"Art is central to all our lives, not just the better-off and educated. . . I know that from my own story, and from the evidence of every child ever born — they all want to hear and to tell stories, to sing, to make music, to act out little dramas, to paint pictures, to make sculptures. This is born in and we breed it out. And then, when we have bred it out, we say that art is elitist, and at the same time we either fetishize art — the high prices, the jargon, the inaccessibility — or we ignore it. The truth is, artist or not, we are all born on the creative continuum, and that is a heritage and a birthright of all of our lives."




"Let me put it another way. You're a rebel creator longing to make the whole universe your home and sanctuary. You are a dissident bodhisattva joyfully struggling to germinate the seeds of divine love that are packed inside every moment."



"My passionate sense of social justice and social responsibility has always contrasted oddly with my pronounced lack of need for direct contact with other human beings and human communities."

Up early outside very cold. the phone rang and the flue was open. my foray into the world seems to have taxed my immune system. i invite the hillfolk down, theyre working out and going raw, mostly. the horoscopes tell me i should be doing what im doing, so i have that going for me.

"If the eye of the heart is open, in each atom there will be one hundred secrets."



"Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven/Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of angels."



A big melt. Driving home window wide open seasonally disoriented by the warm wind and the fields revealed startled and hummocky. creek churning melt birdsong Z. running through puddles across the lawn but no smell of spring just deep wet from feet of christmas snow. low sky lower lower fortifying myself with fierce coffee and an evening preparing for guests on the morrow #1 and 2, the daughter-mother with the first branch on the third limb, his hearts delight. bless me ive learned enough to keep it simple, good enough and put a little heart into it. baked goods and i splurged on maple syrup and forgot milk. things are changing.

6 of 365:

1. my stove-top popcorn popper.
2. sweetened condensed milk.
3. honesty.
4. im learning slowly how to throw a frisbee properly.
5. my shoes are washable.
6. i make an awesome crisp.
7. rechargeable batteries.
8. my kids are healthy.
9. health insurance after twenty years.

"Things will be better if we all take care of each other than they will be if we don't take care of each other."

5 of 365:

1. Meet Joe Black.
2. The Compassion of a Cowboy.
3. Holiday leftovers from my Sister.
4. Getting back into Bed after letting the Dogs out and feeding the Fire.
5. Knitting.
6. My Health.
7. The Ever-Changing Sky.
8. Dogs.
9. NPR.

Read a random meme to post the fourth photo in the fourth file.

4 of 365:

1. my sister
2. clean water
3. dogs
4. my nieces
5. #4
6. laughter
7. the officer decided not to pull me over
8. self-comfort and confidence
9. hope

our favorite player name in the Dreidel Championships in brooklyn?

Yom Kippur Some Sugar on Me.

3 of 365:

1. the dog in the movie didnt die.
2. neither did bb, bubba, or the baby.
3. i made a hat im not immediately horrified by.
4. i made a good dinner for my peeps.
5. the birds are coming to the feeders.
6. were all more or less getting along.
7. i figured out what to get #4 for his birthday.
8. knitting.
9. cinnamon imperials.

this is my gift for anyone out there.

sheelanagig from the uk. a celtic SSP. or if the hairdressers husband had a happy ending.

"I should ask that her gift to each child in the world be a sense of wonder so indestructible that it would last throughout life, as an unfailing antidote against the boredom and disenchantments of later years, the sterile preoccupation with things that are artificial, the alienation from the sources of our strength."

Crazy cold. working on getting the big blanket done for gifting, distracted by a new hat pattern, #4 goes to a sleepover and the boys come tumbling down the stairs calling his name, even as the mother backs me out the door. more laundry, puttering, giving thanks for my cozy home stopped on the side of the road to take some snaps of my overlooked paradise. for the moment it took me to climb into a snowbank and balance on the bridge my hands were damaged with cold. cookies and gingerbread, dogs and yarn, children and my moon. i am feeling much more hopeful and that makes everything easier. im looking forward to the new year and all the changes.

check out stephen bloch. my man of the year. check out his interview on democracy now today. hes fuel for my fire, my lantern leading me deeper into me, into the world, into light. light on the water. strange retrospect of my grandmother giving me a silver nefertiti necklace with turquoise scarabs and now i wonder if she was trying to sow the seeds of atlantis. she was strange and i dont doubt it. lotus seed of atlantis that slowly split and shed light on my way. they say its in the stars, reflected in the patterns of planets set in motion an infinity ago, one cell in the shadow of Love.
my muscles still tied into complicated knots. my breathing shallow from the cold and the smoke. the treachery of the fat white brotherhood shadow government goons will not turn me around. i have my cloak and my lantern. its one breath one step one day after another make them worth taking worth making you own. the amazing muscular dreams of dogs. im trying to do too much at this moment and theres no pattern to the string of words theres no cadence no poetry. the house smells warm and lovely. work waits for me after the break. i found cardamom pods. tonight ill do some more knitting and have an early bed because my brain is mush and my hormones the high seas.


A lovely Solstice gift from Lunaea.

"Sometimes, visions of possibility are more helpful than explanations of complicated realities."

Day 2 of 365:

1. Your Next Bold Move by Ani.
2. Flour on B2's nose.
3. My cozy home.
4. My good boys.
5. Gingerbread and sweet potato.
6. A new hat pattern.
7. Light on the water.
8. Christmas cookies.
9. Rolling Stone political reporting.

"Show yourself and I will swim to you."

Yule. A bright sky and i feel the turning wheel beneath my eager feet eager to see what winter lays for banquet. the wind lifts small snow like a billowing sheet snapped to drift down on the ribbon im walking and i smile at the earth, seeds and sweet green grass sleeping beneath a deep broad mattress of snow. the sky is wide and chinese blue, huge happy clouds and i hear a hawk, crows, the wind through the valley. each houses hearth breathes its own scent of smoke. my hearth to me smells sweetest and returning home i am happy to smell the warm hello. blessing upon blessing i strip sweating into a warm shower and am reborn. but the phone rings and its mad adrenaline i lose myself but as i rarely do stand my ground and am willing to give as long as i also get and something in him hears me and its okay.
i realize i can set out sunflower seeds and suet for the birds beyond the kitchen window and not suffer strangling millet grass in my bathtub flowerbed. it will be a hard winter for the feathered friends of the Faeries and i would be fain not to do my part. theres a sweet detente. i make cookies and wash the sheets. i putter and pride myself that im not picking at the glorious stress blemish blooming just in time for christmas. he notices i dread christmas but love new years. and i realize that somehow i dont see the reason for christmas for me. jesus borrowed some good ideas but left us in the same pickle he found us in and caused a lot of bloodshed and heartache post mortem. the return of the sun is a welcome cause for celebration and i light a candle and say a prayer and walk out into the world to welcome the turning of the wheel. but christmas has no purpose for me. not my god. for me this week, the Sun is born. i revel with the birds and the beasts. i laugh at the mud and turn my face to wind and space and light.
im counting nickels to bring molasses home for gingerbread and we watch a movie and it feels so good to be together in all our strangeness and i will resolve to weave a warmer sanctuary for not only my own strangeness but that of others. tonight the temperature halves and the wind is a fierce beast roaring around the house and i look forward to laying in the warm bed in the sleeping breath of my family, listening.

The first day of my 365 days of grace:

1. Strength to walk at a fine clip and breathe cold clean air into my body.
2. My meds.
3. The growing light and how it simply makes me feel better.
4. Little birds.
5. I got my molasses.
6. #4 tells me he loves me when i need to hear it most.
7. My warm little home.
8. My hope.
9. I know how to knit socks.

"Some people say life is the thing. But I prefer reading."

Knitting. Black coffee. Dogs. Alexi Murdochs Orange Sky. Falling Snow. Cat Powers Sea of Love. Books. Martin Sexton singing Blue Christmas. Sleep. #4. Ray LaMontagnes You Are The Best Thing. The dog ate my christmas gift and thats Okay. My pink geranium is Blooming. All the peaceful , creative blogs i follow. Jill Bolte Taylor. Schott's Miscellany. The Woman on my journal kissing the Elephant. Brown Rice and Sweet Potato. Cool Dreams. Smiling at Everyone. My Amethyst and Hag Stone. Nina Simones I Wish I Knew How it Felt to Be Free. Clean Water. Quiet. Crows in the Cornfield. Artemis Mary Hecate Changing Woman. Winter. Hope, at the Bottom of the Box.

"Sometimes I read about someone saying with great authority that animals have no intentions and no feelings, and I wonder, 'Doesn't this guy have a dog?'"

In my dream the falling man became a running pack of smoke wolves when he hit the ground. everyone smiling and squealing and exchanging small gifts and i tied the bracelet to my wrist so maybe it would work. i fled and there werent any cardamom pods and i came home and despaired and TOOK MY MEDS and in a little while felt like i could go on. this time of year is extraordinarily difficult for me. im certainly not alone in this but my difficulties are unique in that they are mine. so. driving home one eye on the slanting sunlight on the mountain fantasized about dissolving into a trillion motes of light, rising and shifting in the wind, apart and away. so many fine images today out there, the yellow sky, the shaft of light, the little yellow apples on the bare branched tree, the hawk watching the ground below. i made dinner and checked homework and put in a load and read more blue dolphin to #4 and on second thought made a 1234 for the staff breakfast but forgot to butter the pan and briefly considered making those insane cake balls but on third thought opted for the rough-and-tumble hippie approach of slicing the Great Crevasse and serving it on my grand chipped yard sale english rose platter and someone said they wanted to know me and my inner critic sits back in her smoking chair, swirling burgundy and smirking into her silk scarf, the high heel grinding into persian pile and the eyes squarely on me. what drowns me is the expectation of the season that comes from the outside, not my life and times, this time of year i would have of my own devising. the obligation, like a state holiday youre required by law to observe, the birthday of some benevolent overlord.

and if photos of some guys french bulldogs in frog hats gets me through, so be it.

"It was clear to me that this body functioned like a portal through which the energy of who I am can be beamed into a three-dimensional external space."

A good, long day. found my missing mitten frozen to the parking lot behind the firehall on my walk to the post office. the air is beyond cold, ice in a breathable plasma state. i putter and organize, play disc with Z., winter garden, keep hydrated. the boys will come home and decorate the balsam that waited for me in an empty lot, its faith steadfast that i would arrive. that soul-scent and the magickal lights the dogs sleeping on the tablecloth i used for a treeskirt the creeks are flowing, but the neighbors pond is frozen over. i fantasize gliding across the surface under the stars at night, votives in mason jars circling the edge.



The tree and all, the little lights, knitting in a dark auditorium talking about whos married to whom and his sister and her mother. handing out candy and the man behind me scrolls naked women on his phone. shes related to john wayne and her son is in prison. i like to make the connections because in a tiny town theyre so densely woven we can play six degrees all day. and i know the children but not the parents and shes in massage school. im the one knitting at all the school functions, sitting in the front row, laughing too loud and handing out candy, double pointeds in my hair. too cold to snow and home for a glass of cab and the pack and tomorrow with the mad muppet and DONT FORGET TO TAKE YER MEDS.

"I left behind what weighted me down/my dipper on a branch click clack."



"The logical mind will never allow man to expand beyond the ego or the flesh...modern thought is the prison of the soul and stands between man and his spiritual mind."



"The temple bell stops/but the sound keeps coming/out of the flowers."



"Happiness cannot be traveled to, owned, earned, worn or consumed. Happiness is the spiritual experience of living every minute with love, grace, and gratitude."



Lovely deep snow sung away by the wind while new hampshire sleeps like an enchanted prince under ice and the glorious black earth reveals itself churned and open the honey stubblefields the sky now blue then pink then grey. more crows. enormous goose communities on the water. a dampness and wild fluctuation of weather. this tree in the house. the negotiations and the empty howling dread. i love to lie in bed at night and listen to the wind blow.

"Any kind of expectation creates a problem. We should accept, but not expect. Whatever comes, accept it. Whatever goes, accept it. The immediate benefit is that your mind is always peaceful."

All the fields are this color, the color of my first two dogs, i remember walking on the mountain roads and the woods on either side of the road and the boggy cornfields and the coyotes. one wood in light and the other in shadow, the precipice turn and the oak leaves in winter. the hawks and the farms and the far view. and the two dogs the color of the fields, caramel and earth, wheat and roadside weeds bloodless and stalwart in december. now its down a road between pastures and private property, posted. with two dogs, black and blue. sundays are quiet on this road, in any weather. hawks and farms and the far view, dogs on chains and no one otherwise about. its a raw cold dry day, but good to feel my blood rush beneath the skin, feel the clean cold air in my lungs. feels good to come home to warmth and the news presented by #4 and the npr lego crew. lots of interviews with sculptors and magicians and me. made gingerbread and dinner bread drank coffee and wine. told the truth. in my dream was a brown bear and a blood-tusked boar. i forgot to ask what they had to say.

"I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope/For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love/For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith/But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting./Wait without thought for you are not ready for thought./So the darkness shall be light, and the stillness the dancing."

Yesterday i drew down St. Lucia and strode the halls in a brown woolen cloak and seven league boots, braids and makeup. today im back in tired jeans and haphazard hair, delivering copies, wielding the red pen. the peace doesnt last very long between us. the snow falls gently tonight, i knit and tidy and have hope. i remember now in the dream the woman in the enormous black cat costume fell quaking in a heap. we finish the story of Oz, i much prefer the book to the movie, of course.

"Letting go is the real path to freedom."

Craving deep hibernation. woke to snow. just about to crawl back to bed when they call me in but i wear my annie hall suffragette hat and get to stand out in the cold breathing sweet and heard stories about wee small bears and pie eating turtles and wondered why in the world anyone would begin a childs story, "Mother sheep had died," and the child is required to read aloud the anthropomorphic wailing of, "Maaa-maaa, Maaa-maaa." for me, it was too much. but home and coffee and twenty minuted under the dishtowel with my feet up and im good for another few hours of dinner and knitting. the woman at work was furious at how her decorative christmas pillows were handled and the other woman was crying. in my dream a woman had small glass jars of curative colors.

"So the darkness shall be light, and the stillness the dancing."

West on wheels farther afield to this enormous grand crumbling city i goggle at and even the litter is huge and soaring through the corinthian canyons up toward the obelisk monuments the traffic in the roundabouts is determined and relentless. i quickly learn the circuit i swim waiting for my ward but drop the thread out of the labyrinth and its a sad path back east until a scholar at the college points the way and my co-pilot finds the signs and were on the road the two sisters working their canine magic to soothe and cheer the weary traveler until hes resting in a long moment of raga. almost home we turn on the conversation and its man inhumanity to man and darkness on the face of the water. home, and a hot supper for the boys i had the sense to prepare this morning. then #4 and i settle in for a few chapters of Oz and i show him how compelling solitaire can be. early bed as it begins to snow.