26 November, 2018

The Gentle Relentless Power

Sleeping tree limbs
A gray burial shroud
Scattered with jewels
To cover what will be
When the next year rolls around
Now we lay Uncovered
And Bare
Exposed.

 A mercifully free day popped up on our radar. No practice for Hobbes' stage debut in the Nutcracker Fantasy. No family commitments. No bike rides or writing or anything at all. Just freedom. So we slept late, feasted on cinnamon rolls (I, a gluten free, egg white only, flax seed milk cinnamon roll mug cake because I am extra like that, and had been presumably glutened the night previous.) and dressed for a day in the woods.
We made our way to Greeter Falls, a place I've been but barely remembered, until I reached the bottom of the spiraling staircase and saw the huge amphitheater carved out over the millennia by the steady, relentless, gentle-but-powerful flow of the water down, down, down, down the drop. And I'm reminded even now of what gentle relentless power can do, flowing over day by day, year by year. That kind of force unbridled can create something beautiful to behold.

I fell in the water while rockhopping, soaking my right foot. Then Paul accidentally loosed a branch he was holding as we skirted the top of the gorge, which flew back and hit me hard in the forehead. The boy serenaded us for seemingly hours with endless lectures about his imaginary friend Gagel the cat and his cohorts, as well as the cats from the Warriors series, with a smattering of dinosaurs. Someday, he is going to be a writer or a professor or some other profession where he can write and convey thoughts.

But then we took a short spur out to a place neither Paul or I had ever visited, Blue Hole, and as we descended into the little hollow there were laurels and rhododendrons, and it was like a whole other world set apart, and I was filled with happiness.

"The clearest way into the universe is through a forest wilderness." - John Muir 

20 November, 2018

Existential Crisis: Honesty In Motion

How do you meet the wave?

Do you plunge over the top?

Do you dive through the center, bubbles swirling around you?

Do you swim sideways, rolling over and under?

Do you swim away, allowing the wave to push you back to your starting point?


What if there is no single correct answer, and all you need to do is simply take action? The wave is coming, regardless of your choice.

We are all alive, and then we die. This awareness seeds anxiety deep in my heart. That seed germinates and blooms into fear of failure and too much pressure.

I've started things later than most, finally trusting myself to spin tales and create beautiful, sometimes eccentric, things to behold, to read, to wear. All because I chose to explore and see what actually waited to be uncovered on the inside. It took so long to get to the start.

Bad habits are old friends with bad influence, and I've known them so long I find it hard to end the acquaintance. I stop exploring, and start building out of expectation, forgetting that Rome wasn't built in a day. I want it all, and I want it now. Because I see my talent and giftedness, and I am impatient for the reward of what is sometimes lonely work, toiling away at something I divined up out of my mind.

And I am reluctant to take the risk of sharing, not just with friends, but also the people who could make or break me. This reticence makes me feel hopeless. Like I'm never going to meet my goals of creating for a living.

I catch myself in the quagmire of self doubt, then say to myself, "What if someone could teach me to do this thing I already know how to do?" because this feels safe, like a fail proof, when a life of creativity never will be fail proof. And that, that truth, is the secret that has scared me away for at least thirteen years, and hindered me being my most true self.

I want freedom and reliance together, and sometimes those concepts are mutually exclusive. If I want to grow my creative self, it is imperative that I choose to embrace the danger-or-adventure of taking the plunge below the surface to become part of the wave and embrace it; I think this is the best choice for me. Soaking myself instead of protecting myself, indulging in the joy of deeper exploration of just what I have to offer, and sloughing off expectation as I go.

So, for me, I think the time has come to go deep.


12 November, 2018

Short Story: The Cavity

Sometimes the news feeds me an idea I can't ignore. The discovery of teeth in a wall in an old dental office was too good to pass up. Enjoy The Cavity.

The wall was fresh from the plaster and paint, smooth to the touch, and he patted it over the invisible patchwork. Was there energy inside the wood and drywall? He could sense something in there. Behind closed eyes, between his last appointments ever, he recalled the strange day so many years prior. That day had led to here, and would lead to tomorrow, too.
He was still young then, blond hair just beginning to lighten to gray at the temples. Courting Anna, who found his manner and appearance dignified and his secret touch electric, Walter had no plans for the week following or the one after that. He cleaned teeth, saw Anna, and little else, for there was little else to do in a place like this. James, the farmer from the valley across the top of the ridge had just stood from the chair and walked out the door to see Virginia at the front desk to settle up his affairs, leaving the door ajar behind him.
Walter stood at the counter, sanitizing his tools, the smell of isopropyl alcohol hanging in the air, his mind vacantly jumping from one thing to another. Outside, summer breathed its last breath of flame into the trees and the leaves were just catching. The date was September 30th, and that was the day he learned how not to die.
The gentle clicking of the hallway clock filled the room. Walter brought it with him from Delaware, and the southern climate had taken its toll on the timepiece. Humidity stretched and warped the proportions of the wood, but the inner workings still turned and clicked away their reliable rhythm. Walter could never be sure how long the silence persisted before he noticed the clock had stopped its familiar clicking of the long hand’s advance, carrying with it the short hand, but as he cleared the counter, there it was. Quiet.
Walter, unsurprised the clock had given up finally, turned toward the door, still half open as if waiting to share a secret. Through the openings between the hinges, where the door met the door facing, Walter saw her. She shifted into the room slowly, feet unmoving, but rustling, and he dropped the tiny dental mirror to the floor where it clattered then stopped, and the silence was heavy, pushing Walter to the edge of the counter for fear of suffocating under its weight.
Still half covered by the door, she sought to build a connection with Walter, and caught his eyes in her own. She pushed hard on the door without raising her hand. The door slammed into the wall, rattling everything inside the renovated shed he called his place of practice. This was not Willie, the small boy from the next town over who was scheduled for a checkup. Her gray lips pressed firmly together, until she spoke. Walter saw into the gaping hole as she spoke, and the darkness beckoned behind the shiny gray gums. The smell of sweet rotting meat and leaves left to decay filled the room. Her voice shook the room as she said, “You, Walter Windrow Sutton, will die.”
Her jaw did not move to enunciate the words. The sounds escaped her gut, booming out from the darkness she held inside, tempered with the sounds of grinding and jostling of the secrets within. “Unless,” and the stones and gravel inside rolled, “you fill me.”
She held out a tooth in her grimy right hand, nails broken and blackened and wrinkles and folds filled with decay, a bright and perfect molar. The roots were clean and the tooth shone out against the grime of her pawing palm. The mouth yawned wide again, further this time so that her jaw hung down onto her clavicle, and she shoved her right hand, folded into a fist, deep into her mouth. Walter watched as the wrist and forearm followed and could see her throat bulge beneath the dangling jaw until her elbow was all that was left. She withdrew her hand and closed her jaw.
Once more her jaw opened and the sounds of rustling emitted from inside her, before she loudly rasped out, “5,000.” Walter realized the jumbling noises within were not stones or sticks, but teeth, rolling and jostling below the surface. He gripped the metal edge of the counter until his fingers might bleed, breath coming fast and shallow, his mouth a dry hollow. His head back and forth, tracing a line up and down with his nose, eyes locked on the darkness just inside those gray and desiccated lips. She was hunger. He would fill her.
The clock started up again in the hallway. There was Walter, still hanging onto the counter top, fearful of drowning in the smell of death. He was already there, though, and the smell had filled him, deep into the crevaces of his lungs and floating into his bloodstream as it flowed throughout his earthly form, so the eternal and the temporal could mix and be one forever. When the boy settled into the chair, Walter felt it was important to extract a molar. He was certain this baby tooth needed to go to clear the way for the tooth bud below to grow, and smiled as he held the tooth up in the golden late afternoon light shining and pink with blood.
Now this wall held the full 5,000 teeth, and Walter was old and tired but immune to death’s final blow. The teeth here, he had broken the best things in his life to fill this hole, and he thought of Annie’s jaws emptied of bite. He wished for rest, something to fill the emptiness yawning inside him, a cavity to be charged, and Walter Windrow Sutton understood the levy placed on his life. He rustled out the door and the stones jostled within as he laughed at the sky.
**Creator retains full rights**

05 November, 2018

Heart Wide Open

Sometimes I struggle to live openly, welcoming what may come. But that's not how we, these tiny bits of stardust, Rumi's "Universe in ecstatic motion," are meant to live. 

Open to what is offered

From time to time, I find a place, especially a space in time, where I feel myself open up. I spread and bloom to welcome in the light and the dark and all the beauty around me. And love and kindness seal in the warmth and goodness. I carry them with me, those sensed feelings, until they meet with me again in full. I see all the possibilities of my life, the way it intersects and influences others, all because of the magic of that space.

Overlooking Burgess Falls in White County, TN

Yesterday, the three of us loaded up in the car and drove to White County to visit Burgess Falls. The park is stunning, with a fairy tale of a hike past several large drops. The Falling Water River loses around 250 feet in elevation as it runs through the park, creating a river gorge that feels more like it belongs in in the western states than the center of Tennessee.




I often wish I could visually capture the magnitude of these moments, but no picture or painting can do justice to the breadth of an experience. But yesterday was special. The golden sycamore leaves fell from high up in the ridge tops, floating out over the gorge before falling down to the water to drift past us before hitting the top of the water to be carried away to some other place. A bright blue sky created the perfect backdrop, and only served to highlight the autumn snowglobe in which I found myself and my two favorite people. 


With gratitude, I share this magical experience. When we bloom out, we create the space we need to flourish. Be willing to be visionary, to explore.