living in the learning stages.  i also enjoy developing expertise, but i understand there is no quick road to that.  i'm not a fan of fake or imitation.  i even cringe a bit when people say, "fake it 'til you make it."  (for many valid, spiritual reasons, but that is another post.)

i am very sensitive, as i'm certain most people are, when my ideas, art, work or projects randomly show up, presented and claimed by someone who is not me.

i blogged about this very thing a few years ago:  stealing buddha.  (holy moly, nearly FIVE years ago!)  i reread that blog before i started writing this one.  because the message i keep getting is to just let it go.

but in the years since that post, casually using others' work has become even more commonplace in our culture.  it is often just called inspiration.  i see it as a spectrum of intentions and behavior that we must check in with on a regular basis.  if we operate from a place of replicating someone else's work, we are not using the time to truly discover our own unique thing.

. . . . .

inspiration:  when you are drawn to a piece, practice, project or person and there is an energetic flash of connection and you think, "i want to do something like that."  amazing.  i am endlessly inspired by so many artists and thinkers, i can't imagine what my life and work would be without them.  i honor their influence and the work they have done by connecting with them, learning from them, and publicly recognizing the source.

practicing:  this happens a lot in creative fields, when someone practices the work of another to learn the technique in their own practice, trying it on to see how it moves within and relates to their own style and body of work.

duplication:  when you put out the same work or ideas as another, without doing the foundational work or having a depth of understanding and meaning about the process.  the end result is often accompanied by a sense of secrecy, hollowness and desperation.  there is an overwhelming feeling that it is not connected to who you are.  your intended audience feels that, even if you don't.

race-to-finish-first:  this is the person who sees others working hard and putting in time for a future release of something that looks like it's going to be fantastic.  they quickly throw together what they perceive to be the elements of the work so that they can be the first to release a quick, fake copy.

impostor:  this is a little more involved than copying.  it is when someone takes on characteristics and practices of another and presents as a particular kind of person with specific knowledge, experience and skills, when they haven't developed those things.  this is not to be confused with impostor syndrome. (although sometimes people say they struggle with having impostor syndrome, when they might want to consider that are actually engaging in impostor behavior.)

stealing:  if you use or copy another's idea, art or work to make money or to gain popularity/publicity/attention, it is stealing.  this is doubly true if the person you stole from earns a living from their work.  your stealing cuts into their livelihood.

. . . . .

we are all influenced by the work of others.  but it seems we are losing touch with discerning the range of influence. dabbling anywhere but the inspiration-practicing end of the spectrum prevents us from discovering our own true gifts.

it prevents us from discovering and being our own true selves.

let's be true.

sunday grace: things about summer

"you do not have to be a fire for every mountain blocking you.
you could be a water and soft river your way to freedom too."
                                                                                                                              -nayyirah waheed

sunday grace

i dream a lot about flying, flying like a bird and metaphorically flying (accomplishment).

it's often the steps that are required to take flight that keep me grounded.

this poem reminds me to keep trying, be patient, do the work.

sunday grace: grounded and oriented

orient.  10"x10" acrylic, ink, paper, pencil on wood.

i'm studying how to teach trauma-informed yoga and the material is rocking me to the core.

so many times here, i start to write that i can't wait to begin teaching yoga and art to teenage girls, but that is not true.  i can wait.  because the material is complex and important.  the girls are complex and important.  it's going to take some time to process and integrate and practice.  i want to offer something authentic and meaningful.

for so many people, feeling safe in the body doesn't come naturally.  it requires consciously becoming grounded, orienting to the space, and cultivating resources for emotional safety.  one of the many cues i learned for orienting that really resonated with me is, "look around the room and find four blue things."  i practice this myself when i am overwhelmed or frustrated or feel sad and to start my yoga practice.  it's simple and effective.

i woke up this morning wanting to create a piece inspired by four blue things.  because, you know, i process in color. i love that the abstract shape in the center unintentionally formed into a compass.  it also resembles my favorite yoga posture, ardha chandrasana, balancing fear, strength, lightness and beauty.

these things are my grace today:  learning, orienting, seeing the path more clearly, patience.

four things that just might be blue.

sunday grace: these four unlikely friends

{clockwise from top left:  the artist, frida kahlo; the mystic, anandamayi ma; the activist, angela davis,

and the believer, anne frank.  acrylic paint and image transfer on wood.}

yesterday i completed the fourth piece in an ongoing series of mixed-media work dedicated to my own personal archetypes.  i began a month ago just wanting to pay homage to frida kahlo after i daydreamed about us being friends and the kinds of things we would do together and talk about.  how would she listen to me?  what wisdom would she impart?  how could i make her proud?  i realized pretty quickly that i was actually exploring my archetypes, those women who hold particular resonance for me and who are the ideal personifications of qualities i wish to cultivate and maintain in my self and life.

i allowed the selection of the friends and the creative process to be informed by a current mood, need or memory.  i love the unlikely and powerful gang of heroes that emerged and who comprise the first four. even though they lived in different times and are of different cultures and have such a diverse treasure box of gifts, they all share a courageous and dreamy spirit with which i deeply connect.

. . . . .

i met my husband ken while we were both acting in the play the diary of anne frank.  the play was being produced in my hometown in california and the proceeds were dedicated to the agency i worked for at the time, to create a secure and confidential park where children in foster care could visit outdoors with their biological parents.  as both an actor in the play and a social worker at the agency, i was asked to give a speech at the ribbon-cutting ceremony.

i remember writing and speaking about the commonalities among children, the things that both the foster children and anne frank shared:  resilience, a connection to their parents no matter what, and a deep love of the freedom and light of the outdoors.  anne wrote in her diary, "the best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside."  it moved me deeply that we were building this space where children and their families could share time outside when that was the very thing that anne longed for while she was hidden in the annex.

i intentionally let her sit and write and smile in the open glorious outdoors in this piece.

friends, i am loving doing this series.  the physical time spent with the paint, photographs, scissors and glue gives space and time for me to ponder my own embodiment of the qualities of these extraordinary women.  i encourage you to spend time thinking about the remarkable humans who inform your life.

sunday grace

moments of grace this week:

• this wee patch of wildflowers at sunset, its beauty magnified by the fact that it is bordered by a busy highway to the east, a no-nonsense holiday inn to the south, applebee's to the north, a large government complex to the west.  it quietly stood its ground and whispered, "i'm still magnificent nature, even here in this bland chaos.  p.s. you too."

• my meditation practice that saved me on a whirlwind tour of the state working closely with the most extroverted and energetic person i know.  

• a mama raccoon and her two wee babes in a hollow tree behind the house.

• homemade aqua de horchata over shaved ice in a newly-discovered hole-in-the-wall mexican joint in the middle of nowhere.

• checking out the class schedule on the front window of a yoga studio, glancing inside to see a class in progress and a mother doing mommy-and-me yoga with two brand new babies, one lovingly held in each hand.

• participating in two amazing yoga teacher trainings at the same time, one for yoga inclusivity and the other to teach trauma-informed yoga to youth in high-risk or marginalized settings.

• reading poetry, perched on the edge of the blue ridge mountains.

• receiving sas' my mindful year email for may.  this month's focus is cultivating mindful friendships.  these words:  "telling myself the truth is the foundation for every connection in my life." (you can sign up to receive the monthly emails here.) 

• creating six little motivational notes for a fifth-grader as she breezes through her end-of-year tests this week.
  
  what were your moments?

sunday grace: imaginary friends

imaginary friend {№4}:  the artist.  mixed media and image transfer on wood.  photo by leo matiz.

hello loves.

i'm deep into exploring my own personal archetypes over here.  i tend to think of them not in the traditional sense, but as muses:  badass gentle spirits whose lives, hearts and minds guide my own and spark curiosity and inspiration just when needed.

i like to call them my imaginary friends.

meet my artist friend, frida.

when we are lying around on the grass in the bright sunshine, exhausted after hours of talking and laughing, here are the things she whispers to me:

• color is everything.
• passion is everything.
• justice is everything.
• don't ever stop painting.
• people will let you down, don't stop loving them.
• animals will never let you down.
• see it and say it.
• be weird like me.
• find other weird ones.
• being a misfit is the most glorious gift.
• visit the wilderness often.
• visit the city often.
• be well-read and never stop cultivating your intelligence.
• be comfortable with silence and aloneness.
• you must tend a garden and a home, they are the beautiful containers of your life.
• scream when you need to scream.
• dance when you need to dance.
• paint.
• paint.
• paint.

(my spring|summer art project is to create a series of paintings of my imaginary friends.  i can't wait for you to meet them.)