angelbirdflies

 How do I love thee?  Let me count the ways.

Fear is a dreadful bedfellow.  It steals all the covers till we lay shivering in the night.  It sits heavy on our chest laboring our in breath and out breath.  It cramps the heart and shoves the mind into unbridled overdrive.  It terrorizes the body, dominating energy, attention and view. Yet...I wonder... when we find ourself lying next to its icy form, shaking in the dark, perhaps we could try a new tactic.  What if, rather than ignoring or throttling it with a noose of words, thoughts and plans, we reached over and curled against it, breathing in the sharp odor of pain and sorrow.  Breathing in... an open space to be. Perhaps. Perhaps.

 I love this mountain...I call it mine... a dear friend... a paramour of earthy splendor (I've recently taken a shine to the "...").  Upon her shoulder (of course she is a she) I lay my head and cry, I tell her my woes, my heartache, my pain and she holds me, carries me.  She caresses me with her breeze and fills me with wonder, exchanging my sadness for her simple wisdom: birdsong, flower, deer grazing, billowed cloud, smiling with a face so immense all I see are her laugh lines.  I breathe, carried on her back and she fills me with fortifying courage to return to the world below. She is there too, a tower of rolling earth, rising above the landscape of imagined littleness... a reminder of something deeply more immense.

Every summer I get giddy thinking about the sweet, sweaty hours to come immersed in mindless books.  Oh I know, mindless is a bit strong, but summer reading has a flavor that sets it apart from other more intellectual seasons. As school ends and the temperature rises, I escape into new worlds, meeting interesting characters who keep me company through the long lazy days of sunshine.  Thus far I have plowed through three books,  The Gift  by Lois Lowry, T he Girl Who Chased the Moon  by Sarah Addison Allen, and most recently  The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society , by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows (positively lovely).  I recommend all three with enthusiasm and although I have no intention of penning a literary description of any kind I will say, that each book left me feeling a bit lighter, not smarter but certainly lighter.  I'll keep you posted as my hefty stack of unread books continues to shrink.  Just imagine what enthusiasm I will garner for my literary pursui

"As a bee seeks nectar  from all kinds of flowers,  seek teachings everywhere.  Like a deer that finds a quiet place to graze,  seek seclusion to digest all you have gathered.  Like a Lion, live completely free of all fear.  And finally, like a madman, beyond limits,  go wherever you please."  ~A Tantra of Dzogchen 

Art glorious art!  Oh how I love my job!  Children, Art, Children, Art...throw in a little nature and I am in heaven.  I recently curated our annual art show for the students and after weeks of labor and months of planning it went off without a hitch.  Here are a few photos to celebrate its success: The picture above is an example of some of the children's seasonal explorations And here is a sampling of a classroom space study, complete with a collaborative robot and solar system...  In this picture you can see both our study of watercolor media and the powerful immergent project of worry dolls that evolved over several months in the studio.  Each doll is accompanied by an original story from the artist.  These are a few of the self portraits and interviews we did using water soluble oil pastels.  Every child in the school made one and I compiled yearbooks using their photos, portraits and interviews to sell at the show.  Here is another angle of the space display...  And here i

For Mother's Day my two boys woke up at six in the morning and trekked up Green Mountain with me.  I loaded their pockets with almonds and raisins and carried my weight in water on my back.  The two mile hike took nearly two hours but it was worth every moment to be out in nature with my boys, celebrating life. Bodhi gave me a bouquet in miniature, as we walked along the trail. And Owen regaled me with tales of mythical creatures, theories on the nearby geology and possible inventions for a utopic society that he has been considering.  While mama nature gave us the gift of herself in glory and rapture. A perfect day!

The three of us...my brother's and I.  For years we were symbiotic, integral to one another's existence.  Even now, at 37, I occasionally marvel at the fact that they are drawing oxygen and exploring life independently, on a trajectory uniquely their own.  With the stubbornness of youth,  I took their presence for granted, a given within the uncertain flow of life and now rather than walking and battling beside them,  I carry them with me along the way...a part of who I have become.

Spiritual experience is a modest woman who looks lovingly at only one man. It's a great river where ducks live happily, and crows drown. The visible bowl of form contains food that is both nourishing and a source of heartburn. There is an unseen presence we honor that gives the gifts. You're water. We're the millstone. You're wind. We're dust blown into shapes. You're spirit. We're the opening and closing of our hands. You're the clarity. We're this language that tries to say it. You're joy. We're all the different kinds of laughing. Any movement or sound is a profession of faith, as the millstone grinding is explaining how it believes in the river! No metaphor can say this, but I can't stop pointing to the beauty. Every moment and place says, "Put this design in your carpet!" Like the shepherd in Book II, who wanted to pick the lice off God's robe, and stitch up God's shoes, I want to be in such a