Incessant Scrolling

It is in inevitable. I’m walking toward myself, and the weight of old ways has to go. Some of it has fallen off, like old skin I didn’t even notice disappearing. Other pieces have to be pushed away, scraped off like a scab, and I know I will be raw as I heal and grow into a new form. 

Incessantly, we are rebuilding our cells, our skin, our look. We have the same constant nature, but shift form and presence, depending on light, water, or environment. How far I have come; how much more I have to grow. Still the desire to do so pushes forth from within and I wonder whether I am drowning or flourishing in this space? 

I have existed in so many forms. My energy currently feels like an unharnessed force. My desire is to put forth something new and authentic. But I am not plugged in anymore; I feel lost and fumbling. 

I never tell stories. Even when I recount moments, I stumble and lack true memory to what happened. I go for humor instead to camouflage the parts that feel uncomfortable.

I must conspire my own magic to go after what I want. It doesn't feel like a grand pursuit, one that will surely evade me, but rather more a coaxing, like with a vulnerable animal that I ache to help.

I want to yell, "I AM HERE!" and make something happen, yet it feels like I am standing alone in a great valley surrounded by mountains, and the remains of my voice and my energy are bouncing off matter around me. Echoing. I am left my own devices. 

_________
This is for after your escape. After all the heavy breath and tears it required to tear you away from your chains. 

This is for when you have already felt the elated freedom of being on the outside of it all. 

This moment comes once you have settled and started to look around and consider what you should do next. 

When you consider whether you made the right decision and fear failure is right at your back. 

Don’t look back. 

Now you are truly alive and you only have your internal devices to survive. 

Anything is possible. 

It is up to you to decide.

Constricting

Matilda hadn’t visited in ages. The woman disappeared into the tending of her days and Matilda fell to the background of her being. Of course she was still there but she remained untapped in the bustle of the holidays and the fresh new year. It was becoming clear though that she was needed to close the circle; to help the woman weave together the end of one year and the beginning of another. So she came for a visit amidst the falling flakes of snow. She arrived swirling towards the woman’s house in a flurry of delicate chaos. Inside the home, the energy reflected nothing of the movement outside. The woman had finally found a sense of peace in the electricity of the new year. She lingered in it like she would a luxurious bath, soaking it in and letting it wrap around her, comforting her and releasing a tightness she had been holding for months now. She was yearning for something outside being. As she recognized this craving, a single oak leaf floated through the lightly falling flakes. It was a giant in a sea of delicate art. It's contrasting presence called to her and she gathered her coat to go stand in the snow. She wanted to be immersed in the beautiful, delicate chaos and waken to the unexpected thrill that comes from feeling cold. 

A squirrel dangled upside down on the bird feeder. It’s oversized tail wrapped around the top as its feet created feats of dexterity holding on so it could eat. The birds hid eagerly int he tree waiting for it to disappear. 

She felt the crisp air in her lungs. There was a sensation which felt good when she expected it to feel lonely and frigid. She too felt as if the deep frozen parts of her being we’re welcoming her to witness the beauty that formed from hardened fluidity. The snow falling faster as the flakes were growing larger.  She thought about the warmth of her stove and the satisfaction of having something brewing a top it all day. The inside was calling her back to the warmth to the light. A candle flickered on her table, she could see it from the yard and yet she let it be. A deep knowing told her there would always be a way to go back and get warm. For now, the majesty of the environment was where she was being drawn. 

The new snow of this fresh year was no blizzard but rather the clouds releasing an energy that had built up and she felt akin to this liberation. It felt utterly kindred to her: the fresh release falling on old snow and ice. She marveled at what she had released from her life, many movements felt like an uncontrollable storm of sorts as the weight of what she been holding finally reached a breaking point she could no longer corral. She turned to face the barrage of expectations, emotions, fears and hopes that she carried for so long and she exhaled. She stepped aside. She opened up to face the fear she anticipated and found the beauty of letting go. 

The air was crisp and her intellect taut, it had been months since she felt so immersed in the place she physically inhabited. She watched it all come down, falling gently and landing upon the surface of her world. Soon it would transform, seep into the ground and saturate the unseen and she would thirst no more. She was filled with the promise of movement, the beauty of chaos and the unquestionable truth that this too will pass. 

Life was fully altered now. She could no longer follow the path back to where she had been. It would be spring before that way would be uncovered and somehow she knew it would no longer be the right way to move. The flakes fell upon her face and softened into her skin. There was a delicate kinship to this season that at first presented itself is hard and cold. It had taken her years to understand it’s subtleties and dance. Sometimes we must grow hard, constrict then tip over and spill out. She no longer felt somber or stoic about this winter. The birds reminded her of the lightness of being; the color and delight in nature. They pecked at the food in the feeder, the squirrel had long since gone.

We can't go back

We are drawn to the light; to the illumination of life. A candle that is our companion when no one is around. There is comfort in that flickering presence; a sense of hope we have as movement around us. 

In the darkness, we are left feeling othered; compelled to face the inward journey to our truth. The demons we meet along that path are ours alone. There is much to be feared in the potential that lies within each of us. There is also much to be discovered and revealed. We cannot fear our darkness, our underbelly. 

Fear is a tool used to keep us away from ourselves. We have been taught from birth, it is ours alone to confine. It is easy to not look in the direction, to not follow the curve of the path when you can’t see where it leads. So we stay tethered to what we know of this world and we help hold others in the same chains. 

In the darkness, we must let go and wander through a gateway that feels ominous. The mystery calls to us in a way we can’t ignore. So we lay our fear aside, a shaky companion we have learned to keep close. We lead on. From the other side, we see a world so curious and new. By nature of that first step, we know we can’t go back. 

Winter Snow Day

The cold keeps me in. What can I say: I'm fair-weather at best (really I just prefer to be warm). So this winter business is brutal on a mom with two kids. Any promise of playing in the sun is neurotically fueled by getting dressed and out in the fresh air.

 Getting miss M on board is a charge of it's own making. Usually though, once she goes, she likes it.

M with her snowman

A Day in the Park

I call this "Ninja Slide"

Miss M with her partner in crime...

Gather Around the Hearth

We don't' have a hearth...I wish we did. I miss that from our old place. So these days we gather around the tv. It kills me. Needless to say, it seemed suiting for a family photo from my new camera...the one I can't use well (you'll see -more images to come).

Here is what I managed from my maiden voyage:

She only stayed for one...

The Sweet Life

This was the third year for Gingerbread fun. I feel short in getting my house to stand (and taking photos of all of it) but strangely enough I embraced the sheer flop of it all and just committed to having fun with friends (in a candy induced chaotic sort of way). I've said it before and I'll say it again: hosting a gingerbread party is kind of like throwing a kegger for kids. People get unruly, things fall over and break, the floor is a sheer state of disgust at the end of it but really for as flagrant as the whole thing seems, I wouldn't want it any other way.

I always love a shot of this girl holding my girls