
archive: January, 2010

trusting what i see.
emma at breakfast, bbc retreat, cotswalds, january 2010
it’s quite easy for me to trust what they see. there isn’t a lot of thinking involved. i just know when i like something they’ve captured.
but, learning to trust what i see? even when what i see is out of focus, framed askew, soft, but with an edge? when what i see are fragments and hues and reflections? that’s another level of faith entirely.
this next week, i have three “official” photo shoots. THREE. all with beautiful, dynamic subjects. and each, as with everything else, will (hopefully) involve the right mix of light, shadow, a steady hand (or not), some deep breaths, and, most of all, trust in what i see.
it’s the trust in what we see, the surrendering to it, that collides beauty with connection. captures the two merged, and makes it tangible.
oh man. it’s all just one crazy obvious metaphor after another, isn’t it?
sometimes i feel a little slow on the uptake.
(wish me luck?)

she knows things.
girl from shampura, rajasthan, india, 2009
i love the bit of skepticism in this girl's expression. its like she knows something more than the rest of us. mixed in with her innocence and curiosity is an element of penetrating wisdom (and maybe even a little sarcasm). i would love to have known the goings on in her mind when i took this photo of her.
if only.
i am feeling that edgy angst and inertia again. the state of being that follows the announcement of still time. the one that would rather do anything but hear the hungers and confusions that wrestle when i sit.
a new level of honesty is coming on. and with it i fear tornadoes and sink holes.
oh, but to be back in that room again. far away. with cups of tea and questions.
convergence.
and an interpreter.

stillness and action.
i'm thinking a lot about inhabiting. about abiding and standing solid in one place for a while. about sifting through ideas and about moving forward from a map. one that i've created and that, after some deep contemplation, outlines the places that i'd like to go. every message i am getting right now is to sit down and list, outline, brainstorm, seek counsel and decide. stay home. and i am aware of how difficult this really is for me.
it seems that i am much more comfortable with the comings and goings. the falling offs and the getting back ups. the airplane and the train. the move to the next house. the growth spurt and even the tears on the therapist's couch. i'm your girl in a crisis. i thrive, and am calm, when the directive is obvious. the thing needing tending is bleeding. or departing at half past eight. but when the call from the ethers is to be discerning, to take a step back and settle into a routine for a while, to sift and sort the contents of dresser drawers and the archives of internal inspirations, to define the trajectory: this is where i get anxious. this is where i begin to doubt. this is where i, historically, have failed to take action.
the intriguing chris guillebeau wrote today about the divide between thinking of doing something and doing it. about how our intentions, though thoughtful and pure, are not what makes a difference. i really heard him. i mean to do a lot of really great things. many of them don't ever get done.
so now it is time for me to act. but the kind of action i am called to take is from that still point (if that makes sense). it is action with roots. action with contemplation. action that is based on knowing. it is action that involves things like sending more money to haiti. filling in susannah's fabulous worksheets. reading a few instruction manuals. showing up for the people i love. i'll write thank you notes. organize receipts and make flow charts. find my way onto my yoga mat and give the dog a bath. finish overdue tasks, make soups and volunteer in schools. and, alas, i will define my project (notice how that one comes up last).
i know that in order to take right action, i need to sit still for a while. something i really don't like to do. something that asks more of me that i usually care to give to myself. (i'd really rather be in haiti right now, digging through rubble). sitting still is hard. because it is the work. because it means i have to trust myself. BE with myself. let my own ideas guide me. and maybe listen to truths that i don't want to hear.
(this is what happens when you choose CLEAR as your guiding word of the year)

changed.
what have i got to share? that i'm home now? that i am sitting at my desk while the rain falls outside, wondering if anything i could possibly write will do justice to the rattles and inklings and earthquakes and hungers that i am bringing attention to? i am full. and connected. quiet and conscious. tired and a little sick. wanting to help. and hug. and feed and tend and heal. all while longing for scent and touch and hot soup (with extra pepper). to embody what it is to gather and capture the grace of humanity, in all its unleashed sarcastic vulgarity, meeting divinity and the lights that show up when the switch is turned off.
all i have to share is myself. clouds parting and becoming ever more clear of my purpose. twisted and stretched out, taking ever more solidly a new form. one that claims space, is without abandon, and waits, to be sure, before saying yes. to be sure of intention, of integrity, of discernment, of knowingness.
the week i spent in england changed me. not from something i wasn't, but more into something i already was. i learned that acceptance, joy, and the finest of living, does not have to leave one indebted. quite the opposite, these things are freely gifted when the right door is opened.
sas (the truth), leonie (the wise), penny (the mystic), jo (the conduit), megg (the wings), susannah (the muse), and emma (the grace): you are the champagne, the toast, the darkest chocolate, the wit, the fortune, the prediction, the song, the healing, and the warmest hand-knit knee socks a girl could ever dream of resting in.
i love you.











