Tuesday, March 25, 2014

what to do if you have spring fever and no lover:

1. make love to your art.
2. make out with your sweat.
3. make openings in the earth.
4. make practices of growth.
5. make eye contact.
6. make amends.
7. make up a song.
8. make room for surprises.
9. make friends with quiet.
10. make peace with your body's edges.
11. make it mean less.

Monday, March 10, 2014

Record Winds Are Coming: For Jodi, Springtime, and Anyone Needing a Blessing

The sun shone for a good 3 hours today. Now, outside my cracked window, gentle rains hit the pavement like a cleansing shower. Perhaps we need more of this emotionality than we could ever imagine to be humane.

This song is for you, if you've had a long winter.
If you're not sure that you've grown stronger through all the trials of cold or gray.
If you simply miss knowing that there's a blazing heart of love somewhere, who wants you to feel deeply through your whole body how honestly adored you are for simply sticking around this long.

This song is for you, if you think you just might feel too much to be normal or healthy or human in the world in 2014.
If your feet are ready to be bare in the mud.
Or if your mind is longing for a tornado of fresh air to rearrange all the old stories that are straight-up breaking your heart.

SPRING IS COMING. Things are changing. You Are Changing. The world is changing to meet the new you you're becoming. This is the truth. No matter how stuck in the past you pretend to be, You Are Here, in a perfectly new spot that has new secrets to reveal if you stay open enough to hear them.

My dear soul sister Jodi's birthday is tomorrow. Just a few nights ago we were sitting on my bedroom floor cross-legged eating soup, feeling things. We have this idea that we'll make bumper stickers that say FEELINGS and post them all over the city of Portland. (The thought of putting them on stop signs feels especially liberating... STOP FEELINGS ... Haha! If only!)

This song is especially for you Jo, the Queen of Feelings, the edge dweller of joy and the deep diver of grief--born right at the crux of winter and spring, able to bend in both directions. For all your aliveness, all your truth, all your spacious sacred ways of standing strong in the rain, in the gray, in the bright blossoming new beginnings of joy. I believe in all your songs. I believe that you're meant for exactly what's happening. And I'm so thankful to explore the holy magical ride of being alive by your side.

Today, if you could comment on this post with the ways you wish to bloom this spring, I'll make us a collective altar. I'll write each of your wishes on tiny slips of paper, put them in a bowl, collect some fallen flowers from the neighbors' tree, and circle the bowl with the blooms and candles. The fire is coming, loves. How do you wish to roar? Do tell. Our collective song is stronger.