yesterday afternoon on my walk home i stopped to visit a neighboring willow. I remembered reading that willow trees communicate with other willows in the surrounding landscape. trees send signals to each other communicating distress and dare i say love….depending on how you package the ungraspable. studies have been done concerning the language of trees and how messages are actually sent.
I wasnt there to unlock their secrets.
I gathered some of the longer branches, tied them loosely into a bundle and brought them home to dry. next step soaking and if my memory serves me…to weave a simple basket
Writing @ 1 pm Sagaponack, NY
We meet, write, connect
flocks and flocks of birds migrate
meet each moment with openness
preservation of all that is wondrous and wild
DISCOVERING THE JOY OF PRACTICE
September is a time of beginning, of recommitting to all that feeds this life of creative practice. Im happy to offer this opportunity for us to gather in support of each other’s revelations, sparks, musings, desires to dig further and go deeper through the act of writing and making. For many of us creating is a way to journey to the other world within this one. To enter into quiet profundity and permit entry into wild and unknown territory.
I hope you can join me for 5 weeks of deep listening, dreaming and giving way to our innate creative voices. I will be curating a selection of prompts and essays, poetry and interviews as touch points throughout our sessions together.
Can we all meet on Sundays @ 1 pm beginning October 15th.
The cost for the 5 week workshop is $75
I look forward to gathering and stoking the creative fires with you this fall.
To slow down is to be taken into the soul of things.
~ Terry Tempest Williams
what drew me to the faroe islands was the call from the sea, from the moss and heathery hillsides, a shift needed in the bones – to follow my aquarian nature.
space to invite my heart to spill, dream, rest, to be in this landscape of endings and beginnings. empty into the unknown.
spare yet dramatic hillsides meeting the sea of unknowing skies wild and unpredictable
“Tú alfagra land mítt
Thou, my most beauteous land”
These words by Anais Nin accompany my post this afternoon.
“The unknown was my compass. The unknown was my encyclopedia. The unnamed was my science and progress.”
Vulnerability and humility when creating in the field of the unknown are constantly at play. To give way, entrance into this place of beginning is where most creative work is born…curiosity perhaps draws us in and the pull, tug of something beyond naming. We follow because we must. It is the other world within this one.
This morning venturing back from the river, my walk became the field in which I create. What called – the dense landscape of green twisted and twined with a rhythm I named confluence…not of two rivers but of walnut and chestnut trees which moved like water. On the path the memory of those whose footfall has preceeded mine created movement and flow, the wind and birdsong carried on it. A horse the color of chestnut, his tail whisking flies away. He stood and did not answer my question. Live them, moment by moment
Beginning this Fall I hope you will join me for a 5 week writing and making workshop on Practice, Not Knowing, Living Our Questions, Boundaries and Holding Fast to What Inspires Life, Building Trust, Intention.
I look forward to creating and dreaming with you
Your feedback on dates and times will be helpful
Enjoy the remains of the summer
I remember Nan Shephard in her book, The Living Mountain, speaking about being inside the mountain. I dont think this was simply a matter of choosing alternate prepositions ie. in, on, of …it had to do with intimately knowing place and feeling a part of. In the evenings as the sun slips behind the westernmost slope of the sierras which surround this valley Ive gotten into the habit of watching the swallows and martins gleefully fly above the fields below Lenador. I sense they are out for a joy ride, the last flight of the day. Looking out on Mt Lujar with a lemony haze of light still glowing above changing hue and tone with each passing thrum of birds wings. The mountain appears to be exhaling, as if the entire body of rock, soil, gritty stones, roots, rises and falls the same way my chest does. This too is being inside the mountain. It is about relationship and seeing ourselves not as separate but as one integrated whole