I have been surprised and honored by the reaching out of people wondering about the next update. To everyone who has e-mailed asking if I am going to write about my time in Colorado: Yes. It's coming.
My time in Oregon is also coming. Part of this hiatus was redirecting my flight home from Colorado, instead, to my hometown in Bend, Oregon to support for a friend that was in a coma from a climbing accident. There is a lot to draw from the power of community that comes together from the intensity of tragedy and I'm looking forward to sharing some about that process. Our friend is awake, walking, talking, gaining strength, defying all the odds and every great possible thing. A precious gift of Life.
When I came back to Port Townsend, two months after leaving, I began a quest of catching up on mail, and flowing back into masonry stove work. I had just moved into my new place before I left, and for the first time in my life, I don't have stock piles of things all over Oregon, and everything I "own" is in one spot. I've been sorting through it all, redirecting about half of it out-of my tiny cabin and out-to more useful places. The whole period of Mercury Retrograde (Oct 4 - Oct 25) has been just what Mercury Retrograde is for. Reflection. And sorting everything from my life has been easy (and sometime hilarious), a simple flow of occasionally unpacking boxes that I haven't seen in years (and standing in the middle of thirty-two distinct piles of sorting papers).
I just unpacked my bag from Colorado last week. So notes from the Boulder and Denver classes are coming. Thank you for your patience.
Biggest new thing for me: I've been reading my poetry at Boiler Room open mic for three weeks! This week, I memorized a poem to recite at First Friday Story Night yesterday evening. Each time I am blown away with how satisfying it is for me to share and how moved people are by the words. A standing ovation last night in a room full of maybe fifty :) I'll hold the memory in my heart forever.
I'm keeping my heart open for ways to keep sharing, whatever seems to come naturally. Words, art, helpful hands. I have a proclivity for shyness, but I'm realizing more and more that, given the vast expanse of the Universe (a seed), how small I am... it really doesn't matter if I share or not, so I might as well share (and on an energetic level it is mattering a whole lot!). I love how the poems are touching people so deeply, filling them with Love and hope and insight. I'm grateful the way words come to me. I don't know why they do. Coming back to Port Townsend has been so touching.
In my sorting, have been reading through old journals and things, and came across some words from around this time last year, when I had only been in town for two months: "to some human beings I still feel like a stranger but I get this place. I got it in an instance before I even came here." After traveling around two years ago, when I got back to the west coast I knew I would move to Port Townsend, and without "checking it out", I came with my things and it has welcomed me in more ways than I can say from day one. To be honest, I forgot about that this summer, remembering my time here as an the addition of stories from my travels and feeling kinda homeless. Coming back, I am humbled, FLOORED really, at how broken open I am. At how much I love the little things like the way the wind moves in the treetops so familiar to me, having store credit at Waste Not Want Not, planting garlic, building out a kitchen in my cabin, and emerging from a forest trail to cross the road... barefoot with a telescope slung over my shoulder as I'm able to walk to places in the neighborhood I want to go, to return telescopes I have borrowed to dear friends who will talk over tea for hours. But I think it was the grief ritual last weekend that really helped me heal something deep about staying.
I feel the power of this place, this place that historically has only been a portage has been an absolutely blessed launchpad. I am thankful for how it keeps my attention every day. It's stunningly beautiful. People I respect and care deeply for. Work that I love and feel passionately about. I've gone through moments of thinking I was going to leave, but none of those linger in me at the moment. Who knows what today will bring - for sure - but for now I feel deeply tender and enmeshed in this landscape.
Thank you to everyone for your support, assurance, Love, and for committing to your lives in such inspiring ways. I LIKE that I live in a bubble of artists and makers who deeply believe in the goodness of life, and people, and our guides. I believe it gives us all the strength to remember how fragile our lives, how powerful our spirits, and then we stay realistic about the magic of Life and all that is healing in the world right now. That we feel safe to cry with each other and rejoice in healthy Life Force. I am thankful for my families and their varied and boundless support. The way our stories weave is infinitely fascinating. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Eternally.
My time in Oregon is also coming. Part of this hiatus was redirecting my flight home from Colorado, instead, to my hometown in Bend, Oregon to support for a friend that was in a coma from a climbing accident. There is a lot to draw from the power of community that comes together from the intensity of tragedy and I'm looking forward to sharing some about that process. Our friend is awake, walking, talking, gaining strength, defying all the odds and every great possible thing. A precious gift of Life.
When I came back to Port Townsend, two months after leaving, I began a quest of catching up on mail, and flowing back into masonry stove work. I had just moved into my new place before I left, and for the first time in my life, I don't have stock piles of things all over Oregon, and everything I "own" is in one spot. I've been sorting through it all, redirecting about half of it out-of my tiny cabin and out-to more useful places. The whole period of Mercury Retrograde (Oct 4 - Oct 25) has been just what Mercury Retrograde is for. Reflection. And sorting everything from my life has been easy (and sometime hilarious), a simple flow of occasionally unpacking boxes that I haven't seen in years (and standing in the middle of thirty-two distinct piles of sorting papers).
I just unpacked my bag from Colorado last week. So notes from the Boulder and Denver classes are coming. Thank you for your patience.
Biggest new thing for me: I've been reading my poetry at Boiler Room open mic for three weeks! This week, I memorized a poem to recite at First Friday Story Night yesterday evening. Each time I am blown away with how satisfying it is for me to share and how moved people are by the words. A standing ovation last night in a room full of maybe fifty :) I'll hold the memory in my heart forever.
I'm keeping my heart open for ways to keep sharing, whatever seems to come naturally. Words, art, helpful hands. I have a proclivity for shyness, but I'm realizing more and more that, given the vast expanse of the Universe (a seed), how small I am... it really doesn't matter if I share or not, so I might as well share (and on an energetic level it is mattering a whole lot!). I love how the poems are touching people so deeply, filling them with Love and hope and insight. I'm grateful the way words come to me. I don't know why they do. Coming back to Port Townsend has been so touching.
In my sorting, have been reading through old journals and things, and came across some words from around this time last year, when I had only been in town for two months: "to some human beings I still feel like a stranger but I get this place. I got it in an instance before I even came here." After traveling around two years ago, when I got back to the west coast I knew I would move to Port Townsend, and without "checking it out", I came with my things and it has welcomed me in more ways than I can say from day one. To be honest, I forgot about that this summer, remembering my time here as an the addition of stories from my travels and feeling kinda homeless. Coming back, I am humbled, FLOORED really, at how broken open I am. At how much I love the little things like the way the wind moves in the treetops so familiar to me, having store credit at Waste Not Want Not, planting garlic, building out a kitchen in my cabin, and emerging from a forest trail to cross the road... barefoot with a telescope slung over my shoulder as I'm able to walk to places in the neighborhood I want to go, to return telescopes I have borrowed to dear friends who will talk over tea for hours. But I think it was the grief ritual last weekend that really helped me heal something deep about staying.
I feel the power of this place, this place that historically has only been a portage has been an absolutely blessed launchpad. I am thankful for how it keeps my attention every day. It's stunningly beautiful. People I respect and care deeply for. Work that I love and feel passionately about. I've gone through moments of thinking I was going to leave, but none of those linger in me at the moment. Who knows what today will bring - for sure - but for now I feel deeply tender and enmeshed in this landscape.
Thank you to everyone for your support, assurance, Love, and for committing to your lives in such inspiring ways. I LIKE that I live in a bubble of artists and makers who deeply believe in the goodness of life, and people, and our guides. I believe it gives us all the strength to remember how fragile our lives, how powerful our spirits, and then we stay realistic about the magic of Life and all that is healing in the world right now. That we feel safe to cry with each other and rejoice in healthy Life Force. I am thankful for my families and their varied and boundless support. The way our stories weave is infinitely fascinating. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Eternally.
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