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A few fleeting memories as they waft through the velvety charcoal-grey folds of my mind. A web perhaps, ensnaring the senses and capturing the thought before the moment retreats into oblivion.
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Monday, September 18, 2006
I remember when I was very young, hearing the trees whispering to each other, in soft slow tones. I could hear it in the wind, in the leaves, in the bark, in the earth. Through all channels they spoke. The shared their stories, their insights, their fears, their wisdom with me. All I did was listen, and listen with my entire being. I understood them, and they understood me. I've never stopped listening.
posted at 11:46 AM
I remember when I was about 16, during one long morning at church , I went outside to catch a breath of fresh air. All around me danced dragonflies. With me was my good friend, Jon. He watched as they danced and spiraled about, sensing a deep connection between the dragonflies and me. He then spoke a sentence that has stuck with me since the. He said," You are the dragonfly queen." I smiled, mostly in acknowledgement of the special bond he witnessed, and moreso in appreciation of the beauty and creativity that dragonfly energy gave to me. And still does.
posted at 11:41 AM
Thursday, September 07, 2006
I remember as a girl running through the long grass at night, naked, under the light of stars and moon. Free. I felt free. Free of binding thoughts, binding clothing, binding relationships. Free. I was free, as fairie dancing, honoring sister moon, honoring Gaia, honoring myself. A trio of sisterhood, womanhood, and spirit.
I still dance naked in the moonlight. I hope you do too.
posted at 6:14 PM
Friday, December 10, 2004
If you wish to shrink it, you must certainly stretch it. If you wish to weaken it, you must certainly strengthen it. If you wish to desert it, you must work closely with it. If you wish to snatch something from it, you must certainly give something to it. This is called the Subtle Light. The submissive and the weak conquer the strong.
-Tao Te Ching
I begin anew. I just deleted two of my other journals. I deleted them! And what a good feeling it is. To simplify, to cleanse, to release. I don't feel the need to hide myself anymore. I don't want to. What I feel is for everyone, and I don't have any secrets anymore. And there really never are secrets, for secrets are simply an illusion.
posted at 8:14 PM
Thursday, November 20, 2003
I remember when I was about 15 or 16 I would leave the comfort of my well lit home and wander off into the black velvet of night. Many of my favorite adventures were done under the cover of night. Many evenings I had the company of my little white pooch, Lukie, who was very easy to spot in the blackness. Together we would traverse miles of deer trails that wound into the thick tangle of woods surrounding our home. Deer trails, if well traveled, would be easy to follow because of obvious hoof marks and trampled grasses. But many times we strayed from the well-beaten path and explored new and more beautiful territory. The woods near my home are filled with firs, maples, aspen, diamond willows, birch, and scrub brush. Each wooded glade increased in beauty at night, the air within heavy with magic, as though wood nymphs, fauns, and fairies were dancing just beyond the grasp of our senses. Winter was always my favorite time to explore at night, reveling in the stunning contrast between snow and the black silhouettes of trees and sky. The crisp air was filled with sparkling ice crystals, a winter-ish confetti.
posted at 6:54 AM
Thursday, September 11, 2003
I remember where I was when I first heard about the terrorist attack on the TT. I was driving south on HWY 371 in my van. It was around 8:30 or 8:45am and I gave my mom a call on the cell phone. She relayed to me the information she was hearing off MPR about a plane crashing into one of the towers. From what she understood, she thought it was a small plane, not a jet of any size. I wasn't surprised, because that's happened before. But I did turn on the radio after she told me about the attack, and then I learned for real what the size of the plane was, and the enormity of the situation. I wish that it had only been a small 8 passenger twin engine Cessna that had accidentally lost its bearing or was having mechanical failure and just happened to crash into the 80th some story of the north tower. I remember when I first arrived at my in-laws and saw the first video footage of the first tower after the crash. It was before the second tower had been hit. The only word that works to describe the entire day, week, and month of following footage and stories, is surreal. I felt helpless, as I sat there on the floor, eyes glued to the glowing orb depicting thousands of gory deaths in a instant as the towers collapses into smoldering ruined heaps of human effort and lives. Then I remembered, I can send reiki. I sent reiki continually to aid those in need. It was the least that I could do on that day. Eventually I had to turn the tv and the radio off, and ignore the sensory input that was stubborn to leave, on this subject. I was pregnant, and I didn't want my baby to feel the terror around me. I needed to create my sanctuary, for the both of us. I still don't listen to MPR as often as I used to. And it's only been in the last year that I've began reading CNN.com and listening to the news again. Two years. At least I am alive. I'm still afraid, but I have to live, and I refuse to live in fear.
posted at 6:00 AM
I find it strange that I feel the need to journal. How is it that one can live an entire lifetime without writing down something about who and what they are? Every day, many times throughout the day, I compose an entry that would be logged if I had a keyboard then and there. Many millions of restless words rustle around in my mind, yearning for the time they too can join the visible world. I have thought of creating yet another journal, one where I am completely candid, and maintain anonymity. I enjoy anonymity. I don't need an audience to approve or disapprove of my life. I just need to write what I feel, think, and then some. Just to write. Once in a rare while I stumble across a blog truly worthy of reading. Most are unintelligible drivel, where I quickly retreat from the garish blandness. I need yeast. I need passion. I need to see a truly marvelous grasp of vocabulary, and I need to feel as though I am carried away to a higher plane of existence. That is what I strive to put into my entries, and what most if not all of my entries truly lack. Damned bland if you ask me. I seek that which I desire, that which I want to be. I would like to say that I am that which I desire. But it seems utterly pretentious. I detest pretentiousness. So, I continue my epic journey, or transformation, reaffirmation, and above all, yeast. The very best yeast that life can provide. If I die a truly yeasty soul, pending being blessed with long years, then all is not in vain. What will I say when I reread these words 20 years from now. I will more than likely laugh my tush off, sigh with fondness and close the page on that part of my life. Perhaps the entire chapter. I hope to be around to find out.
posted at 5:44 AM
Friday, July 04, 2003
I remember a time when I was completely happy. I had passion. Where did my passion go? When and why? My passion pit is an empty hollow void, truly devoid of the yeast of life. I remember at time when I painted until 4 am, when I carved stones with sharp deadly tools, when I played my trumpet with hope and pure glee, when I soar thousands of miles above the earth in the safe harbour of my trusty cessna....I yearn for my lost passion. I feel as though I can only barely keep my head above water. If I let go, I will surely drown. Unless bychance I am the recipient of a miracle. They do happen.
posted at 7:27 PM
Thursday, March 20, 2003
I haven't forgotten. My memory isn't that bad. I just don't want to write right now. I am exploring other avenues, as usual, and this one isn't right up my alley at the moment. Perhaps I will resume my meandering through memories, but for now I am content to let it lie still for a while longer. Spurts. Always in spurts.
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