Procrastination is a great big sign. Maybe not from Goddess, or from God (certainly not that one god), but it’s a great big sign nonetheless. I have been stuck in a great big procrastination cycle since about … oh, let’s call it March of 2020. Everything stopped. And never quite got started up again. It […]
Well, I’ll be damned. Just when I thought it was all doom and gloom, there are little slivers of hope like fragile shards of broken light penetrating my world. Don’t worry, it’s mostly still doom and gloom, maybe just doo and gloo, though. Michael and I watched a PBS series called A Brief History of
Silvering light surrounds usas we wait for the momentEach subtle movement softly encroachingLike tentative loversreaching for each otherSun and moon one fleshfor this short whileSuddenly there’s OtherWorldly twilightSuddenly night drops like a stoneThere’s a ring in the sky, signaling silenceBringing the heart-light homeThe towering trees quakingalmost lit from withinas the fading sun beginsto soften for
Winter lasted two weeks, and spring is already well underway, and yes … it’s lovely, and yet. And yet. Oh, yet. Regular followers of this blog know I am a fan of winter, of long dark nights and cold days and even snow. And even though all of that stuff wears out its welcome after
Oh, funny humans. So obsessed with milestones and new years and the ready-set-go. We get all excited about stuff, like the fact that the last day of 2023 was 12-31-23, or 123 123, like it meant something. People, the Julian calendar was slammed together by a bunch of self-serving Roman jerks who were so far
My inbox overfloweth with promotions for dealing with holiday stress and depression. Again. Covid may have done us a few favors, really. Maybe what it did was help us, by forcing us to stay the hell home for a year, to learn that the holidays, as celebrated in Materialist-Dominator Culture, are really not all they
So yeah, turned 59 a couple days ago and … surprise surprise, I have some thoughts … First of all, I am not handling it particularly well. 30 was a blur. 40 was actually pretty great. 50 was really good. But the prospect of turning 60 in a year is leaving me … I don’t
And silliness in movement, of course. Gotta have the silly. I have spent a ridiculous amount of time being still in the past 10 days post-eye surgery, and am struggling a bit to get moving again. Part of me wonders if I am just not ready, and another part of me wonders if … well,
Twelve years ago this month I stepped away from an unhappy marriage and never looked back. Yeah, yeah, do the math … okay there was some overlap. Whatever. I’m over it. The Lightning of True Love struck a bit before I was safely able to extricate myself from the situation I was in. It happens.
Some of us have reached the age where our heroes are disappearing off the face of the Earth. We have to figure out how to navigate a world without Tina Turner, Gordon Lightfoot, Cormac McCarthy, Harry Belafonte … so many are gone. It’s part of growing up, like being kicked out of yet another nest.
