with gratitude to Beth Kempton

Plenty

We are enough. We have enough. Enough is enough. We build and create. We imagine and burst. We steel and move. We dance and savor. We cherish and live big. We chirp and sing. We open and expand. We breathe and rest. We see and hear. We serve and give.

Fallen

Bungee jumping off the Kawarau Bridge. I walked to the edge and did not jump. I did not care. “You will be stuck” said the driver of the Stray Bus. I did not care. I had met my Edge. Stared it in the eye and backed down. Meeting our Edge is a boundary-building moment. Meeting our Edge brings us face-to-face with Failure’s lessons and Strength’s beauty. Meeting our Edge is our mirror, our horizon, and our ground. I chose to walk away from my Edge. Choice is bigger than fear. Choice is perfect time. Choice is powerful.

Stillness

On the difference between stillness and paralysis. Stillness means breath — breath connected to life force and attention. Stillness means quiet — quiet knows truth and center and clarity. Stillness means authentic and integral motion — motion not just for the sake of motion, but for the sake of life itself. Stillness is not paralysis. It is rooted in peace. It is born of rest. It is built on a foundation of strength.

Wisdom

Perfect time, bee hives, and lace. Stars, scar tissue, and hymns. The way my grandmother knew to measure twice and cut once. The way we fix our eyes on a spot on the wall to stay balanced when we turn when we dance. The way watercolor paintings are mysterious, jazz music is miraculous, and poetry is meticulous. Forgiveness, grace, and integrity. Photosynthesis, sugar phosphate backbones, and deciduous trees. Tides, gravity, and fusion. Worms, tadpoles, and whales.

Divine

The Divine visited me. She looked like every angel I have ever imagined, and I knew in my bones she had a story to tell. I listened. I asked her, “What am I to learn today?” She explained, “I love you all your todays and tomorrows. I love you completely and into the net yet. I love you because and beyond.” I wiped a tear from my eye unsure how to hear her message. I took a deep breath. I let it sink into the parts of me that keep lists of all my faults and shortcomings, fears and failures, secrets and shame. I asked her, “Where are you? The world is crying in so many ways. Where are you?”. My breath quickened with an urgency woven into the fabric of this moment. “Where are you?” I shut my eyes. I sat, trying to breathe. She approached and took my hands in hers and explained, “I am here with you. I am not going anywhere. You don’t have to ask or earn. You don’t have to build or burn. You don’t have to walk 5000 miles. I am here with you. I am not going anywhere. You are not alone.”

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Swirl

Close your eyes. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. Say “swirl” ten times fast. Feel the s and the w roll between your lips. Let the i and r tickle the roof of your mouth. Let the l bounce off the back of your teeth. Saying it feels like ice cream. Saying it feels like a bubble bath. Saying it feels like a Tour Jeté. Saying it feels like a kaleidoscope. Saying it feels like a hula hoop. It is better to swirl together. With others. Inviting everyone. Holding hands.

Up

Up and Down. In and Out. Begin and End. Right and Wrong. Light and Dark. Fact and Fiction. Hard and Soft. Truth and Lies. Open and Closed. Create and Destroy. Good and Bad. Simple and Complex. Birth and Death.

Scissors

I have never run with scissors or sky dived. I have never eaten worms or been to the Artic Circle. I have never broken a bone or spoken Mandarin. I have never wired a circuit or written code. I have never played an accordion or distilled bourbon. I have never poured a candle or driven a tractor. I have never bathed in ice water or remodeled a kitchen. I have never beaten a bass drum or glided down a street on a skateboard. I have never safaried in the Sahara or finished a Rubik’s Cube.

Delicate

On delicate strength. When I think of delicate strength, I think of an iris blooming in snow. When I think of delicate strength, I think of the Cliffs of Moher and the emerald waves that chisel the majestic coastline. When I think of delicate strength, I think of morning and the relentless, elastic, profound hope of each day. When I think of delicate strength, I think of a whale’s song and the bigger than life itself comfort it offers as notes reverberate beyond despair. When I think of delicate strength, I think of the candles in church that when lit one-by-one lift prayers to a higher place.

Climb

Climb means keep going. Simply keep going. Ever upward. Heartfelt intention. Eyes fixed. Step-by-step. Hand-over-hand. Causing good trouble. Resting and connecting. Building and creating. Laughing and loving. Joyful and awestruck. Simultaneously simple and complex. Simultaneously fearful and courageous. Simultaneously lace and steel.

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Volumes

Volumes makes me think of multitudes. We are all multitudes. Individual and collective. Harmony and dissonance. Poetry and prose. Sweet and savory. Light and dark. Hard and soft. Wide and narrow. Straight and curvy. Huge and tiny. High and low. Beginning and ending.

Suitcase

If I could take 10 things (not including my people or my pets) in a suitcase wherever I want to go, I would take — my favorite blanket, my favorite pillow, my green sweatshirt, my Porchfest t-shirt, my new jeans, my comfortable shoes, my favorite Ganesha, a vanilla candle, my wedding ring, my journal.

Grand

I love my grandmothers, Emma Marie Schmidt Briggs and Kathlyn Virginia Pontrich Steedly Halliburton. They lived long lives and taught me everything about being guided by a constellation of love. In a constellation of love, decisions are navigated by the stars of loved ones, lessons of the heart, and wisdom of experience. In a constellation of love, paying attention looks like seeking understanding, joyful curiosity, and taking time for what matters. In a constellation of love, grand is miraculous, precious, and beautiful.

Harbour

I am thinking of the Dylan song “Shelter from the Storm.” I am thinking about love in a perilous time. I am thinking about truth as I hear lies. I am thinking about connection as I battle isolation. I am thinking about vulnerability as cruelty abounds. I am thinking about hope in a desperate world. I am thinking about agency in a helpless place. I am thinking about meaning when meaning is pain. In all that, I believe there are harbours in storms. Locations of safety and strength and solace. Locations of comfort and community and compassion. Locations of joyful resistance. Let us be harbour seekers and harbour creators and harbour builders.

Flock

My childhood dance teacher’s last name was Flock. I took dance for many years. All kinds. Tap. Jazz. Ballet. I loved it though I was never any good. There is value in doing things you love without being good. Freedom free from the burden of perfection. Beauty beyond an external standard. Grace with an invitation to clunkiness. Balance when all around you spins. Rhythm with a path to your own beat.

Heat

When I pay attention, it can be too hot to breathe. Pain and suffering. Cruelty and hate. Isolation and Fear. My tears falling. Breathing in careful rhythm. Holding hands. Creating connection. Building things.

Edit

I celebrate the edit. I celebrate the opportunity to move, adjust, delete, redo, forget, start over. I celebrate falling in love with a phrase and protecting it from my delete button. I celebrate sitting ideas on a shelf or a folder or a journal and taking it out on special occasions to reminisce. Editing makes what I keep worth keeping. I celebrate a record of where my thoughts and understanding and dreams are at a particular time and place. Editing gives our history and experience pride of place. Editing is absolute freedom from the concrete ego, the mud flaps of motion, the jenga-block fear of falling. I learned a love of editing from my English-teacher mother. Editing my papers became conversations. I would write. She would read. We would talk. Those conversations were priceless lessons.

Mottled

Mixed-up, cloudy, murky. Knotted, jammed, twisted. Pieced together, messy, cracked. The current state of my mind. Making sense of the senseless. Seeking kindness in cruelty. Building in a burning world.

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Curve

I love curves. Curves over straight lines. Circuitous routes over direct paths. Soaking it all in over speed. Rivers and streams. Mountain passes. Circles. Round edges. Chewing. Meandering. Weighing. Research is curvy as data is gathered, analyzed, and interpreted. Knowledge changes us and change is curvy. Travel is curvy as we end up changed when we come back home. Intimacy is curvy as we navigate space and self, being not yet together.

Movement

Movement is the key to health. Steps. Stretching. Strength. Breath. Circulation. Healing.

Figure

Figure and ground. The faces or the vase. The foreground or the background. Perception shifts and changes. We find what we seek.

Choice

On the relationship between Choice and Intention. Choice and Intention dance. They flirt with seductive control and certainty and clarity. Choice portends power while Intention proclaims relevance. Choice denies impermanence while Intention manifests the magical. Choice relies on hope while Intention conjures big speak-it-into-being energy. I live in the realm of Choice and Intention. I can not imagine life without Choice and Intention. Life with Choice and Intention savors questions, celebrates curiosity, and holds faith with both hands. Life with Choice and Intention takes journeys, troubles binaries, and creates space.

Glass

Windows in buildings can be fatal for birds. They cannot see a window’s glass, so they fly directly to their death. Thousands of birds die every year flying into windows. Safety glass has been developed — glass with faint lines that warn birds. Stay with me. What if our intuition, gut, still small voice, sixth sense might be our safety glass? What if we can nurture our knowing? What if nurturing our knowing saves our lives?

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