seeking light

liz :: viv

This girl, she 
stands inside delectable ripening plums
leaps toward illuminating bittersweet blossoms
marinates between subtle hints of coconut milk and opulent purple silk
crawls beneath windows with views of wayside hope and stoppered truths

this girl, she
emerges as the essence of yes

*****

Vivienne McMaster and I are collaborating on a few fabulous in-person and online workshops, retreats, and other goodies (yet to be announced) that we are excited to share with you. As we work together on these projects, we are delighted to share a series of "Seeking" posts on both of our blogs. In each post, we will create a diptych of images, share what we are seeking, and perhaps share information about one of our collaborations! 

Today, we both used the prompt "seeking light" for the photos in our diptych and then paired our photos with a poem note/journal writing. Visit Viv's blog to read her written response to our photos.

On July 16^th and 17^th, we will be teaching a workshop together at Teahouse Studio in Berkeley, California. This workshop is packed full of the creative wonder we are both so passionate about. Woven through the 2-day experience will be some juicy writing prompts and guided meditations led by me and playful and wonder-filled photography prompts led by Vivienne. We’ll also be diving into making a mixed-media journal inspired by my book Inner Excavation. 

Registration for this event closes very soon (June 24), so we encourage you to jump into this experience and join us! We’d so love to meet you.

musings on spring {2}

front-yard crocus . march 2011

today,

as i sit inside the missing

spring brings with her each year,

i pretend all of who you are

has arrived by chickadee wing

and your chosen path

is to slowly blow open

each petal of the crocus

november 17

carolina wren turns her back to me
tail feather straight up
wiggles
you better really live it
she seems to say
you better really live it
you said
when i moved into my first apartment after college
you better do all that i didn't do
i hear you
in the rustling of the wren
who looks at me
just before she whisks off
to live

*****

i hear her saying those words. i hear her in the chirping of the hummingbird wondering where the feeder is. i hear her when i close my eyes and breathe deeply. i hear her. i tell myself this when it feels like i am forgetting, when i want to hear her voice say the right thing. though, truth is, she simply didn't always have the right words. but i pretend, at least on this day. and then, when i admit i know the truth of not being able to hear her, not in the ways i want to, and admit that she might not have the words i need to here in this place right now, i remember my mother's voice earlier today. i hear my mother's voice and i hear love. and it is good. and i am blessed. and i breathe in and out and keep moving forward.

november 11

squam lake pause . september, 2009

a poem, written april 18, 2009

stitch by stitch 

i closed the fracture 

along the southern 

half of my heart 

until the realization 

i cannot

dam

life

today

i let living 

fill the cracks

november 9

 

olympic peninsula forest . april, 2009 

i wonder about the moment
when the fern
dug in,
insisting it had found
its true home
50 feet from the earth,
rooted in the oak.
did the moss feel surprise
or just sigh,
knowing the quiet
was too good to be true?