writing

Equinox

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Yay! Another season begins! And I’m alive!

Kicks imaginary leaves from the pile I just raked up in my head.

I guess that’s why sunrise if so blooming late.

The good part is the chill on the morning breeze and crispness in the air after four days of humid swelter.

Mother Nature has a standard of excellence. Damn the torpedos and full speed ahead into Fall.

We all should live this way.

There are a million quotes on when the going gets tough the tough get going.

The populous test nature’s resilience every day. She will survive.

Will we? Will you?

It’s not about plastic bags or straws; it’s about every part of everything. Co-existing.

Something we can’t even do with our personal beliefs. How do we expect to save a planet that we can’t even agree on how the planet should be let to exist. We want all people to be the same. We want. We want. We want.

Be like us, not you, you’re wrong.

Stifle it.

Be whatever you want or what you need to be to be happy.

(Unless this entails murder.)

I watched, Emeril Eats the World, the most ridiculous title for a show in a long time, last night.

The episode in South Korea. Where he travels to meet Jeong Kwan, a Zen Buddhist nun and the show evolves to something special. A spiritual journey. 

.Listen to what the nun says.

Fall Equinox

Mabon

Thursday

This day is yours to live.zen (640x425)

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Grief

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I blogged about my friend who died the morning I left on a retreat. Last week, The Welshman’s mother passed. She was a complicated person and minimally nice. Nice is a strong word to use, but she was never kind. Still, The Welshman’s mother died. An abused child doesn’t think of the abuse when their parent dies, especially when age has weakened the sting.

His grieving has helped me understand mine but that is not what I am writing about.

I am writing about his.

He came home from work early and just wanted to relax. I took him for a drive up the coast much like you’d take your dog out for some good deep breaths f air and relaxation. He felt better but exhausted. Grief is exhausting. mind numbingly so.

Now he has a cold of sorts. He never catches colds. The cold is his way of handling grief. I believe it allows him to be weak. Something his mother beat out of him at a very young age and his father fostered by being weak.

I wish there was a pillow that absorbed grief and took one off to sleep in a land of good memories and happy endings. I wish there was a blanket of dreams that washed away grief, taking it away in great waves  like those created by a storm over the ocean. I want the soft sand to sift away the remainder of pain and become sand castles of hope.

The future will be bright again one day for The Welshman. One only hopes the wait isn’t long. He deserves to rid himself of this cold and inhale deeply of the fresh new air of tomorrow.23704898785_aaa4f93a24_m

Reflections on my retreat

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Just over a month ago, I went on a retreat. I needed it. I made myself go. Even after The Welshman told me I should, I didn’t make my decision right away.

Nothing wrong with the retreat. The thought of spending a weekend with people I didn’t know was scary enough. Add spend that time in a one-room cabin and I’m on a ledge over the ocean. Before I could shut things down, I signed up.

Forcing yourself to do something is good medicine.

Yoga, painting and nature.

Yoga: I do chair yoga. Painting: I paint. Nature: my soul resides deep in nature’s woods and deserts.

Painting: I watched paintings bloom. And painted a blossom of my own.

Nature: she never disappoints.

So what could scare me? People, fellow fishies swimming in the sea of life.

Overall, considering my feelings about strangers, the weekend went well. I learned several things about myself. One, I need to learn to ask. Two, I really need to learn to ask. Three, I will most likely never ask.

I also learned that as an empath to surround yourself with new energies and let them pour in, is good and insanely risky.

Good, because it opens you up to the big pond of fishes we all swim with and lets us know we are all the same. Basically. now there’s a word I hate, basically. Nothing in life is really basic or accurate as we first see or experience it. It takes time to establish a baseline so basically isn’t complex enough to detail life. Hopefully, life leads us on new adventures and we are changing. Viewpoints, likes, dislikes, needs, and wants all these things should experience growth/change throughout our lives.

The retreat came on the wings of the death of a dear friend. I had no idea of how to let her go.

Do you feel grief is you know someone has suffered for a very long time? Selfishly, yes. You have lost someone. Compassionately, no. Will I miss our daily chats or texts? Yes. Will I miss trying to offer comfort when I know her pain is far beyond what most could live through? No.

The retreat gave me a sound footing with which I could deal with the loss. The storm reminded me of her fierceness and the rain washed away my tears as it fed the earth.The closeness to nature brought balance to my insecurities about being with so many unknowns. The fishies all on their own journeys finding the time to step outside their private ponds and take a dip with others in search of answers. Or for some justification.  The simple desire for a soft touch or sincere pat on the back, maybe just a kind word.

The closeness to nature brought balance to my insecurities about being with so many unknowns. The fishies all on their own journeys finding the time to step outside their private ponds and take a dip with others in search of answers. Or for some justification.  The simple desire for a soft touch or sincere pat on the back, maybe just a kind word.

Kind words. How important are they? Randomly compliment someone and see.

I promised myself to do more meditating. And have. I promised to spend more time in nature and have done this as well. Alone, but at peace with myself.

Thirty days of reflection made me realize retreats are a good thing. A writers retreat is in my future. Conferences seem tied to business and hordes of people. Conventions: my pond evaporates into a single drop and I’m stuck in the mud.

Today, I wondered how many of the other fishies have been reflecting on the retreat?

I am thankful for the retreat. I am grateful to have known my friend.

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Buskers, are they free?

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Buskers and the way they live have been around for centuries, why is a TED talk from one so extraordinary?

They are everywhere. Some most excellent and I have dropped what I can spare into their coffer.

I don’t know of anyone in this country who is afraid of asking, look at the mess our government is in…it is from asking for everything and working towards nothing. Charisma plays an important part in the “asking”, great buskers are great examples. Artists deserve to be paid, if they want to set a price they should, if they want to busk they should. This is not the matter of an inspiring TED talk, it is a life choice. BTW the busker in question is married to a very wealthy man, something that if anyone should mention they are launched off the proverbial plank.  Ah, the charismatic followers, not as kind as the speaker, much more enraptured with her. some would make Charles Manson level, if this were a game
History is full of artists who did not conform and were paid and make me feel inspired. And could carry a note. I know it is a style.

Of course, I do not have someone with 3million followers to ask to follow me, nor did they.

Artists who don’t must find a way to network. for some this path is the norm of obtaining space and making their wares available. If someone was to stop in a shop and leave with 30hours worth of work and leave only $5. would this be correct, fair, or tolerable. NO f’ing way. if you are standing on a street corner sketching and you offer a drawing you did of a on looker, then yes.

Note: TED speakers are not paid, they are taken care of (5 star hotel, food, etc.) and to speak at TED you are recommended by someone or have a following and be known…ah.

The speech in question is done with the charisma and the person is an expert busker.

Unexpected

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Even with tattered wings we can soar to new heights and succeed. Just try.

I had passed over this photo, not knowing what was there.

 

Empowerment comes in many unexpected forms. After my decision yesterday, I had a moment of feeling a bit like dirt. Just a moment, then I realized I felt good about being strong enough to stand up for myself.

I woke up this morning and cleaned the blinds and windows, an apparition  of seeing my former self. Strong not afraid to see things, wipe away what had come to fog my view.

I am grateful.

Twenty pages of my new work flowed smoothly onto the pages, character strong, thoughts clear, and unafraid of what others may think.

Peace Out.

Herds

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Do we really need to be a part of a herd? In this case, a herd is people with the common desire of writing and herding according to what we write. I used to think so, immensely enjoyed the group even tho dues and such where steep (had to belong to another organization to pay to belong to another) and meeting were far away. Loved the people, but did I need the herd? No. In this day of uber-connecting and trying to find our perfect niche, We abandon ourselves a little each time.

Of course, someone will then come along and create-another niche for us. We need to make our own paths, know ourselves better than we do, and stay true. Pavlov would be proud at how we sometimes jump to the sound of the newest thing.

Read about other people who share your passion, what little they had was used to get their work out there.
The foremost that comes to mind is, Debbie Macomber. There are many more, it is just that I have met her.
We need to cull our herds and focus on our passion.

If this means sequestering ourselves away with many pots of coffee and then many pots of chamomile tea to counteract the insanity the caffeine overload has left in its wake, well hey so be it.
What brought this on? Invites to three new groups all with per-requisites of joining other groups and all with dues. Um, newsflash Photographers, writers, artists- not wealthy.

All I have of value is my imagination and it is priceless.

I am not saying don’t socialize or as writers don’t go and hang out with other writers (do miss that), but don’t make it a club.

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Rain and fog

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The above is a glorious combination for a Sunday morning with the day off. I awoke early in the dark as rain drops plinked on the gutters outside my window. As it progressed I noticed the air smelled clean and fresh as just washed. Indeed it had been.

My cat crawled down from his condo perch and snuggled next to me, a joyous part of his aging as in his younger years he would have wanted to wrestle with whatever was under the covers.  He still does from time to time, he is more proper about his times of attack is all.

The house quiet, I decided to stay awake and read. It turned into a writing stint on a new short story. I stayed in bed, even tho my new desk chair beckoned me to my desk. I splurged at IKEA. The chair was $39. and came in the smallest box filled with the largest chair made up of more parts than I thought, but was worth the wading through 20 pages of directions. It is wonderful, of course the lawn chair it replaced was overdue for retirement when I dragged it home three years ago.

Speaking of years, I cannot believe I have been living here (SP) for 6 years. Fog must trap one here or maybe it is the nightly sound of the sea lions barking in the harbor. More than likely it is simply the nearness to the ocean, being able to see it from my front door, and know I have a home.

Enjoy this and every day

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Hooba says so.