Sunday, February 28, 2010

first full sun of spring/last full moon of winter

a treasure pile carefully loaded high, in the clear, white sun

It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot
and the wind blows cold: when it is summer
in the light, and winter in the shade.

- Charles Dickens

mother moon looking so exotic and fanciful tonight

Saturday, February 27, 2010


I don't talk about it much, not sure why, but music is sooo important to me...the sound of ideas. I wanted to share a couple of things.
If you haven't found Pandora Radio, you're totally missing out!!! It is free (unless you want to buy a song). You can make your own radio stations, for instance, I made a "Lifehouse" station, an "Imogen Heap" Station (woot woot! loooove that girl), and in the process of listening to Imogen Heap, they fit in other artists with similar styles, and I found a new one for me: Regina Spektor. I am so loving her!!!! Can I just share with you, this song - I suggest turning off the Nature sounds at the very bottom of my blog first...otherwise you'll get an odd mix.

I really have no idea what "eet" is, but I LOVE the whole sound, and the idea of things suddenly changing, life becoming something else...kind of like loving the sound of an unfinished, or half-heard word? Like sw - eet...maybe?

When you are done listening to her, you have to watch this Imogen Heap video, which I love:


(artwork by Susan Seddon-Boulet)

I have noticed, in my rather short-ish life (34 is not yet a grown up, I've found), that weaving one's life requires not only the tucking in of longish threads and the beginning again of entire sections, but that there will be threads you MUST leave out.
Let these be picked up by someone else to continue weaving with. There are some whose presence will only leave a hole to mend...I can do without holes to mend.

At those times when I imagine my life with those "threads" I can think, "What might I be missing?" Then the reality of the complication/implication washes over me, and I rush back to the beautiful tapestry I've woven SANS HOLES, and I am happy and filled and content.

Really there is nothing to miss from something that would only be nothing in the end.

If this makes no sense to you, you may have never had a "hole to mend" in your life, and that is just those who "get it"...all I say is, "I understand."

Friday, February 26, 2010

Places of Worship

Could you imagine being tiny enough to sit under the Lady's Mantle, watching the sun come through the drops like stained glass? I can...I could probably (LITERALLY) sit for an hour or more imagining myself small enough to sit under and on these leaves.

This is Cold Springs.
I have worshiped here; lazily walking through the the tall-as-hips grasses and watching for hummingbirds. I've breathed deeply here with my eyes shut and my head back, palms up, let SPIRIT fill me up like a cup.

This is also Cold Springs.
I've lain under this, and imagined myself at the doors of a great cathedral...and quickly realized I was not imagining one little bit.

Here is a place I could worship. It looks like a "church of my heart", does it not?
This is Brigid's Well in Kildare, Ireland.
I'm gonna go there one day and soak up all that Brigid's image means in my heart...
though my little Cold Springs will probably always hold more magic to me.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Sunshine, Dickens, and Spirituality

Today I have had that rare chance of a morning to myself. I've been drinking my 1/2 caff. and sitting in the sunshine that comes through one window. I've been dreaming of new jobs and writing a fresh resume'. I've been making lists of things to do to get our house ready for a new family.

I've been dreaming of the homestead I want: the yellow farmhouse smack in the middle of farm land, the 3 goats (with names from Great Expectations: Pip, Miss Havisham, and Estella), a pig (whom I'd love to name for Dickens himself), a line of laundry snapping in the sun and the breeze and chickens chickens chickens pecking about.
Today I've been reflecting on Spirit. The Great Spirit/God/Goddess/Universe...whatever you like to call "it", and thought to myself that I'd love to share it this view on it all. I read many blogs that hint at belief and touch on ideas, and they are kindred and I get it. But sometimes I'd love a full run-down of where someone is coming from, you know. So, thought I'd give my run-down.

I have a book called "Hide and Seek with God" that I've read to the kids many times. It tells of a simple game of hide and seek that God was playing with some children. God went and hid, and all the children counted and then ran out to find God. One child said, "Here is God. I've found god in the stars!" Another child yelled out, "No, I found God! God was right here inside of me!!!" and another child yells, "I found God, sillies! God is in this tree and these grasses." To which God answers, "YES, You've all found me!" That's about how I feel.

I think the idea of God is too big to put in a box or to write down rules for. I feel left out as a woman if I think that God has to be a man, so I feel that God must be none/both. I feel that we all have it just a little bit right. I love to imagine a Goddess in the Moon, in the trees, in the Sea, in the grasses, the flowers, in my own mothering, in my wifehood, in my family, in the sun waking up and the sun going to sleep, in the way I make decisions...If I need to make an archetype of her, she would be a STRONG MOTHER, and I choose the image of Mary for myself...not a quiet, whimpering type, but the strength and humility it takes to be a Mother...the sacrifice, the love, the aching courage, the ability to change and form and create.

I am not religious, but I am certainly deeply spiritual. Just felt like sharing on this sunny Sunday morning - love to you all!

Friday, February 19, 2010

Once a road is chosen...

~Dearest Kahlil, Thank you for the clarity. Lovingly yours, Katie~

The hidden well-spring of your soul must needs rise and run murmuring to the sea;
And the treasure of your infinite depths would be revealed to your eyes.
But let there be no scales to weigh your unknown treasure;
And seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line.
For self is a sea boundless and measureless.
-Kahlil Gibran The Prophet, On Self Knowledge

Every day of my life is spent in decision.
Gray and smudge-edged, hard and razor-sharp, not my own, my own.
I turn my eyes to my palms to find answers,
or I turn to those beside me.
I look to past choices,
and I think of future decisions.
My future has only ONE clearly defined shape: love.


I'm beginning to understand that where I am is where I should be.
I'm beginning to believe that when the time comes to decide to move on, it will be as easy as slipping into a lake on a hot day.
I'm beginning to believe that LOVE isn't as hard to follow as I make it out to be.

I am always just beginning to understand that love is a choice.

Monday, February 08, 2010

At the Sea

The cure for anything is salt water
-- sweat, tears, or the sea. --
Isak Dinesen

Every rock and broken shell is turned and rounded
every jagged edge is soothed and smoothed
hard corners are softened
the silver-ness of the sun was like a fairytale
it filled me to overflowing
I breathed it in and let it soak down to my bones

I've felt better by crying
I've felt better by working
and this time
I let the sea cure me.

Tuesday, February 02, 2010

My Work with One in a Garden of Wells

In a Woode of tangled limbs,
echoing owl-cries,
and thorny brambles
is a moaning clearing

Upon this ground stand so many stone wells
that I must tend
running to that one and whispering down
silent at the precipice of this one tipping down one lone torchlight

I stay on the edges
in the open
taking turns to pull up on each long frayed rope
but the other does not mostly
or remember
or want
to hang on to the darkened end

there is a scratching at the bottom of this well
a clawing on the slick sides
of hastily strong-built walls

this day I yelled down
look up
and she did
through the murky air
and for the smallest moment
she heard me

what makes you really happy, I asked
not looking up
being busy with my day
creating the illusion that it's
no big deal to tell

--when someone I like says they love me--

just like that
her whisper floated out of the deep
true and golden
creating a wisp of bright blue sky
where grey smoke should've curled

before it was gone
I caught the glint of her eye
through shaded shadows
and whispered back

--I love you--

I told her so sudden
and unthought
I knew
I meant it

an impossibly small sparkle at the edge of her lips was surprised
to hear those words
from anyone, from me
she stopped clawing my hand
and heard it

she heard me

and then
she was

Monday, February 01, 2010

An Inner Vision


feel the edges
knit the fabric
set the type
rise the mist
scent the air
tie the knot
gather the peat
rivet the patches
tat the lace
stoke the fire
forge the lock
weave the basket
bind the book

of my dreams

and so

I have only words
and never fullness
when it comes
as close as a handsewn buttonhole in fine silk

the only way to say it