Monday, November 30, 2009

I am...

I am...

...turning 36 on Thursday, and while my body is starting to feel grumpier as I stumble dizzily out of bed in the mornings, my mind feels like it has never aged a day past 12.

...a believer in way too many things that really aren't true, and not enough things that are worthy of believing. I need to get that bumper sticker that says *you don't have to believe everything you think* and stick it on my bathroom mirror as a constant reminder.
Which reminds me of another bumper sticker I saw once that said *I believe in dragons, good men and other fantasy creatures.* lol!

...incapable of keeping succulents alive. I either water them too little (cause I think that they are designed to be neglected) and they shrivel up into nothingness, or I water them too much (cause I don't want another brown shriveled plant) and they fall over in their heaviness and snap. It shouldn't be that difficult, really.

...a tear factory when I cry AND when I laugh. I walk out of funny movies and live comedy gigs looking like a train wreck.

...a child again when I smell play-doh, crayons, cut grass, pumpkin guts, cedar or douglas fir, and when I hear approaching trains, eerie wind sounds through door cracks or *Stayin Alive*.

...constantly at war with the part of myself that yearns for connection and the other part of me that craves solitude. I am a social introvert.

...contradictory in other ways too... I am always cold but I hate the heat. I am a lefty when I write and draw and a righty when I play golf or tennis or hockey (which is almost never) and ambidextrous when I type.

...wistful, emotional and goosebumpy and often moved to tears when I hear this piece of music. The full version is a sweeping, soaring 24 minutes and evokes in me flashes of euphoric imagery, like cryptic fragmented scenes from a dream that you can't quite grasp, but you can feel.

...always traveling to the same places when I dream, although the events are different. These are always places that involve water...the same lake, strong raging river, waterslide or even a ski hill.

...tickled green blue and orange by the serendipitious accident that happened over at The Four yesterday. Read the words under the second set of pictures and you will see what I mean.

This is where I am at 35 and 362/365 years of age.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

The Weight of the Ocean

Gravity is a funny thing.

You would think that if it can hold down and contain something as immense and heavy as the ocean, then the force of gravity should be so powerful that we should have difficulty just lifting a foot off the ground!

How is it that we can freely run and jump, leap and vault ourselves into the air despite the constant pull and not one drop of that giant ocean escapes?

You would think that the heavier the object, the more it could resist gravity's stronghold... while feathers would have to be pried off the ground with a great deal of oomph.

I don't care for the boring scientific explanation for all of this. It's just the child in me following a brainstorm.

Saturday, November 14, 2009


It's not ready to let go... to find its place amongst the others, strewn across well worn paths, draped over ferns and fallen logs, soggy with November rain. Not prepared to hear itself crunch and crumble underfoot. Not ready to dissolve into a million tiny pieces and become a part of the earth, even if it will enrich the soil and nourish new growth.

Not yet.

It is caught between two universes. No longer bound to the tree, not yet part of the underground. Untethered. Free.

Is it asking for a second chance at life? A different view of the world from a brand new perspective? Is it wishing for a place to catch a few beams of warmth as the sun passes low through the barren wood?
Maybe it wants to be moved by the wind just one more time... to dance into a swirly gust and finally, on its own terms... gracefully accept its fate.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Star Fish

Sometimes I don't have a whole lot to say.

Silent as a starfish.
Yet reaching out, linking arms, seeking connection.

Peacefully aware that, in this deep sea of quietness,
I am still a part of a larger constellation.