But she won't understand why anyone would have to try

To walk a line when they could fly

(no subject)
Lots of this journal is "friends only"...add me if you're curious to see more.

all flowers in time bend toward the sun

So this.

Yesterday afternoon I was sitting at my desk at home, looking out over the cold, wet, raw grey afternoon, listening to Red House Painters and Air and Lanterna and finally Jeff Buckley when suddenly, inexplicably, while I was listening to Jeff I was reminded of the Cocteau Twins and so I listened to the Cocteau Twins and then I did some googling which sent me down an Internet rabbit hole in which I learned that somewhere along the line Elizabeth Fraser and Jeff Buckley had what could only have been a tumultuous, painfully passionate, and complicated love affair, and this song that I found is only a small audible example of that love, their beautiful, ethereal voices sing together, and you can hear that love, that pain, that desire....ouch.

A song that when it hit my ears blew my mind but i know what that kind of love is, it's a current that moves through the earth and you can't catch it, it comes through you like a storm, it takes control of you and the eye is there too, a bright sunny patch where everything seems to be perfect and it is going to be ok but you are wrong, and then the storm returns and whooshes back and suddenly then the earth seems to be as it was before but you know it is not. it is not. it can't ever be the same, before the storm.

You can't fight it because it is, because it needs to be, and its need is greater than the sum of all of your parts.

I don't really know who, if anyone, reads here at all, but it is fall and it is cold and there is wine and now there are words.

All flowers in time bend toward the sun.

Thursday night I drove through the wind to the studio and sat in a small room where a woman with a delightful voice and the rhythm of angels coursing through her veins led me into a trance that will hopefully break a cycle that's been part of my daily life for the better part of two decades.

I'm trying to quit smoking again.

Part of the imagery she set forth in my deep journey was a walk with my future self, a walk on the beach, and as I lay there on the table, tears streamed from my eyes as I imagined my own self walking towards me, a love that was undeniably fierce and true, to feel what it would feel like to hold my own self, to hug my own self, to talk out loud to the only person I know truly, that person, who holds all of the knowledge - she knows me and she walks with me and since that session she is still here and I love it. I am radiant and energized and warm inside because she is here.

I wonder why I didn't realize she's been here the whole time. (And she is kind of mad at me. Time to fix that.)

Life is so fucking weird.

And it only gets weirder as you get older. But it makes much more sense. And you realize just how much control you have over your own life and your own experience and that is an absolutely beautiful thing.

and if you love yourself, that is all you need, that is all you need, because that makes everything worth it.

media takeover
Looking back through my Facebook feed for the past few days, I notice a trend.

Sunday: I post a link to the community affairs program I host and produce for a local cluster of radio stations.

Monday: I post a link to an interview from the morning's edition of my hour-long local news television show (in which I am wearing a beautiful dress made by Blue Canoe, purchased at a local eco-fashion boutique that is owned by a friend of mine)

Monday afternoon: I post a link to the inaugural episode of WKKL Newsroom, a program produced, hosted, and created by my community college radio students.

I have been absent here, but have been present in work. I am passionate about the community in which I live, and I see a future in telling stories - not just here, and perhaps in a more simple voice, but to tell stories to a wide audience, using sound and video, images, life - is interesting and ever changing, and ever fascinating.

tell me more about the weather
It’s early, and the scuffle of too-long dog nails scampering across the cold but not yet frozen ground breaks the silence of night. the moon is somewhere, but all i see are the stars, bright dots of light on this cold late december morning. the stars are always so much brighter in the cold, as if they are working overtime to warm the sleeping earth.

looking up, the slim silhouettes of branches reach skyward, some framing stars, others blocking out the light.

back inside, i turn the christmas tree on and it sparkles in the dark of the living room like the starts outside in the cold night sky.

i still like rising early, despite the cold, despite the fact that this week I don’t have a set time to be at work. a steaming cup of coffee set on my desk as I sit and contemplate in my bathrobe is enough to get me to rise from my soft, warm bed. That, and the sound of my dogs rising and asking me to attend to their needs.

Lost? Is that the feeling? Or is it stillness, rest, a pause in the bustle of life. The quiet time after Christmas reminds me of the fresh blanket of new snow that one awakens to following a stormy night - all that fuss, all that intensity - and then tranquility, peace - months of cold, quiet rest the reward. The savasana of the calendar year.

Christmas this year seemed so close to summer: the warm weather lingered into fall, and winter still has yet to fully arrive. Two days after the holiday my husband and I were out in the yard, raking leaves in shirt sleeves, no jackets or hats required. Today, the mercury dipped to below 35, one of the few cold days we’ve had since last year’s winter weather whipped us into a frenzy of slippery roads and seemingly endless shoveling.

I for one am hoping for a mild winter, we have had them on Cape Cod in my lifetime, no hint of global warming or climate change influencing those memories, a holiday in a 3/4 length sweater and jeans, sandals for those who like to cling to the sandy memories of summer.

Me, I’ll enjoy the soft stillness, the restful time, the time to do preparatory work, the under-tasks, the framework for the flowers that will bloom when spring arrives in a few short months.

hints of summer
Chair on the beach, morning. Very few other souls on the sandy shoreline, looking out over a vista of paradise, sand, waves, sea, sky. Rays of the sun beating down, skin absorbing energy, turning red and brown, summer hues, erasing winter’s pallid tones.

Toes across sand, over shells and rocks, molted exoskeletons of crabs, seaweed dots the wrack line. The water, still cold on this early June day, laps, beckons. Deeper: ankles, knees, wrists, deep breaths to plunge into the ice, a few minutes and it’s warm enough to realize that this, could be, perhaps, maybe….might be paradise.

Dipping in, it’s cold, the muscles in your body tense up, gooseflesh appears, senses are heightened. The sun beats down, its rays sending needed energy into your heart center, your chakras, you feel alive.

Bobbing chin at sea level, eyes inches from the ocean. All in view is blue and endless horizon. Unspoiled nature, beauty at its simplest and most impressive. As the water dips up and down, the sun hits its crests and curves, creating sparkles, that go on endlessly until the sea hits sky, and even that point is hard to discern. Behind, the waves crash softly, over and over at the shoreline, gently lapping at the sand.

The ocean is wide, Nantucket sound, unspoiled, nothing, nothing but sea and perfect, cloudless blue sky ahead, and the sparkles, like little lights, speckling the sea as you gaze, weightless, submerged in the buoyant water.

Earlier in the morning, on two wheels pedaling down streets that line the coast, five beaches are counted before the journey ends. Craigville and Covell’s, Fortes and Keyes, Veterans and Kalmus. The hour is early and at this time it is quiet and peaceful, the sounds of steps on sand is silent as the whirr of the wheel passes by the beach.

Winter now a distant memory, when socked and booted feet punched holes in snowy coastlines, tires slipped on ice and scarves did little to keep out the wild winds.

Now, we open our bare arms wide to the world, to let the energy in, to feel the Earth’s pulse and hide it away, to open it up on colder days.

long beach

A path of sand, between wind worn wooden fencing, leading from the pavement to the sea. First along the river side, tiptoeing over marsh grass and reeds, following the trail as the wind blew circles around my face. Sparkling fast moving current, rippled sand of low tide, winter washing away and spring taking over. Pass the shell tree, conchs ensconced on dead branches, reaching for sun.

Rounding the tip, foam collects along the shoreline, it’s mermaids in perpetuity, resting along the warming sand. Ripples like clouds in the sand, stones and rocks in shapes and lines across the shore. Dowses beach, there, beyond the channel: fishermen pushing elbows over the railing at the dock.

Wide open sky and sea. Shoeless along the shoreline walking back, the gentle waves lapping at my feet. Ladyslippers, kelp, spider crabs, hermits at the wrack line, jingle shells and wampum. Sun, sea and shore, bliss and perfection.

(no subject)

I chased the sunrise this morning, rising early in the cold dark, brewing coffee and warming the car before climbing in and heading for the highway. The forecast of temperatures in the 20s and a promised stiff breeze did not deter me from my mission, I longed to see the sun and smell the salt in the morning air.

Driving down Route 6, a pair of deer emerged from the woods and ran across the highway. Brake lights went on ahead of me, the deer in the road stopped, stunned, and continued on its way, the second on the sidelines staring into the dawn. Beautiful, and grateful that they both were able to continue in their own search of sunlight.

Watching the cloud cover grow and the tint of the sky brighten, I worried that the images I sought would not come to light. I drove down the salty dirt road to the Cow Yard, blue light and no sign of the sun. Out on the sand, a cold, bitter wind blew across the water, stinging signs of the coming winter.

Back behind the wheel of the warm car, I headed towards the lighthouse, and waited for the sun to emerge. It came, tentatively up behind the clouds, lighting the sky and the sea, a display of colors on this cold November morning.

As the clouds turned from pink to orange to white, I pointed the car down Main Street, desolate and empty in the early morning hours. When seeing the bright sun illuminate the steeple of the Methodist church on the hill, the moon still visible in the sky, I had to pull over and park, scurry across the cold empty street and up the stairs.

Many, many years ago a storm blew through this town, a fierce wind that toppled one of the sharp spires of this very tower. The heavy wooden point fell like a spear, violently piercing the lawn. It lay stuck in the ground for days, a reminder of the power of nature.

All of the pictures from this morning's adventure can be found here

existence and experience
Working on a writing project, I dove into my archives in search of some scribblings from a particular time in life. I was successful in finding those scribblings, which will be a big piece of what I'm trying to work on now.

On one piece of paper, was written this, in quotes, no attribution. I can't recall where it came from. It has little to do with my project, but I found it worthy of sharing.

"Life is a series of experiences, and a person is the result of what those experiences teach. I always loved it, because it was the diametric opposite to my own, which suggested that individuals pattern themselves and realize their folly only when it's too late, a sort of ever decreasing concentric circle that ends in sure damnation...And while I still believe much of humanity is locked in a spiral that leads to destruction over the course of the years, I learned the opposite to be true. I learned they are not mutually exclusive. We progress, we regress, and we stagnate, all at the same time."

Autumn in New England

(no subject)

Got to fly on this plane today. Nothing quite like cruising the coast of cape cod at 1,000 feet...with the windows open. Yep. I do love my job.

And a little Mustang flew in formation along with us.


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