fire. wine. my cashmere sweater that goes all the way to my knees. the right soundtrack, mercury glass, my children’s art. avocados still on their branches and clementines in a hand-thrown bowl with a blue patina at the center of our well-worn table. thick lentil soup that sticks to the inside, a friend on the way over. the stuff of my life. my home.

it was a fall of inversion. of hermiting and long mornings spent trying to breathe more freely. of asking for help, opening my fist, and resting my head on the floor. i paid attention to the birds, to the rain, to the bright reds and purples of the latest sunsets. i threw a few tantrums and we tangled ourselves under the down comforter at the end of each day and i learned to rest. to really rest.

this is the longest gap between entries since i first began blogging. as you know, the more time passes, the more it feels like there is just too much to say. or not enough.

and so i offer a few images of the past month. the time wherein i emerged from the dark, after going all the way in, and simply began to love my life.

the boy is now 12.

breakfasts have mattered. a lot.

the beast and i have been hiking. often.

the girl is behind the wheel. enough said.

time on the mountain top with my love.

sunrises with community.

and sunsets, too.

sigh.

and you, friends? how are you wrapping up the season?

it is not unfamiliar, this place.

though i have grown weary of it.

noisy and sharp, inhibiting rest. ego on alert, fables and accusations running rampant.

i only want to feel at ease. elemental. not wondering if i lit the right candle, said the right prayer, or missed the portal.

it might be hormones, or darker shades of what i have always known.

(fear, unexpressed pain, hunger, loneliness, grief, anger, shame–whatever)

only now, i refuse to consider that i haven’t “worked” hard enough. or that i haven’t sat in the fire long enough. or that i am lazy, inconsistent, uncommitted, or indulgent. that i am faint of heart.

i am none of those things.

though there are plenty of arrow wounds that suggest i have believed otherwise.

this is the day that i begin to understand. that i challenge the separation that bores canyons in me.

separation from source. from love. from beauty. from you.

i think that salvation is in the letting out. the letting go. the letting in.

the allowing.

and the help.

(the tree, the camera, the nourishment, the time, the forgiveness, the care, the now, the us)

photo: shelter. 11.11.11. butterfly beach, santa barbara. iphone.

this past week has offered repeated opportunities to be in the presence of strength, power, and humility. of grace, resilience, and commonality.

i hugged a Nobel Peace Prize winner, supported a deep and spiritually-skillful woman laboring to birth her first child, and shared a 2am meal with the radiant midwife who caught my own two children. i photographed a newly minted Birth Center that was manifested through the passion and persistence of an old friend. i sat on a large warm rock with another friend and chanted a duet to Laxmi. i felt the sky pour down rain, the sun shine golden, the autumn wind, the waxing moon, and stars bright just before dawn.

i witnessed subtle and profound exchanges. humanity and divinity meeting. energy reserves pushing through thresholds. the joy of accomplishment and the necessity of having our pain felt by another.

i no longer question why it is me who is called to these encounters. i no longer ask “how did i get here?” when i am in a moment with another that astounds me.

i know that i am here to experience, capture, and share beauty and connection.

to be in the presence of.

and that all i must do is surrender and remain in a state of awe.

photo: Lucila. A traditional midwife in her home exam room. San Luis de La Paz, Guanajuato, MX. August 2011. Her story coming soon.

i am once again surrendering to the obvious. to the low energy and deflation, to the will of my wise heart telling me not to push. i’ve been resisting for days, really weeks now, since returning from mexico. sitting idle at the computer when what i know i need to do is to sit with intention, empty, at my altar. feeling guilty that i’ve yet to put more of the mexico project out there, but also knowing that i can’t do good work when i don’t feel well.

there is a total rewiring happening inside of me. my body is manifesting all the aftershocks of half a decade spent in uncertainty, in a restless push and pull with big growth-spurts and energy expenditure. all i want to do is to rest, eat well, rest, be in nature, rest, meditate, rest, exercise, rest, be with my family, rest, be with friends, and rest.

it seems to be all that i can do to get my people out the door and back in again. to stir and chop and fold and carry. the fatigue i feel has me fearing i will never feel vital enough to accomplish all that i want to, or , worse yet, that i will disappoint all those who’ve supported me and look forward to seeing the work. and the wise one somewhere deep inside me knows that if i just let go and be with what is, tend to the feelings and sensations that are living now, that this wave will crash.

the wise one also knows that being on a cleansing diet, drinking lots of green juice, returning to yoga, and tapping into all the wellness resources i am so fortunate to have available to me are the sure path to riding this wave with the most grace and ease. and, ultimately, that the images and stories waiting to be shared will get the care and attention they deserve once i have the clarity to give it.

and so i keep learning. again and again. compassion, kindness, and all that good stuff. pacing and the time it takes to be well. that i have the choice to open, and to close, the doorways of permission and expectation. the goal always was, and remains to be, freedom.

photos: in Carlos’ orchard. Copper Canyon, MX.  August 2011.