from somewhere beneath the intensity of mothering a sick child, squeezing juice from a leaf of kale, and feeling left on the dock holding the rope, the questions are surfacing.

what if i never finish? deliver what was promised? to myself, to others, to the imagined almighty?

will i ever have enough air to inflate the dream? what if i don’t remember what the dream is?

what if i can’t figure it out?

what if there is nothing to figure out after all?

and why is there so much curiosity in tired pain? why does the mind repeatedly go back there, mining for more?

there must be sense to be made. or is the making of sense just another series of thoughts and rationale and restless inertia?

somewhere under this thick squeeze of questions, there has to be a plan. right?

i recognize how i separate. how the mind creates competition where there is none. anticipates conflict and judgment where there is only solidarity and a communal fear of doing it wrong.

and still i look for and savor connections, openings, longings for the shared and the safe.

at the cafe, under the covers, by the sea.

beneath the fear of fraudulence, inadequacy, and weakness–i am still here.

still looking for doorways to freedom.

imagining them lined up in a hall of mirrors, reminding me again,

that the only way out is within (and together).

It is important to say the names of who we are, the names of the places we have lived, and to write the details of our lives ~Natalie Goldberg

photos: more iphone. more instagram.

i feel blank and transitional. i mop the floor and somehow that simple act is enough for the day. that, and moments at the kitchen table, walking on the beach, being held, taking pictures with my iphone. i have the fleeting worry that i may have lost my ambition. that i won’t rally and do something great. that i may become complacent or that some subverted fear is keeping me small for the time being.

but then again, opportunity still comes, the chance to witness something profound, something beautiful. i feel myself changing. restructuring. remembering.

will the hunger return for adventure? for dusty floors and woven blankets? far-reaching connections and shattering experience?

grief is a curious and subversive animal. it tames and thunks. humility and the loss of empowerment can become confused. love trumps all of it, yet can also become nebulous and excruciating. fragile, human, real. this is what i know right now. and, strangely, it is a comforting and safe place to be. expansive, even.

i believe this is presence. wide-open, heartbreaking, loving, presence. and i wouldn’t choose to have it any other way.

photos: the latest instagram. my current meditation practice.

we had a little less than an hour before we’d lose the sun. ollie was tired and mostly not feeling it. he was also limited to scooting because his leg was broken (he took off his boot cast). sarah had just dealt with a hit and run on her parked car (like, minutes before).

a little magic light and a lot of mama and son love made the most of our time together. and i think we managed to create some lovely memories of these two beauties.

our lives as parents are messy and unpredictable. i have no interest in capturing it any other way.

photos: sarah and ollie. butterfly beach. december 2011.

it is raining. i wish everyone could be here with me, in this warm home, quiet, together. i plan to walk in it soon. maybe go to a yoga class. maybe not.

i’m waking up in a state of unrest most days. unsettled and unsure of what it is that happened in my subconscious during the night. no memory of the story that played out, just the residual feeling of “off.” but then i put my hands together, he tenderly kisses me and pours my coffee. i make my way to the front step where i just try to sit still. breathe. watch the sky, and my self, as we shift into daylight.

there is deep sadness in my community right now. a beloved man has left too soon. i didn’t know him personally, but i consider his wife both a mentor and friend, and i know of their family to be the kind of people that we all aspire to be. loving, committed, passionate, kind, real. they are a treasured part of the middle school that my daughter attended for three years, and that we hope for our son to attend next year. as is said, there really aren’t words. it is just tragic and sad, and my heart breaks for them. send them love, please, and make time today to look your people in the eye and tell them the truth, ok?

there is a shift coming in the way that i want to work in the world. when i first started blogging, it was about finding my way. there was a lot of honesty, and it was in that transparency that i felt connected. it was sort of revolutionary. and then i launched a new site, did some more projects, stretched in different directions. i want to return to what it was in the beginning. just me. in service to beauty and connection. maybe it will be so subtle that you won’t even notice. but i will.

as half-written verses tango with the editor inside me, i long every day for more ease. grace.

my dreams are changing. they are as far as they are near. istanbul and in this chair. no matter, i want to know me. know you. and celebrate what is here and there. i don’t want to try so hard, and lose it all in the effort. and i don’t want to hesitate when what i really want is to embrace. maybe i just want to be home, no matter where i go, without question as to whether i belong or deserve. maybe i just want to relax.

so often it feels trite. repetitive. the same. there are only so many ways to say it.

poignant, static, crashing.

shifting, solid, opening.

all of it, now.

and always.

Ultimately, it comes down to the question of just how willing we are to lighten up and loosen our grip. How honest do we want to be with ourselves?
~Pema Chödrön

photos: morning instagrams. @doorwaystraveler