Beannacht.

Today has been a whirlwind of errands, including trips to the bank, installing Sirius in my new car, troubleshooting an alternator on my old car, phone calls for tech support in India for a printer (we bonded over my random Hindi phrases and love for kitchari), and organizing some paperwork that needed to get done. It seems like a lot of busyness in an already busy season, so tonight I just lit some candles, played some piano, and worked on some art projects. Clearing the mind, clearing the clutter. I feel better already. I'll leave you tonight with a gem of a poem which concluded last night's winter solstice poetry reading at Point Reyes Books. Such a cozy venue, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with fellow poets, reading from a faint book light, as the rest of the store was illuminated by candlelight. Beannacht is Gaelic for "blessing"- may you be equally blessed by these words…

The cozy atmosphere from inside Point Reyes Books...

On the day when
The weight deadens
On your shoulders
And you stumble,
May the clay dance
To balance you.

And when your eyes
Freeze behind
The grey window
And the ghost of loss
Gets into you,
May a flock of colours,
Indigo, red, green
And azure blue,
Come to awaken in you
A meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
In the currach of thought
And a stain of ocean
Blackens beneath you,
May there come across the waters
A path of yellow moonlight
To bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
May the clarity of light be yours,
May the fluency of the ocean be yours,
May the protection of the ancestors be yours.

And so may a slow
Wind work these words
Of love around you,
An invisible cloak,
To mind your life.

-John O'Donohue

Fear Cannot Touch Her Here.

This week there were a lot of things to celebrate, including my first published piece!

Check it out here…

Solstice Eve.

I prefer winter and fall, when you can feel the bone structure of the landscape - the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn't show.

-Andrew Wyeth

View from Del Valle this morning...

Brad descending into the fog...

I also prefer winter and fall riding, with full-length leg warmers, toe-covers, long fingered gloves and wind vests, when you can feel the rain on your face and taste the gritty mud in your teeth. Something about this reminds me that I am climbing, breathing, moving, descending - living. 

Tomorrow is winter solstice, the shortest, darkest day of the year. From there on out, it all brightens and lengthens...

The Other Side.

I once dated a guy who told me straight to my face, "You know, it's good that you're a little overweight- you'll be a more empathic counselor for overweight individuals because you know firsthand what it's like." Since then, I've shed that person from my life, as well as those unwanted pounds, but sometimes those words will still echo in my head. Underneath the initial sting, I believe his message was true- we can more effectively guide people to the other side once we've walked through it ourselves.

Take the first step.

Even as writers, it's our responsibility to get people to the other side- to the other side of fear and judgement, and step into a place of ease and openness. But this can only happen when we're willing to share our own stories and walk on that bridge, over the river of despair, step by step.  If we all stay silent, we all stay paralyzed and isolated.

So don't discount your dark experiences.  Talk about them, share them, use them as supporting wooden planks that create that avenue of connection, holding our weight and acting as a bridge to bring us back to ourselves and to each other.

Syntax.

“Let yourself become living poetry.”

— Rumi

Wild.

“It was my life- like all lives, mysterious and irrevocable and sacred. So very close, so very present, so very belonging to me. How wild is was, to let it be.”

— Cheryl Strayed, Wild

View from today's Mt. Diablo climb. I was too busy pedaling my bike!                                 Photo cred: Brad Rank

Excited to see this movie tonight with a fellow adventurer who is just as obsessed with the outdoors and finding oneself as I am.

Mystery at Limatour Beach

The waves continuously lap
hour after hour
day after day

The sun rises and falls
The sky, watercolored cotton candy pink
and magnificent hues of orange

My light is shining
They wonder from afar who I am
I remain a mystery, an enigma

Tonight I swallowed the moon
She steers me to my destination
Lighting the way

The Uses of Sorrow.

(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)

Someone I loved once gave me

a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand,

that this, too, was a gift.

-Mary Oliver, Thirst

Taking Flight.

Sunset from Limatour Beach

Still soaking in this past weekend.  Grateful to be in the creative company of so many published writers and writing professors.  Proud of myself for showing up and being as present and brave and vulnerable as I could.  It was beautiful to meet such unique individuals and hear their poetic artistry as it landed on the page.  Perhaps the greatest lesson was learning that we are all the same- walking these same shores of life, witnessing the same sunrise and sunset, and trusting that as we pick up the pen, magic will be created and we will once again courageously fly with our words.

Needing to Recharge.

Ain't that the truth!  God bless all the boys who drop everything, come over when it's late and give your brand new car a jump.  (sure beats calling 24 hr Roadside Assistance)

Hoping this weekend will jumpstart and recharge my inner writer's batteries as well.  And hoping that the only thing that dies is my inner critic.

Books Over Basketball.

“…for some of us, books are as important as anything else on earth. What a miracle it is that out of these small, flat, rigid pieces of paper unfolds world after world, worlds that sing to you, comfort and quiet you or excite you. Books help us understand who we are and how we are to behave. They show us what community and friendship mean; they show us how to live and die.”

— Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life

Kaia looks about as thrilled as I did when I was younger...

Coming from a girl who would rather pick up a basketball or a fishing pole or even a rolly polly bug than pick up a book, it's amazing how some things that once you wouldn't devote five minutes to are now the things you crave.  Some think that people don't change.  I'm here to tell you that they do. 

I have stacks of books now in my living room and on my bedstand, constantly competing for my time and attention. But somehow, Anne Lamott always manages to sneak her way to the top and into my hands.

Can you tell I have a slight writer's crush on her?