Deep peace of the quiet earth to you. 

February 1, 2019

I'm still waiting for my purpose, for the thing I want to do with this life. Until then, I'll hold the light.

September 6, 2017

Anxiety, unfortunately, is not a sexy condition to have. It's not romantic; it's not Heathcliff-on-the-moors-moody. It's not windswept and dark, and there is no mournful cello concerto written to accompany it. 

No, it's ugly and loud, a chord broken not by the fading of the sound, but by the snapping of the strings. It is incapable of reason or being placated or soothed. It can't be put to bed because it doesn't sleep. It's more like a maniacal knitter who keeps dropping stitches and ripping them out, refusing to put the project down, even for a day, an hour, a minute.

I don't have an answer for anxiety. I wish I had. But I think some of us are just, sadly, unfairly, programmed this way. Would it be different if that anxiety had a legitimate place to land? I have to think that if I, like my ancestors, still hunted for my survival, channeling this heightened energetic nonsense into listening for the caribou, the moose, the deer, channeling that energy into something designed to...

December 8, 2016

More and more, I think all it takes to be lucky in this life is to pay attention.

Tell your truth, live without apology, but in the best way you know how, and pay attention.

Tell yourself you're happy when you're happy. When you're sad, tell yourself that, too.

Learn to know the difference, because I think that knowledge has been wheedled out of us, much to our own detriment and, too, to the skyrocketing profits of those who have been doing said wheedling. 

In other words, take back your life, claim the emotion rising, and realize you've not given away your power, you had merely slid it under the mattress for safekeeping. 

Haul it out, and wear it around town.

We don't stand on occasion here. 

July 7, 2016

I was thinking this, this morning, while lying in bed, wanting to get up, but listing the chores of the day inside my head. See, this is the thing: I like chores (most of them). I like being busy (most of the time). Well, perhaps 'busy' is a troubled word...I like having purpose.

There. That's better. 

But thinking of those things? Listing them in my mind? Gah! Death. Seriously--it puts me back to bed before I've even gotten up. Instead, I try to move that energy to my body and just do the thing--put my feet on the ground, do the first chore, the second, and before I know it, I'm blessedly freed from my brain. And I'm happy--happy in the doing. 

It's such a relief, the doing and the losing of oneself in the doing--the joy of purpose. But our brains just delight in conveniently forgetting that little experiential truth because, what, it makes them less vital? Maybe. 

Anyway, here's to losing ourselves in the doing and to the joy of purposeful occupation. 

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This Quiet Earth