I have in my head the image of a woman named Maria. She’s Swedish, living in a forest. She’s re-wilding it, though that’s not the point. The point is she has a notebook - a journal/scrapbook/sketchbook that she’s calls her Face Book. She imagines the things that are in there — thoughts, sketches, paintings, ideas, chronicles of daily life — are the kinds of things other people post on the social media platform of the same name. The difference being, she says, is that she doesn’t share it with the entire world.
Zen poetry and cool mornings that feel like autumn.
I feel like I’m at the crossroads again - or is it the precipice? - dithering with my toes curled over the edge of something, wanting desperately to leap but clinging to Knowns. Which is silly, because nothing can be Known. Not really.
How capitalism has ruined the internet.
On the subject of brinks…I think/hope/pray we’ve been delivered from at least one of them.
How to create a wilderness within (thank you, J, for the clarification xo)
The smell of sealing wax mixes with incense and old paint.
Sometimes I wake up with an overwhelmingly deep sense of loss. It’s an ache that would become a scream so I try to muffle it with tea and British television, old novels and memories. Nostalgia is my Achilles heel, so I’m told.
He asks, “What about the girls?”. Indeed, what about us…though he isn’t the one who should be asking.
Seven minutes and my back only hurts a little. I’ll never get that left knee to bend properly, though. Apparently, it’s the intention that counts.
All is held.
~m. xo
Feel free to leave one of yours in the comments…
Yes. Are many people here? That is what I wonder… I am feeling that deep sense of loss and painting these expansive misty landscapes and almost wanting to wail… for everything. Thank goodness for autumn who welcomes those types of sounds. 🍁 xj
How to create a wilderness within ... oh, I'm going to sit with that one, feeling the wonder of it - what it might look like, what it could be - for me, for others. The thought of it is beguiling. 😊 And number eight - how I relate to waking up with a deep sense of loss. That hit hard. It wakes me up with whispers of what could have been, what might never be, in my waking ears. Time is short it tells me, and my coming of age between night and day already calls my shadow, tucking my longings inside and testing the limits of its border. It holds all the darkness and never leaves my side, sometimes larger, sometimes smaller, but always there. I push it away with prayer, hot coffee, and writing sessions. I loved these "just ten things" Mel!