Deep peace of the quiet earth to you. 

August 16, 2017

Sometimes I wonder if there's too much Mr. Darcy in me, too much of the 'my good opinion, once lost, is lost forever.' Sometimes I wonder if that's really a weakness of personality, or if it's a survival skill. I give my good opinion, my good faith readily enough; it's my default setting--easiest and, most often, the right choice. 

But it takes a long time to get to know someone, to establish timelines and shorthand, language and ease of silence. I'm not sure how much energy I'd like to spend rebuilding those structures. Sometimes a girl is simply too tired, too happy with the status quo. 

But a girl can also always be mistaken. It wouldn't be the first time. 

August 4, 2017

I keep thinking that, at some point, this whole life thing becomes easier. But I'm not so sure. Maybe it's like what we say about yoga--the practice doesn't get easier, you just get better at dealing with difficulty. 

So this morning, in the dark of the pre-dawn, I'll listen to the bats chirp outside my window. I'll find gratitude in the later dawn and earlier sunsets. I'll remember that time passes because that is the nature of time and, in many ways, that is a blessing--and a teacher. I'll remember I've been alive for this many summers, and (hopefully) will be around at least this many more. I'll remember that somehow the bills always get paid these days, despite occasional discomfort and a bit of creative scrambling. I'll remember I have my books and my garden, the tides and the sunrise. 

And I'll remember that tomorrow's sunrise might carry away with it, at long last, the reality of a good night's sleep.

July 27, 2017

The beautiful thing about the simple belief that you are depth is that, by definition (my definition), there is nothing you cannot access. Perhaps you need to train your breath, your skin for the change in temperature, your mind for the temporary absence of light, but it can all be done, easily, a minute, a second at a time. 

July 19, 2017

The cure for anything might be salt water,

but it is a cure best assisted by silence.

July 17, 2017

So often the answer is simple, I think. Which is also, really, what makes it so terribly difficult to find. 

June 13, 2017

I used to say I was an ocean girl, but I realized that brought to mind tan, blonde, California surfer girls (the badass, big wave girls). And while in my teenage years and my 20's, I desperately wanted to be that, I am not that.

What I am is a shore girl, a borderland girl. I love the wind and the salt and the dichotomy of incremental and immediate change that the shore evokes and displays. I'll go out on the water, show off my lousy sailing skills (in truth, I'm a better surfer than sailor, but I do row a mean scull), but I'm happiest in the salt and the wind and the sound that comes when there is no thought, only old, old blood and salt memory. 

June 6, 2017

My grandmother always told me, and my mother after her, that the sea and salt water can heal anything. And that is, in my experience, absolutely 100% true all the time. It doesn't matter if it's the salt or the sun or the sand that scours away, weathers away this thing you've been dragging around, or if it's the primal, deep-cell memory stirred by the sweet sulfur of low tide. The sea has every answer to every question, asked or unasked, incoherent or carved into psychic, subconscious mantra. 

The sea is a force, a catalyst, and driver of winds and weather, in perfect control of what,

in these small bodies,

looks very much like chaos. 

April 3, 2017

When I lived in Venice Beach, I was really into esoteric writings about the earth and amplification. The beach was only a five minute walk from our apartment, and it was strewn with these huge boulders, if you walked far enough. I used to sit on those rocks and imagine them as giant amplifiers, just blasting my intentions out into the air/world/universe. 

I don't know if it worked, but I did come away with the lesson that rock is a magical substance, less barrier, and more bolsterer. 

And so what if all I did was entertain a few dolphins and the occasional seal? There must be magic in that somewhere. 

p.s. Yes, my garden is still blanketed beneath snow; this photo was taken a few summers back--rogue mint sprung from its bed. 

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