Self portrait, Olympic National Park, 2014
Garfield Park Conservatory, 2016
Showing posts with label words. Show all posts
Showing posts with label words. Show all posts
20160305
20151219
20150824
watch your step while exiting the plane
my open window brought a chill with this morning's sun. then the geese flew by, and with their honk//honnk//honnnking the memory of autumn, twinging, visceral. the weight of Things to Do, of no more open-swim, of school's return, the end of summer lovin'. the end of summer love. if July is 1969 then August lives off its breath until cornered by September, a brisk disco interruption to unshaved armpits and lax showers, dancing in the rain and "what day is it, anyway?"
where one is in the hospital again, and another has abbreviated in small-print his invitation for my Great Canadian Escape and I have nowhere left to run after months of frolic. wilderness. I yearn for wild. I yearn for my heart, who yearns for me, who says, don't run. stay with me. you always want to run when things get real. and, I love you still.
grad classes begin this week, my anchor(ite) to the outside, my bulletin board of Look, I'm doing something, my Be-Back-in-Half-an-Hour to the working world.
don't quote me on this, but perhaps with age what they say is true, about the loosening of anxiety. Not that It has up and gone by any means, but I feel the hint of one less layer on my shoulders. the pressure of the anxiety atop the anxiety, which my twenties has invited in with the dirt by way of leaving the door open, that wicked tickle of Potential draining from my fingertips like sand.
let it fall. the little mound remaining in my palm is all I care to work with these days. what do I need a handful, when a dusting will do. a dusting will do.
where one is in the hospital again, and another has abbreviated in small-print his invitation for my Great Canadian Escape and I have nowhere left to run after months of frolic. wilderness. I yearn for wild. I yearn for my heart, who yearns for me, who says, don't run. stay with me. you always want to run when things get real. and, I love you still.
grad classes begin this week, my anchor(ite) to the outside, my bulletin board of Look, I'm doing something, my Be-Back-in-Half-an-Hour to the working world.
don't quote me on this, but perhaps with age what they say is true, about the loosening of anxiety. Not that It has up and gone by any means, but I feel the hint of one less layer on my shoulders. the pressure of the anxiety atop the anxiety, which my twenties has invited in with the dirt by way of leaving the door open, that wicked tickle of Potential draining from my fingertips like sand.
let it fall. the little mound remaining in my palm is all I care to work with these days. what do I need a handful, when a dusting will do. a dusting will do.
 |
| in case of an emergency landing |
20140811
mountain climbs and birdsongs
a mountain lures
and lies about its height
its secrets trickle down rocks
on wind
and tails of birds
singing, Come.
in that first step
a migration
a magnet, pulling
towards some unknown landscape
not knowing what it means
to reach a destination
a soft evade
the summit calls
higher than you've reached before
beware, amongst the clouds
waits vertigo
lurks doubt
let your bodies meet:
a bird, a mountain
singing, Come.
and lies about its height
its secrets trickle down rocks
on wind
and tails of birds
singing, Come.
in that first step
a migration
a magnet, pulling
towards some unknown landscape
not knowing what it means
to reach a destination
a soft evade
the summit calls
higher than you've reached before
beware, amongst the clouds
waits vertigo
lurks doubt
let your bodies meet:
a bird, a mountain
singing, Come.
20140611
Lighthouse
There dwells a song inside you
humming quietly in make.
Like a child, she knows no difference
of dreams and place of wake
and begins to build her sailboats
in the far seas of your mind,
moving them with whispers
her faith is ever blind.
What makes a journey worth it?
She never asks but knows—
having yet to ever meet the shore
her joy is in the wind
and so, it blows...
Do you hear that in the distance?
You must listen for her now—
for her song, her life,
her everything
is just what you allow.
humming quietly in make.
Like a child, she knows no difference
of dreams and place of wake
and begins to build her sailboats
in the far seas of your mind,
moving them with whispers
her faith is ever blind.
What makes a journey worth it?
She never asks but knows—
having yet to ever meet the shore
her joy is in the wind
and so, it blows...
Do you hear that in the distance?
You must listen for her now—
for her song, her life,
her everything
is just what you allow.
20140320
womb with a view
oh, dream catcher
let my dreams come through
and catch the fires that burn within
so that in the morning sun
I may reflect upon the ashes
and watch the green sprigs grow
let my dreams come through
and catch the fires that burn within
so that in the morning sun
I may reflect upon the ashes
and watch the green sprigs grow
20140307
What Woman
What Woman sits crosslegged
in a dress while slouching at the dinner table
eating honey by the spoon
What Woman blows raspberries
and makes faces at imaginary friends
in the park all afternoon
What Woman speeds up for her own delight
and stops time when she wants to
just because she can
What Woman keeps music playing
and doesn't just spasm
but twirls and...
What Woman gets lost in a dusky field
and follows the fireflies home—
(she knows exactly where she is.)
What Woman knows a secret—and knows that she knows
who bites her cheeks in church
and bustles and tickles and squirms
What Woman keeps Spring on her lips
even in the death of Winter
when hibernation boasts of no return
What Woman can break and heal a heart with just a glance,
reminding you of everything you've ever loved
and lost
in a dress while slouching at the dinner table
eating honey by the spoon
What Woman blows raspberries
and makes faces at imaginary friends
in the park all afternoon
What Woman speeds up for her own delight
and stops time when she wants to
just because she can
What Woman keeps music playing
and doesn't just spasm
but twirls and...
What Woman gets lost in a dusky field
and follows the fireflies home—
(she knows exactly where she is.)
What Woman knows a secret—and knows that she knows
who bites her cheeks in church
and bustles and tickles and squirms
What Woman keeps Spring on her lips
even in the death of Winter
when hibernation boasts of no return
What Woman can break and heal a heart with just a glance,
reminding you of everything you've ever loved
and lost
20140224
inquiries of the heart-matter
What role does intellect serve
in realms of the soul?
What is it to know
to understand
to be?
and the purpose of answers,
when questions come whispering in the dark—
or Can you be still enough to hear them?
What could it mean
to be humbled
to be consumed
to yield
to such bigness?
How does a closed heart break open
again and again, without ceasing—
even when all signs point to death?
Where does the hard work of love begin
and does it ever end?
finally, and first of all,
When
will you wipe the sleep from your eyes,
will you seek
the heart of the matter,
give in
to the matter of the heart!
20140216
it is the brave work of Love.
I've had a lot of questions. since I was a child. plagued with questions. I've always wanted to find the answers, and I went around asking everyone… also there were points where I stopped asking them out loud---when I felt shamed with the questions I had, when I was disappointed in the response.. but I always came back to asking (as if there was a choice). I haven't found (m)any answers, and I am (kind of) ok with that now---I expect that---all I really end up with is more questions. but I am happy with a life that always finds something to ask. because one thing I have found: ask enough questions and you'll find less and less reasons to hide. you'll have less to hide from yourself, you'll hide less of yourself from others. this is a self-propelling cycle, which grows as it invites others to do the same.
so to those even "younger and more naive" than myself who are questioning everything, I say: don't stop! never stop. even when They tell you it's not worth the trouble, it's irrelevant, it doesn't make sense, there's no such thing, stay on topic. even worse when they smile and say, oh sweetheart, it's already been done. don't trust anyone who says they know the answer. they don't. they're lying to you or fooling themselves, and either way they're robbing you of the enjoyment of being with your own questions. because here's the thing: while it's incredibly difficult to sit with a question, the rewards are unmatched. small-minded, arrogant assholes will always try to take that away from you. many times under the guise of helping (you poor lost thing). the humility it takes to be stumped, to surrender, to accept one's own ultimate foolishness---that's not something we're taught in school. we are to shut up and listen to the big boys, who say 1+1=2, now repeat. and one day you might be a big boy too if you practice enough (even me? she asks, hiding her vagina).
the sooner you learn to ignore that hogwash, the sooner you can get on with the search. don't let anyone tempt you down a well-worn trail with signposts, and when that inevitably happens, say thank you but no, and turn. or sometimes, just RUN. no matter what path it takes you down, no matter how dark and scary it looks.. many times it won't look like a path at all, because it is not one yet. you'll surely get hurt along the way. but it is precisely here where you will find everything you're looking for. at the risk of this looking like an answer, i would say: it's your own heart. and no one can tell you the answers to the questions of your heart. so take the flashlight and follow the questions that whisper to you in the dark. let us be brave and do the work of love.
so to those even "younger and more naive" than myself who are questioning everything, I say: don't stop! never stop. even when They tell you it's not worth the trouble, it's irrelevant, it doesn't make sense, there's no such thing, stay on topic. even worse when they smile and say, oh sweetheart, it's already been done. don't trust anyone who says they know the answer. they don't. they're lying to you or fooling themselves, and either way they're robbing you of the enjoyment of being with your own questions. because here's the thing: while it's incredibly difficult to sit with a question, the rewards are unmatched. small-minded, arrogant assholes will always try to take that away from you. many times under the guise of helping (you poor lost thing). the humility it takes to be stumped, to surrender, to accept one's own ultimate foolishness---that's not something we're taught in school. we are to shut up and listen to the big boys, who say 1+1=2, now repeat. and one day you might be a big boy too if you practice enough (even me? she asks, hiding her vagina).
the sooner you learn to ignore that hogwash, the sooner you can get on with the search. don't let anyone tempt you down a well-worn trail with signposts, and when that inevitably happens, say thank you but no, and turn. or sometimes, just RUN. no matter what path it takes you down, no matter how dark and scary it looks.. many times it won't look like a path at all, because it is not one yet. you'll surely get hurt along the way. but it is precisely here where you will find everything you're looking for. at the risk of this looking like an answer, i would say: it's your own heart. and no one can tell you the answers to the questions of your heart. so take the flashlight and follow the questions that whisper to you in the dark. let us be brave and do the work of love.
ever morning a sleep end
wipe the sleep from the eye
every morning even
when the sky is not that crispy blue
you love
so much.
is there wisdom
in my naiveté—there is
niaveté in my wisdom
a healthy fool is gold
nobody tell him otherwise
he does his work
he dig
he cry
he bow and
bend and
wipe the sleep from the eye
every morning even
when the sky is not that crispy blue
you love
so much.
is there wisdom
in my naiveté—there is
niaveté in my wisdom
a healthy fool is gold
nobody tell him otherwise
he does his work
he dig
he cry
he bow and
bend and
wipe the sleep from the eye
20140129
--—-–-—----
my tears
make me strong
my tears
connect
remind
lead to
who i am
not just Everything
i am
woman:
who cries
who loves
who cries to be loved
as
a child
who drinks her tears
i consume.
i am consumed.
tie a red thread and
re member
remember me
remember me?
you remember me!
i've been here all along
and
what work we can do
together.
be still
be still
and let me move you
move,
together
we'll learn this dance
together
make me strong
my tears
connect
remind
lead to
who i am
not just Everything
i am
woman:
who cries
who loves
who cries to be loved
as
a child
who drinks her tears
i consume.
i am consumed.
tie a red thread and
re member
remember me
remember me?
you remember me!
i've been here all along
and
what work we can do
together.
be still
be still
and let me move you
move,
together
we'll learn this dance
together
20131117
[untitled]
I woke up early with the sun
and picked flowers from the sides
of lightposts, hydrants
a bouquet of orphans
weeds and dirty hands—
we walked together
when back at home
I stayed outside
and thought to lay my findings down
in an empty pot of soil
soft and too inviting
I did not know
I turned around or blinked—
and nothing remained,
nothing remained.
and picked flowers from the sides
of lightposts, hydrants
a bouquet of orphans
weeds and dirty hands—
we walked together
when back at home
I stayed outside
and thought to lay my findings down
in an empty pot of soil
soft and too inviting
I did not know
I turned around or blinked—
and nothing remained,
nothing remained.
20130928
The Place /
where people go for answers / why am i here? / seems as good a place as any /
statue stands with open arms, looking down at me /
i wait / it's warm for late september / sparrows sing & dance & play / child sobs / two men drink & laugh & sing some more / languages i cannot understand /
i listen / look up / above the outreaching mary / that beautiful arrow cuts through sky / that sharp cloud / and from my view / meets between two peaks, where crosses meet / and softens
/ disappears
. . .
I feel my fate: my fate finds me,
I feel my star: my star finds me,
I feel my aims: my aims find me.
my soul and the world are but one.
life grows more radiant about me,
life grows more arduous for me,
life grows richer for me.
statue stands with open arms, looking down at me /
i wait / it's warm for late september / sparrows sing & dance & play / child sobs / two men drink & laugh & sing some more / languages i cannot understand /
i listen / look up / above the outreaching mary / that beautiful arrow cuts through sky / that sharp cloud / and from my view / meets between two peaks, where crosses meet / and softens
/ disappears
. . .
I feel my fate: my fate finds me,
I feel my star: my star finds me,
I feel my aims: my aims find me.
my soul and the world are but one.
life grows more radiant about me,
life grows more arduous for me,
life grows richer for me.
20130806
ode to Heart
she amazes me, the Heart.
so resilient in her path
gentle and uncompromising
no baggage for the trip,
she knows
the only way to Life
a Heart unburdened with
that monstrous conductor pleading no, wait, please
where are we going? I must know, I must!
yet cannot bully the heart,
yet cannot bully the heart,
who yields, who smiles
who sees.
be strong dear one, and persevere—
Yours is the noblest endeavor.
20130803
testament to Self
I don’t wish to die with secrets on my lips
I want my hands dirty
to use this vessel
wear it out
marked up n down by a life worth living &
dirt beneath my fingernails
I don't want one part left untouched
saved up for rainy days
wondering what was to be had—
I will swallow the sun
I will drink down the rain
Every day a sacrament.
to use this vessel
wear it out
marked up n down by a life worth living &
dirt beneath my fingernails
I don't want one part left untouched
saved up for rainy days
wondering what was to be had—
I will swallow the sun
I will drink down the rain
Every day a sacrament.
20130726
My synapses are on fire
This happens periodically—-and it’s a good sign when it does—-sensory
overload, brought on by the realization of something new, or when I’m in
the process of discovering a passion. The mundane calls it mania. I
like to visualize it as the synapses in my brain meeting and making
love, with an orgasm that expands throughout my being. Babies are being
made. My heart picks up, tingling shoots down my arms and into my
fingertips, my jaw tickles the way it does sucking on sugar. It’s a
feeling of utter aliveness, of being connected with the world. I am in
touch with my inner Creator, and it is powerful.
The trick is not to drain all my energy in this process—-to ‘blow my load’, as it were. (and perhaps that’s what would define it as mania.) This feeling demands an outlet, fireworks can’t be shooting off indoors, after all. And when it comes to a release, the more streamlined the better. (for the sake of your comfort I will not continue with the sexual comparisons, though I’m sure you already went there, and besides! creation is creation)
My point is, I’m learning better how to gather this potent energy in a constructive way. As I grow older, I’m excited to remain in touch with this youthful connection to Magic, and couple it with the ability to refine and manifest it into something useful for the world. It’s a beautiful thing, to be alive, and yes, the Truth is corny!
The trick is not to drain all my energy in this process—-to ‘blow my load’, as it were. (and perhaps that’s what would define it as mania.) This feeling demands an outlet, fireworks can’t be shooting off indoors, after all. And when it comes to a release, the more streamlined the better. (for the sake of your comfort I will not continue with the sexual comparisons, though I’m sure you already went there, and besides! creation is creation)
My point is, I’m learning better how to gather this potent energy in a constructive way. As I grow older, I’m excited to remain in touch with this youthful connection to Magic, and couple it with the ability to refine and manifest it into something useful for the world. It’s a beautiful thing, to be alive, and yes, the Truth is corny!
 |
| look up |
20130714
ready, set, DELIVER
I've had varying emotions, continuing on with this project. Much of me wanted to stop when I'd finished drawing and filling in the first layer body, feeling that I didn't want to ruin all the satisfying work I'd done. I liked the cool tones, and everything was soft and earthly.
But to stop now would be typical, and defeat the purpose behind the work's meaning. Perhaps I wanted to stop because I literally didn't know how to continue. Should I use paint? Markers? And I think I wanted to stop for another reason. Because I relate to this stage. Where I am still grounding myself, and feel the ghost of something greater, yet it is not the main voice just yet. Wait, wait, just a little while longer while I build myself up, then I'll jump. Don't shoot the gun yet.
Realizing this, I FELT the necessity of continuing, to manifest this persona in every sphere I can---to make time for her, to welcome this guiding energy into my life.
Plus, so far, everything had been done in colored pencil... canvas demands more than pencil. It BEGS for deep saturation. Enter: India Ink
Mainly a fiery red/orange, she has green limbs that soak in grounded energy. Her face and hair have a mix of colors (including silver, it's hard to see in the photo) as all these vitalities drive her action. She is magic, Intuition. It wasn't my intention, but she's become so prominent that she no longer looks like the spirit behind the Thinker -- she is a butterfly shedding her cocoon.
As my first return to drawing, and in a way, a brand new approach to self expression, I am happy and relieved to give birth. I feel accomplished and ready to take on the next step in my life. Bring it on!
But to stop now would be typical, and defeat the purpose behind the work's meaning. Perhaps I wanted to stop because I literally didn't know how to continue. Should I use paint? Markers? And I think I wanted to stop for another reason. Because I relate to this stage. Where I am still grounding myself, and feel the ghost of something greater, yet it is not the main voice just yet. Wait, wait, just a little while longer while I build myself up, then I'll jump. Don't shoot the gun yet.
Realizing this, I FELT the necessity of continuing, to manifest this persona in every sphere I can---to make time for her, to welcome this guiding energy into my life.
Plus, so far, everything had been done in colored pencil... canvas demands more than pencil. It BEGS for deep saturation. Enter: India Ink
Mainly a fiery red/orange, she has green limbs that soak in grounded energy. Her face and hair have a mix of colors (including silver, it's hard to see in the photo) as all these vitalities drive her action. She is magic, Intuition. It wasn't my intention, but she's become so prominent that she no longer looks like the spirit behind the Thinker -- she is a butterfly shedding her cocoon.
As my first return to drawing, and in a way, a brand new approach to self expression, I am happy and relieved to give birth. I feel accomplished and ready to take on the next step in my life. Bring it on!
20130520
what happens in the night sky, when we're not looking?
weather-confused bugs are sleeping, and so the homes along the lake
but for the dim flickering and occasional nibble.
the fountain's company soothes. we know our roles.
on duty. look up.
close your eyes. breathe in.
look up.
pins of white, quiver, hold their breath
when our eyes meet. suspicious.
we play the staring contest until mine water
they're too strong, too clever—older than I, experienced.
they will not let me see them weak
my rock, and I their audience.
with discerning eye the child longs to expose a tooth fairy
that UFO? an airplane.
how disappointing... a relief.
I give in—don't wake me. don't let me down.
a shooting star is enough for tonight. a wink.
but for the dim flickering and occasional nibble.
the fountain's company soothes. we know our roles.
on duty. look up.
close your eyes. breathe in.
look up.
pins of white, quiver, hold their breath
when our eyes meet. suspicious.
we play the staring contest until mine water
they're too strong, too clever—older than I, experienced.
they will not let me see them weak
my rock, and I their audience.
with discerning eye the child longs to expose a tooth fairy
that UFO? an airplane.
how disappointing... a relief.
I give in—don't wake me. don't let me down.
a shooting star is enough for tonight. a wink.
20130502
Design Is ... WORKSHOP!
The whole purpose of the "Design Is..." newsprint has been to distribute it to students interested in the visual arts. As designers, we personally know how little high school education focuses on what design is, what it is capable of doing, and that it's not only a realistic career path, but a worthwhile vocation---even (especially) in this economy.
Well, sometimes the planets align.
In reaching out to Chicago Public Schools, a program called Project Osmosis offered to share our publication with over 100 students as a part of their Design Youth Forum this week (!) Even more amazing, we were invited to coordinate and teach a day-long graphic design workshop for 20 of their interested juniors and seniors (!!) And, because that's not incredible enough, we were asked to begin the day as THE keynote speakers, giving us the opportunity to explain what design means to us, why it inspires and how it impacts the world---in short, getting the creative blood flowing for a day full of design (!!!)
A few photos of this amazing day, below
Well, sometimes the planets align.
In reaching out to Chicago Public Schools, a program called Project Osmosis offered to share our publication with over 100 students as a part of their Design Youth Forum this week (!) Even more amazing, we were invited to coordinate and teach a day-long graphic design workshop for 20 of their interested juniors and seniors (!!) And, because that's not incredible enough, we were asked to begin the day as THE keynote speakers, giving us the opportunity to explain what design means to us, why it inspires and how it impacts the world---in short, getting the creative blood flowing for a day full of design (!!!)
A few photos of this amazing day, below
^ by the time we arrive, the kids already have our newspaper in hand
^ after introducing some inspirational and effective real-world design examples, we go through the contents of our newspaper, explaining the meaning behind each image
^ then it's on to the workshop, where we start off manually sketching ideas for posters that the kids will be working on for the remainder of the day. Because the theme is "Design for Positive Change" we get everyone to begin by thinking aloud, What causes do I care about? Where do I want to see change in my environment?
^ finally it's on to the computer lab to digitize and finalize ideas. Everyone has his and her own way of expressing---some focus on meaningful words, others are confident in their illustration skills... many choose to collaborate... all of the designers work very hard.
We finish the day with two of our students presenting their designs to the rest of the forum, proud (and a bit nervous) to showcase their pieces. I think everyone left feeling excited and inspired. For me, this experience has been a blessing from start to finish, and reminds me of what I love about design: the power of bringing people together.
20130422
Design Is... in print
EXPLORING! now part of a newspaper where a group of designers and I begin to answer, visually: What is Design?
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