Friday, July 31, 2009

In bo yesterday, the teacher focused on form, then let go of form to guide flow, having fun with the stick, then returned to the painstaking attention to form, then back to the more free-flowing movement again.

With my guitar, I want to just play, to let my fingers fly, but it sounds better if I remember to routinely return to practice as well, to the conscious attention to each note, the pressure to each string. Then I release that attention and play, then I return to address this fumbling chord, that dropped note, this break in the rhythm.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Saturday, July 25, 2009


(from a shop window in Fort Collins, Colorado)

Friday, July 24, 2009


These paintbrushes are brand new, so clean and pure in the sunlight-
but nothing gets created unless they get dirty.

Thursday, July 23, 2009


Too many stimuli, too many puzzle pieces. It's ok to not think, to not know, to let my body do the math while I sleep.

It's ok to pause, it's ok to move assertively forward. There are a few truly wrong answers in life, and a few brilliant ones, but mostly the choices we make are just another step along the way.

It's not right, it's not wrong. I got to where I am by flying by the seat of my pants, following my gut, which could be more formally known as intuitive trust, or religously known as putting it all in God's hands. I try to keep my heart and senses open. I'm still operating with the same dubious faith, the same spirit of adventure, the same minimal planning, the same compass I try to calibrate with love. I follow the light, barely visible through the fog.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009


It was like walking through a painting as I went home this evening, flowers and people and dogs so vivid and more real than real. Most odd and appealing was gazing down the side streets to the west, and seeing the fog, a Maxfield Parrish shade of blue. So blue, I took off my glasses to see if I weren't wearing sunglasses by mistake.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009


As creatures with diverse experiences, needs, and desires, we get along better with some people than with others. I had an image tonight of walking up a long mountain trail with a less-than-compatible aquaintance, but in complete silence, companionable silence. How would that shift things? I don't know, but I found that just imagining it made everything softer. Just as little kids read aloud better to dogs than to other humans, maybe we sometimes could use more companion, less chatter. There is something about shared silence that can reach through the distractions, through the shallow bickering to the core, to what binds us all in our human suffering, in our one love.

Monday, July 20, 2009

it does not matter
what lies behind or ahead-
city lights
all gold and blurred by fog
stretch out beyond my window.
too dark to be dawn
too late to be night
I hear cars speed by.
my breath is slow
my mind is silent.

Saturday, July 18, 2009


Isn't life beautiful?

Friday, July 17, 2009

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Wednesday, July 15, 2009




Monday, July 13, 2009


It's like God gives a 4-month old a grand piano. Or maybe it's like a cave-couple giving birth to Shakespeare. They think he's the runt of the litter, a bit of a weakling who doesn't bring home the wooly mammoth to feed them through the winter. What is he good for? Or Mozart born into a family with no musical instruments. What is this talent we have, to play a certain instrument that has yet to be designed? To write words that have yet to be uttered, where a pen has yet to be devised? We may not have the dexterity or materials or maturity to use our gifts, but the gifts are seeded in our genes. If the conditions are just right and we are reaching past what we see as our limits, one day, we might find we can do something unexpected. (Or it may be that a great great great granddaughter or a great great great great grand nephew will be in conditions where some undreamed of ability can become manifest.)

It's like code is in us. It's a matter of timing, of stretching forward, where unexpressed seeds can finally germinate. It's the reaching for sunlight and water. We're designed to bloom in extraordinary ways. Maybe we can't see it, or imagine what it is, but every person has something unique to offer. Our diversity isn't a mistake or a curse. It's our riches.

So let's stop whining and instead, celebrate the believers and unbelievers, the many kinds of lovers and non-lovers, the dreamers and the builders, the silent and the noisy, the artists and the scientists, the mechanics and the gardeners, the baby-sitters and the manicurists, and the race car drivers who go in circles as fast as they can. Let us follow our passions, however odd they may seem. We're contributing our idiosynchratic wrenches, funnels, gerbils, tin cans, flags, apricots, concertos, pacifiers and gumballs to the collective effort. We're squabbling, laughing, wrestling and punching. We're inventing our fantastic journey as we go.

Sunday, July 12, 2009





Saturday, July 11, 2009



I'm told what makes this rose unusual is that the stamen are not yellow.

Thursday, July 9, 2009





Before industrial times, and with nomadic peoples, on pleasant evenings,the first hours after sunset before sleep were likely spent outside. As stars and planets appeared, one by one at first, perhaps parents made up stories about the different stars, the children coming to their parents’ laps as they grew tired. The parents weren’t creating the characters from the midnight skies, when millions of stars carpet the night and it’s harder to detect patterns, but from the evening skies. That’s when it’s easiest to spot the constellations. The brightest stars are visible first, and even though a parent may be unfamiliar with traditional constellation names, it’s easy to see how some cluster together. So what if a few years later, your kid learns the constellation you called the Toy Box, is more commonly known as Pegasus, and Batman is aka Orion. They will be familiar with the night sky, and how it faithfully shifts from month to month, season to season. Right now, it's summer in the northern hemisphere. Scorpio, the long impressive scorpion with its red heart star Antares, is visible to the south, as is Sagittarius the archer, which looks like a teapot.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009






Monday, July 6, 2009








The surf thundered against the cliffs. Sometimes the water gently rocked and there was a hush, more compelling because of the contrast to the roar. Friends from Texas were happy to visit the Pacific, and picked out curious bits of seaweed to be photographed. (New camera with more macro muscle; note the individual grains of sand!)

Sunday, July 5, 2009

Friday, July 3, 2009

Thursday, July 2, 2009


there comes an inevitable bloom-
the opening-
the heart of the flower
full to the breakfast sun
quivers in its golden breath
knowing adoration

Wednesday, July 1, 2009


She's our national cover girl, a gift from France to celebrate democracy, a 151-foot-tall supermodel prowling the New York Harbor catwalk in robes that are always in vogue. Consisting of 310 pieces of hammered copper assembled around an iron skeleton, Liberty Enlightening the World (Lady Liberty's official name) was dedicated on October 28, 1886--in plenty of time to greet Albert Einstein, Irving Berlin, Cary Grant, and 12 million other immigrants who arrived at nearby Ellis Island.

from "The Statue of Liberty"
by Kristina Malsberger
via
July/August 2009

note:
The artwork is by a school kid in Athens, Alabama. It was posted in a window, along with the work of others from the same school. I found the upside down trees, the yoga on a raft on the river, juxtaposed with the eagles and flags, intriguing. I'd love to interview the artist.