it is not that the darkness goes away. it is only that i am learning to love the shadows and appreciate the places where i might be tempted to pull up the curve, both in my photographs and in my life. it is not that my ego doesn’t brush up against pain when i least want it to, sometimes first thing in the morning in the hall of my child’s school. only i see now the axis that is anchored to truth. the transcendent opportunity that is available with edge. i am aware of my choice, of free will, and my brilliant instinct to pull my own hand from the fire.

the game is just a game. the story is just a story. the mind just the mind.

preparing meals, folding laundry, and spending hours in the mountains– this is the stuff of rewiring, clearing, and wildly abandoning every moment that came before this one. this is what my days are full of right now, prayer in motion, and love. deep, honest, revelatory love. for my partner, my children, my community. for rebirth and redefinition. for setting the armour out on the curb to be recycled. for memory foam and high thread counts. for homemade chutney and plans to return to the uk this summer and to india this fall. for listening to my children strum and sing each night and for rain in may. for outstanding women who show me what true service is, who are willing to contract into the realms to better expand into joy. for conscious journeys and the willingness to be shattered into trust. for when the lights line up in my lens and remind me of what is often unseen, but remains steadfast all around.

for forgiveness, for perspective, for doorways to freedom found in the worthiness of embrace.

photos: monday’s walk on mountain drive. santa barbara, ca.

i do not know the next images i will capture with my camera. i do not know the next words i will write. i do not know what the next work is. i do not know from where the abundance will come. i only know that it is coming. that the light is beaming through the window onto the patinaed wall. that the gold vermeil hummingbird is guiding me. that the jungles of peru and the colors of rajasthan are filling my dreams.

i do not know what i will do next. and, for once, i know that i don’t have to. i know that i am exactly where i need to be– at a table in a new paradigm. one that is dripping with honey, wine, and figs. i am seated among those who know. feasting with those who see. and i will do whatever is asked of me in this company, in this state of grace.

this morning, as the music fills my space, as the lazy sunday sun coaxes the roses open, and as the breeze blows open the door just enough to touch my skin–i am overcome in the most expansive of ways. it is light and easeful. it is open. it is receptive and clearly feminine. it is all.

and you, my friend? will you tell me where you have been and how you are? i wonder sometimes who else is here at this grand table…

Every morning I walk like this around the pond, thinking: if the doors of my heart ever close, I am as good as dead.  ~mary oliver

photo: teaser for the abundance and beauty of the fall 2011 photo shoot for adesso jewelry

it is about being willing to know what i know.

it is about being held, in sweat and chaos, wrapped and weighted, breathing together.

it is about bare feet and down comforters, fur and bone and opening.

it is about wandering into the outback, only to reminded that we are still just steps away.

it is about strong coffee and soup, cookies and calcium.

it is about inhabiting, unraveling, revealing, and longing.

it is about communion, and stars that burn steady beyond the drifting fog.

it is about containment and expression,

choosing which door–and when to open it.

it is about mothering blue birds and hungry vultures, stillness and flight.

and cold wind on the cheeks.

it is about this skin, this blood, this tenderness, this depth, this self, this one.

and coming home.

sure, it is about surrender and letting go.

and it is vulnerable.

it always is.

and still, it is nameless.

the retreat and the forage.

the offering and the receiving.

the mystery.

the chocolate beside the bougainvilla.

the note. the plate.

the love.

Even in Kyoto
Hearing the cookoo’s cry
I long for Kyoto
~Basho