whispered secrets.

"Because paper has more patience than people. "
— Anne Frank

 Sometimes I don't even dare let the ink of my pen whisper my thoughts to its paper friend -

even as its stark white silence beckons. Drawing me near.

I've learned that there is not enough patience in the world for all of the thoughts I have.

Even my own mind betrays me.

So I've taken to the company of trees.

They are always abiding, as beautiful and alive as they are.

We have this silent agreement

that no matter what I say - they will never back away,

only bend and sway.

photo by the marvelous annette pehrsson

winter's return

"You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintery light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person died for no reason." 

— Ernest Hemingway (A Moveable Feast)   

       Last Friday, it was 75 degrees in the District.

This morning it took me 20 minutes to get ice off of the windshield.

[I wonder if the birds feel as mislead as I do.]

But there is something sincere today about the 

snow dusted streets and frozen branches.

Like splashing cold water over your face after you've spent all night crying,

an attempt to heal, or at least numb, your swollen eyes.

Everything is visible in the snow, no foot print goes unseen -

even those who are silent and struggling clearly exist.

found rhythm and light.

"it is (often) the quiet gesture which carries the most significance - 

the one which suddenly directs the symphony."
— Mary Anne Radmacher

 First it begins inside your heart.

Something moves.

Then opens.

Then frees itself.

And now you feel a rhythm breaking its long silence.

This is going to be good.

Those are the words on my journal. They evoke in me not only an inspiration for writing, 

but a steady explanation for all the joy I feel in life right now.

Writing is never just a release, but a rhythm.

A perseverance for the adventure we are all on.

It opens my mind to a million different possibilites

and simultaneously forges a clear and simple path a foot in front of me.

It makes my heart beat faster and softens my breathing.

I was having an off day yesterday.

And just as writing clarifies and sets my mind alight, 

Mr. D stirs within me a happiness I can't quite describe -

a peace and a simple joy that makes me want to take flight.

photograph from here.

alone tonight with Steinbeck

"We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are." 
— Anaïs Nin

"Finish every day and be done with it. You have done what you could; some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; you shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense."   — Ralph Waldo Emerson

Something happened in my chest this afternoon -

a shift in my breathing -

its as if I am always waiting for a crash to cave me in. 

Its a cynical fault of mine to think that when its good, its too good

and when things are off, its nothing short of a devastating loss. 

And so in the silence of this room, 

I am finding strength in the steadiness of its walls

allowing few tears to fall, simply

biding time [with the help of Steinbeck] 

until its an acceptable hour to fall asleep and hope for 

a brighter day tomorrow. 

the colors in my mind.

"I have dreamed in my life, 

dreams that have stayed with me ever after, 

and changed my ideas; they have gone through and through me,

like wine through water, 

and altered the color of my mind."
— Emily Brontë

I used to mainly wear achromatic colors -

blacks, browns and grays.

I thought it was classier, but in reality it was a survival method -

a way to slip away. To observe and easily integrate.

But somewhere I developed a love for color.

Just as I've learned to creatively write when

my spirit is happy and full of joy - 

the art of creating vibrancy in an already brilliant world. 

For a long time I was afraid that only somberness could draw 

words easily through my mind. 

haze

"I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free." - Michelangelo

I have become focused on things that inspire me lately. 

And the more I look, 

the more often they jump out at me 

breathing down my throat and beating alongside the pulse of my heart. 

How then does it so overwhelm  me

that I become numb 

even to its very existence. 

"Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night." — Edgar Allan Poe

 

photograph by Annette Pehrsson

horse country.

"...there are two types of people in the world: those who prefer to be sad among others, and those who prefer to be sad alone." — Nicole Krauss (The History of Love) 

Once I lived adjacent to three horses. We were silent neighbors for a year. But one cold winter morning, I awoke to a brown-eyed stare. His soft nose pressed against my bedroom window, a circle of fog expanding and diminishing with each heavy, but relaxed breath. His brown mane and the strong lines of his chestnut body - a stark and comforting contrast against the snow covered mountain beyond.

A wonderful and happy memory from a very bad year.

photo found here.

navigating life.

I am having a hard time breathing. again. today.

I love those weeks that seem to roll by - escalated
a steady suspended path like the NYC High Line Park
above the buzz and busy moving parts below.
Places to sit and rest along the way.
Confident weeks. Everything in place in its perfect routine.
Steadily moving forward, carefree.

This week though, I can't seem to find my footing.
Just when I think I have found the trail,
the ache in my stomach blurs my vision.
A constant desire to want to pause the day,
freeze the ache away. And also,
to fast forward. Oh, to be able to jump ahead.

But there is a strength to be found in navigating,
a growth that could in no other way exist.
A sort of excitement to be found.
So, I'm concentrating on breathing and
finding beauty in the crowded city streets.
Being thankful for the journey and
discovering joy in the lessons ahead.

But right now
I'm thinking about crawling under my desk
and pulling my knees up
to my chest
just to sit awhile.

photo from martawrites.com

[no subject]

 

You know that high that you feel when you overcome a roadblock in your day. That insurmountable sick feeling in the pit of your stomach when everything seems to be crashing around you. Like perfectly lined dominoes colliding with a gigantic bowling ball. But somehow you rise above it all. You decide to find an optimistic lining. And even though you are sitting in a room surrounded by mounds of unorganized dominoes, you are able to move around them. Pieces that you know will eventually find themselves right side up.

Maybe its a bike ride and the cold fresh air tingling the back of your neck. Maybe its the old man at the red light who smiles at you the most kind and knowing smile that only someone who has seen the end - who has seen that everything works out - can give. And you smile and really feel like you're going to make it through the day without any pitfalls. Little by the little the mess around you starts to organize itself. You did it. 

But then. There it is. Maybe it isnt as big as the roadblock you stepped over at first, but it is impassable this time. The only thing worse than being knocked down when you are already on the ground is being hit in the stomach when you have just managed to stand back up. This time it just frustrates you more than anything else. And instead of wanting to climb, you just want to sit. Scream maybe, but not climb.

But I should mention that its Friday...and that its beautiful outside. So there is a lot of potential there...

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Photograph above by phaliyp is the Pinhole Rumble Winner on lomography.com - such a cool photograph.

you too?

"I've learned from experience that the greater part of our happiness or misery depends on our dispositions and not on our circumstances." - Martha Washington

 

its raining today. some days are just meant for rain.

as I washed the dishes last night, I let my tears mix in with the rushing hot water. and this morning I thought, how nice that its raining...tears from the sky here to wash away the pollen and the salt from my eyes.

sometimes another person's good news hits me like a punch in my gut.

I let my human weakness knock me behind the knees.

and I act surprised.

but eventually I find the strength within me.

that actually has nothing to do with me at all. 

and I am able to push past the pain I feel in my chest. that human frailty and that painting of a green pasture.

and see how much surrounds me.

and I am thankful to be exactly where I am. 

but some days are still just meant for rain. 

photo one from here

Collision: new life and death; the people and the park

I love New York.

Mostly because of the people walking the streets,

but also because of its most prized possession in my eyes...

-Central Park-

We went there awhile back about this time of year.

It was still cold and steel gray outside, but Spring was just

beginning to emerge out of the brush...

It was on our walk through the park that the two things I love

most about the city collided.

On the end of a park bench, next to the flowers above,

 sat a coverless green book.

[I have been sitting here trying to remember what the title page

read, but I just can't bring it to mind]

What does stand out was the scribbled inscription

and sad face on the back of the front cover.

"If you are reading this its too late"

My stomach still feels sick when I think about it.

I wonder how long that person sat on the bench before

laying the book down? How long had it been there?

How many people have read it?

Rob tried to convince me of some less dramatic and

much more whimsical idea of why the book had been

left with that particular inscription.

But I think deep down we both hurt for the owner.

[I tend to be a pessimisstic person, but for some reason I have a great sense of hope for the person who scribbled in pencil on the page of that book. Something about the way the lines moved. I wonder how long before he/she was able to push aside that aching in his/her chest and the weight of their limbs.]

a-ok

Do you ever get that feeling in your chest

where its really hard to breathe and you hate to admit that the grass 

almost always seems greener on the other side

and you can't quite figure out why you feel that way

(as if its only you that ever has that feeling)

and the more you think about it, the sicker you feel until one day 

you just force yourself to be thankful for what is around you 

and the feeling slowly subsides

and it didn't take pills or food to make it disappear 

and so you feel like you've really accomplished something?

like your ok