Shadow Places

Welcome back to the inner ponderings of my mind.

Deep thoughts, by me:

There was a time when I felt like I was in a shadow place most of the time; that I lived there and was becoming pasty and golem-like. It was dark in there, dank and hard to see. I cracked my shin (painfully) on truth and lie alike, more than once... and more than once I felt in my heart that I was a walking bruise as a result. This is the shadow place. In case you were wondering, it is not a good place to hang out

The thing is, everybody has this place. The question is do you live there or do you navigate it with purpose or do you deny it? There is no escaping it, because it just *is*. You cannot protect yourself from it. Because, see, shadows serve a purpose. They *are* protection... they offer cool respite from the noon-day sun, they protect us from its rays when it gets too intense and they describe the denseness and opacity of the shape of an object when we cannot see the object itself.

So. What does one *do* with one's shadow place?

For me, for me... I have learned to pause when I find myself there; to think first of protection and safety. Then, I illuminate. Because, see, shadows are cast in sharpest relief in the brightest light. When things are nebulous and undefined and hard to grasp, it is the edges that show me the shape and depth of the shadow. So I look for the edges of things. Edges speak to me. They tell me where things begin and end... and in the absence of knowing, define in some small way, the scope of what is contained within. Because see, it's *my* shadow place. It may have hard things in it that bruise me, but I don't have to whisper or tiptoe around them. I can turn on the hip-hop, open the windows, sweep up the dust bunnies, pull out the old credenza, climb on top and dance (just a little bit, just for myself ).

Artic Tern

Photography credit: Wikipedia


I made this while contemplating existentialism (and that one sanderling poem and a song my family used to sing on road trips ...and my father). I have this paper I should be writing but apparently I feel moved to write poetry instead.

Arctic Tern
Over the Gulkana River
the Arctic Tern dips the sharp edge of her wing
and rides the vortex of the wind,
slicing perfect circles out of the sky.
She is making windows to the cosmos
for the spawning salmon below.
Proud and dying, they struggle upstream
shedding eggs and rose colored flesh
as she dances with the midnight sun.

Edited to add a picture of an Arctic Tern and 'cos I thought of a better ending, how I do.

Truth and Beauty

Photography, artistic and general brilliance credit: Awesome Kelly.

Do you see this?

*This* is beautiful to me.

It is beautiful in vision and execution and intent.

It is so beautiful it makes me want to cry.

I look at it and it feels like the weight of these stones is connecting the cosmos to the core of the center of the earth.

It looks like truth feels to me; like centered solidness in the midst of an impossible balancing act.

It dances.

It plays with the idea of symmetry and the orange late day sun.

Ever have someone make something so beautiful it steals your breath away and then say it was inspired by you?

I am so touched I don't even know what to do with it.

How does the meaning of meaning make the world change shape? What is beauty? What reaches out and connects a heart to an object? To another person? What inspires? What *resonates*?

Confessions of the telephone variety

I haven't, as a rule, been much of a phone talker in my life.

Pretty much I have used the phone to make plans, not to chit chat.

It has been a bit of a joke among my friends, actually.

As a result, cell phones, phone bills, phone bill plans, talking plans, long talks and other phone conversation-related factoids are among the things I have an inscrutable naivite about. I don't know why, but historically, phone conversations always kind of made me uncomfortable. Maybe it is because I grew up with a party-line? More likely it is that I can be a bit of an ADD-girl in conversations. I do listen, but my mind makes connections and then I change subjects or wander during conversations in general... this fact is highlighted on the phone. Also, the part where you can't see the facial expressions or read body language makes me feel disconcerted.

Anyway, it doesn't matter because all that is over for me now.

All because I have discovered joy in talking on the phone. Delight, even. A lot of it. With one person in particular, with whom I talk on the phone. A lot.

So here I am, I finally get the telephone.

Which is wonderful. It has opened my eyes to a new delight! I heart these long talks.

I have discovered that late at night when I get sleepy-drifty, it feels as if space kind of folds in on itself like one of those morning glories at twilight ...and sometimes, sometimes it is almost like being right *there*, you know?

Which is wonderful. Awesome, even.

Except for the part where I am totally naive about phones and phone bills and charges. Yep. I knew that perhaps there would be some cost. I learned today, with the arrival of my phone bill, that there is a very hefty charge associated with this new found delight.

This fact makes me feel resentful, and possibly grumbly.

So, my confession of the telephone variety is that now that I have discovered the delight of the telephone, I don't care to give up my new favorite thing!

Hmmm.