Longing, we say, because desire is full
of endless distances.”

26 February 2009

24 February 2009

“To write is to write is to write is to write is to write is to write is to write is to write”

ive been away. a few days of being depleted completely, not even the energy to read, to focus word to word. just space and sleep, no appetite, no sensation. then it lifts and a well of phlegm and no air. my teeth ache. everyone is sick. februarys nadir. the new bed, big enough for all of us and i move in. there are candles and roses and ferns, feathers and photos and books. its cold and colder and everythings dry and frozen hard, the stepping stones of firewood attached to the grass im out there in the afternoon glare kicking at it, nothing smells of anything, but it could be the congestion. went back to work, everyone talking about death and the boy had photos of the newborn lambs. this ones name is iris. this is the afterbirth. were in the little room, engaged in animated conversation about trapezoids and right isosceles triangles, computing at a fever pitch. its lovely. its lovely to connect to these children, these children lost in the wash of teaching to the test. its lovely sharing my love of learning and seeing it catch. the little boys uncle died and he wondered how i knew. were all connected. these stories, these ghost stories told around the campfire, the spirits, our deaths, are so close. we speak of them. we have not forgotten you, our deaths, the spirits of undissolved strangers, the rain and light that holds all the atoms of our histories. theres a tornado in me, bright and whirling. sparks and sharp stars. im skittering, bouncing around the room (the echo of whoever spoke) a seed splitting in the dark earth, a lamb rolling in the womb, ready.

“Generally speaking, everyone is more interesting doing nothing than doing anything”

26 of 365:

1. al, the polar bear
2. blue sky tibetan incense
3. the bed
3. getting to spend all vacation with #4
4. cheap french red
5. its a cold, not lymphoma
6. chocolate
7. money to get the trucks fixed
8. i done got over it
9. im experiencing an expansive block of time without free floating anxiety and
self-loathing and im GIDDY with it

23 February 2009

14 February 2009


a public service reminder. not for children. happy state sanctioned holiday based on the idea of qualifying your affection through commerce.

11 February 2009

the sky a pale slate, chalk dust drowned, rag of blue sky upper left corner a bright idea left to sleep under advancing doubt cloud. long walk the camera battery gives in long before i do right before the going gets good, the other edge of our territory. so we turn around and i wont wield my eye until we cross over again. warmish and damp, tricky weather.

the valley is full of the sound of water and crows. the smell of water and still the cling of ice the dust smell of snow. sweet water from the morning side of the mountain down to the creek that runs through the valley and pours quiet into the lake of motorboats and expensive houses. but give me the red wing blackbird on the bat post in the fen the water chiming over sticks and rocks beside the road, the faerie kissed tufts of moss and the ancient angry faces in the trees.

lyra and her death. pinned like a note from home at your birth, an itch or a shiver when the heavy wind hits it right. the black shapes he saw around me. the things at the edge of seeing. letting my subconscious swirl the oil and dust and light around in a bowl, last night #4 and i up later, hes reading to me at the kitchen table, i showed him my ulu and my spirit lamp. we made popcorn. it was lovely.

went with the boys to coraline. the only ones in the theatre. at one point that was especially sad #4 took my hand and kissed it. pizza. squeeze on the radio hurtling through the fog what comes out of the fog? a faerie queen on a heavy horse? an electric pokemon? #3 wouldnt say. but we didnt hit any deer.

25 of 365:

1. bento boxes
2. the coffee maker works
3. cash to take the boys to coraline
4. snow on the way (im not ready for mud season)
5. i didnt fall getting firewood today
6. the crafty blogosphere
7. cadbury mini eggs (just...one...more...)
8. pizza
9. ian mcshane

something happened last night that prompted me to take the vow.

09 February 2009

got a call this morning to come in got a call lying in bed remembering the dream about the woman i want forgiveness from the ghost of my poor choices rattling around in my heart like a rusted out milk truck behind the corn silo. the day goes.

still chewing through the third dark material book.

bob dylan sings, "brighton girls are like the moon," and mark knopflers "six blade knife" makes me feel a way i dont remember feeling in a long time. then nina simone comes on and im back to me.

24 of 365:

1. cadbury mini eggs.
2. our peanut butter hasnt killed us yet.
3. philip pullman.
4. ingenuity.
5. bob dylan, mark knopfler, nina simone.
6. facebook, letting me keep up, at a distance.
7. obama obama obama.
8. amy goodman.
9. dogs.

08 February 2009

a wind that melted snow off the mountain and filled the streambeds with premature spring. the slope to the woodpile a slick of ice, a skin of water against months of snowpack. it takes me seven minutes to move seven feet up the lawn, finding purchase in small pockets of slush. i throw first-cuts too big for the stove back toward the hoosie, stepping stones i hope will hold and not hasten the return trip. unwedging the next stack for burning from beneath some sort of industrial shelving material theres an avalanche of wet wood. the woods wet even underneath, the snow having blown in the spaces between and this morning melted. z. and i traversing the ice ford with help from my thrown stones and they hold. then its a left to the door but theres no help for it so i skid down against the rubbish-can, glad its full and a fine ballast. after that, its a matter of getting through the deeper slush and dog-ends, over the smaller kindling frozen in a jagged lump next to the bench, and through the door. me, in my sundress and boots, marveling at human ingenuity and the wild changing sky.

the stoves kaput so theres no popcorn, i fill a paper lunchbag with a few handfuls of popcorn and tape it shut and nuke it. theres no butter and its the dryest damn popcorn ive ever had. i eat half the bag, marveling at human ingenuity and the wild changing sky.

im distracted. do some housework. let the dogs out to bark and slide around the yard, coming around the corner theres nothing to hold onto on this newly waxed kitchen floor of false spring and they crash against the pickup and slide around under the axles and start away to begin again, the wet happy games of dogs, the glorious smells of themselves and the world in this early melt, the wind bringing all sorts of smell messages and sounds like plastic bags parachuted through. there may be a foot of water in the cellar but im not looking. im looking at the sky, black blue grey white the sun comes out like a goddess and the next minute the world seems bereft of light.

i go out to get extra firewood just to use the little giants causeway i rigged. the moon is clear and cool beyond the trees and shell change shape and color as i drive north to retrieve #4. im nauseous and as soon as he comes in with #1 i feel like a flaming albatross. out into mother night, open and cool and im part of her sweet and easy. night driving along the ridge, the lake and the moon and the open hearted feeling of being abroad in the darkness. its hot milk and the end of part two, then a week begins where i promise a movie and hope for the best.

23 of 365:

1. vanilla
2. frankincense
3. rose
4. chocolate
5. coffee
6. mint chip ice cream
7. ice
8. wood
9. my sister

this post from peta living really got me:

1. My life is likely to last 10 to 15 years. Any separation from you will be very painful.

2. Give me time to understand what you want of me.

3. Place your trust in me―it’s crucial to my well-being.

4. Don’t be angry with me for long, and don’t lock me up as punishment. You have your work, your friends, your entertainment. I have only you.

5. Talk to me. Even if I don’t understand your words, I understand your voice.

6. Be aware that however you treat me, I will never forget it.

7. Before you hit me, remember that I have teeth that could easily crush the bones in your hand, but I choose not to bite you.

8. Before you scold me for being lazy or uncooperative, ask yourself if something might be bothering me. Perhaps I’ve been out in the sun too long or my heart may be getting old.

9. Take care of me when I get old. You, too, will grow old.

10. Go with me on difficult journeys. Never say, “I can’t bear to watch it” or “Let it happen in my absence.” Everything is easier for me if you are there. Remember, I love you.
this is for everyone.

04 February 2009


-poem originally posted without authors okay, taken from this great website. thanks for your understanding! here.

"...loving her back to herself."

driving slowly, the snow small and frozen catching low sun falling slow controlled snow globe glitter down the day a dusting. #4 wanted a sandwich from the store so i had the man make half-n-half flesh-no-flesh and i came home made vegetable soup spinach salad half-no-flesh sandwich. lovely. bring wood in, burn the christmas tree tonight. quiet. i assure the old men at the feed store that spring is coming. i take the mama dog driving but she dont like her picture took, gets a biscuit at the bank.

"...you must keep going."

dinner and a changing sky, bright planets and shifting clouds. low low energy, the tree fails to catch, a sputtering flare but it felt so immeasurably fine to be out on a frozen night in the cloak, impervious and fantastic. colder and colder im creeping through time toward clean soft sheets, dog sleep, he says we can get the King. #4 and i slog through math homework, we thought the cat had expired, im almost through the first of three.

22 of 365:

1. sugar-free 100% cran-grape juice.
2. snow.
3. oranges.
4. chocolate.
5. keeping in touch.
6. knowing theres a whole new season of lost to watch on dvd next winter.
7. literacy.
8. never ever being bored.
9. california basmati rice.

03 February 2009


in honor of my Free Will Horoscope: "you are hereby invited to regard the next 11 months as a time when you will make your own life a masterpiece -- a labor of love that is ingeniously imagined and lyrically wrought. Unseen forces and unexpected allies will come to your assistance if you do."


LOVELOVE, peregrine.

"Each minute of life should be a divine quest."

A long hard sleep wherein i dream a life lived from a type of gypsy wagon full of books and candles (thanks, Rima)and the kindergarten teacher sent me for skewers there was some big party (todays her birthday) and again im running through the mall (why always with the mall? i dont care for malls at all) looking for skewers. and at some point im looking out at a place out in the south west where all the stones are picturesque and worn away and i realize all the stones contain the souls of people, all the stones smooth encasements of people.

"The cure for anything is salt water—sweat, tears, or the sea."

cuddled in with #4 and The Golden Compass. craving sweets. the sky last night magnificent after so many days of boiled wool. the craving for spring is strong but torpor is hard to fight, february a short month with a long holiday. sleeping more just to be away, out of the way, out of the fight into the light of dreams where people sleep under stones. february: Judgement, Sulis, Womb, Bat. radical soul change, creative chaos, transformation. thinking about the smell of mud and water, sleeping to the sound of the creek swollen rushing sending my wishes to Greater Waters, the strength of seeds, the soft wind. the winters been long and cold, and changes have come with it for me and the world. the beginning of a greater change, our ship just leaving the harbor, not even having lost sight of the land we leave behind.

21 of 365:

1. The Dark Materials Trilogy, again.
2. Popcorn.
3. Coffee.
4. Music.
5. Dogs.
6. Walking.
7. New Friends from Far Away.
8. Something Stirring.
9. Changing Light.

“The entire being of a woman is a secret which should be kept."

"And if the question were asked: What is more real, the mundane or the sublime? most would hesitate before they gave an answer. On the one side, details: say, the aftermath of a breakfast, dirty chipped plates in the sink, their rims encrusted with egg yolk. Against this, the unnameable: small aching heart with boasts, what can you know? Outside the cage of everything we ever heard or saw, beyond, outside, above, there lies the real, hiding as long as we shall live, there stretch and trail the millions of names of God burning across the eons. When all through this our end will come before we even know the names of us.

For many the egg yolk prevails." -L.M.

"Love many things, for therein lies the true strength, and whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is done well."

"The perfection of the Absolute where all Becoming stops and pure Being, immutable, timeless, unchanging, hangs forever like a ripe peach upon the bough." -E.A.

"...and the whole incident was incredibly frazzling and angst-rod and filled almost a whole mead notebook and is here recounted in only its barest psycho-skeletal outline." -D.F.W.

"At the top of the mountain, we are all snow leopards." -H.S.T.

"Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live." -D.T.
"Cometh a voice: My children, hear; From the crowded street and the close-packed mart I call you back with my message clear, back to my lap and my loving heart. Long have ye left me, journeying on by range and river and grassy plain, to the teeming towns where the rest have gone - come back, come back to my arms again. So shall ye lose the foolish needs that gnaw your souls; and my touch shall serve to heal the fretted nerve. Treading the turf that ye once loved well, instead of the stones of the city's street, ye shall hear nor din nor drunken yell, but the wind that croons in the ripening wheat. I that am old have seen long since ruin of palaces made with hands for the soldier-king and the priest and prince whose cities crumble in desert sands. But still the furrow in many a clime yields softly under the ploughman's feet; still there is seeding and harvest time, and the wind still croons in the ripening wheat. The works of man are but little worth; for a time they stand, for a space endure; but turn once more to your mother - Earth, my gifts are gracious, my works are sure. Instead of the strife and pain I give you peace, with its blessing sweet. Come back, come back to my arms again, for the wind still croons in the ripening wheat."
-John Sandes, The Earth-Mother (excerpt, 1918)