you take a breath...

Well, I'm writing this while sitting in a tow truck. I'm okay...my car is a bit bruised as I hit some pretty major tire debris while driving on the highway late this evening.

You know those scary moments as a driver where you know you just have to hit what is in your path to avoid creating a bigger accident.

And as I sit here, I am thinking about how we do this as we walk on the path that is our life. How you can be walking in the darkness, and even though it is dark, you think you know where you are because you have been here before...but suddenly something unexpected is there and you don't have time to stop or protect yourself...you must keep going. And you find yourself unable to stop even after you hit it. And as you keep going, maybe you are a bit battered and shaky...but you are okay and (deep breath) you know you are okay. And suddenly there is light and solid ground again.

And you take a breath again.

And you just keep going.

(Or you stop and call for help, but either way, forward momentum while just staying in the moment and breathing seems to be the only answer.)

november 7

for the last week, i have so enjoyed reading your words of hope. such goodness in the comments of that post. i think i need to ask questions more often as the words you all have shared have truly filled me up...

tonight, jonny chose n's comment randomly. n said: i am hoping that our obama will win, that we can rightfully say "president obama" in a few days...and i am hoping that someone will fall truly, madly, deeply, unconditionally in love with me for the rest of my life. and i, with that person, too.

such beautiful hope in those words.

n, please email me (at waywardtulip at gmail dot com), so that i can send the tote and other goodies your way.

and, a few things that have caught my eye in the last week or so:

lk's moon
dar's post about acceptance
jonny's dream
alicia's andy's great pumpkin pasta
richard schiff's words
sarah gardner's work (via melissa loves)
this gorgeous photo (and this one)

still.

imagine being still
breathing in
breathing out
focusing just on you
for this moment
for just this moment
letting go of what might be pulling on you
letting go of the insistent pulling
and just find a stillness
and your breath
and the space around your heart
find that space
breathe into it
allow yourself to find that space
allow yourself this one moment

two girls, two clicks {week 7}

1. backyard sea, 2. wait...pause...breath
(click to see a larger size)

photo collaboration with miss geek inc, week 7

2 girls, 2 clicks

hope. change. light. yes.

America, we have come so far. We have seen so much. But there is so much more to do. So tonight, let us ask ourselves -- if our children should live to see the next century; if my daughters should be so lucky to live as long as Ann Nixon Cooper, what change will they see? What progress will we have made?

This is our chance to answer that call. This is our moment.

This is our time, to put our people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids; to restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace; to reclaim the American dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth, that, out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope. And where we are met with cynicism and doubts and those who tell us that we can't, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people: Yes, we can.

-President-elect Barack Obama

today i stand in the light. (and a shop special in honor of election day)

stand in the light.
this has become my soul mantra of late.
i uncover and shift and look inward and move the truth, move myself, into the light.
i walk toward the lightness and let go of (some of) the patterns that seemed to serve me.
i see those patterns for what they are.
i see through them.
i see how those patterns held me close in the darkness.
i see them.
i walk away.
i insist that they release me.
i (try to) no longer ignore or push away or pretend.
i take off the blinders.
i want to find me.
i want to see me.
i cannot see me in the darkness.
i walk toward the light.
i bring the truth that sits inside me.
i bring the truth that is my truth that is nestled inside the wisdom i have had all along.
i stand in the light.
i feel the light, the warm yellow healing light, surround me.
i see me.
i see this life that is me.
i see me.
i stand in the light.
i am free.

*****

i have added the stand in the light soul mantra necklace to the shop. it is available in brass and sterling silver. the i hope soul mantra necklace is also now available in sterling silver.

additionally, i have added the i am abloom soul mantra necklace. it is pictured below with the (new) crystal ball necklace from jen's shop. (i love the way the crystal ball necklace looks with the soul mantra pendants. makes me so happy. this is my everyday look now.)

***and a special in honor of election day: if you let me know that you voted (just put it in the notes to seller as you place your order), you will receive 20% off brass soul mantra necklaces and/or free shipping on sterling silver necklaces. i will reimburse you the sale amount (or free shipping) via paypal after you place your order. this sale is through midnight PST on november 4.***

november 2

i crave...

a little cottage on the ocean where i could spend my days creating and writing and working and playing with the windows wide open to the sound of the push and pull of water and sand and time.

an evening spent with my head on jon's chest as we talk about our wildest dreams for our future and i listen to his heart beat with each rise and fall of breath.

sitting at a kitchen table on gerow avenue with the smell of sausage and the taste of cranberry juice and the feel of the brown faceted heavy juice glass and the sight of the jelly jar filled with violets and the sound of her voice as she talks to herself at the stove.

a conversation with my brother where we really listen to one another and show up as our true selves instead of showing up as the roles we think we are supposed to play because of the path behind us.

blueberry pancakes and fresh orange juice and the sunday paper spread across the kitchen table as i sit cross-legged and just take in a day with nothing else to do.

being surrounded by laughter until my sides and the muscles in my face hurt and just for a moment i am convinced that all must be right in the world.

feeling at peace in my own home instead of feeling like i am drowning in my created mess.

stepping off a plane in paris and setting off just like natasha to explore and eat and drink and dream and take in every drop before being so very glad to get home.

an afternoon with my mother, just the two of us, with no phone calls answered or email that need to be checked or people that need us to solve something...just the two of us.

(this prompt is from sabrina ward harrison's book the true and the questions. michelle mentioned it recently, which prompted me to take it out again.)

i see...

there is so much about this photo that i love. i love the way this little girl's hand is resting on her ankle, like she has just paused to take a breath. i love the way those little legs can bend. an early yoga pose. of course, i have to love that messy face and that a person who loved her decided to capture that mess instead of insisting on clean and perfect. i love the joy on that messy face. i love those spice jars hanging. i can see them in my mind in two other kitchens and wish i had them now as they would be perfectly filled with vintage buttons and arranged by color. i love that wallpaper and can close my eyes and feel the texture of it on my fingertips and i can see those pretty hideous fabric window coverings in the breakfast nook attached to the kitchen. i love that piece of wood to the right of the girl as it is the frame of the magic pass-through window between the kitchen and the family room of this most favorite home.

i can close my eyes and see almost every nook of that most beloved childhood home of this little girl...this little girl who was me...who is me...who is a part of me. this little girl who is inside me. this little girl who whispers to me. i can see the closet under the stairs where we kept the bright-orange cushions for the furniture on the screened-in porch. i can see the black and white nubby fabric-covered couch directly across from the fireplace. i can see the stockings made by my grandmother, my father's mother, hanging. i can see the window seat built-in bench next to the fireplace and i can feel it as i lift it open to peek inside. i can see the built-in bookshelves lined with books. and i can see the one short shelf with the parenting books that i would insist i needed to read when faye, my first cabbage patch kid, arrived for christmas. i can see the all white very small living room with the tiny blue leather couch and the tableclothed round table that was really made of cardboard that i accidentally left in the basement of my last apartment in indiana. i can peek across the entryway and see the dining room with the navy blue with a peek of red wallpaper and matching curtains. i can see family around the dining room table and can look down to see a fancy red perfect for the holidays dress and black patent leather shoes with a bow. i turn and see a little boy wearing fuzzy green pajamas sitting on the stairs and going up one step at a time while facing forward and chattering away. i see the landing outside a bedroom with blue carpet and blue flowered wallpaper. i see the tall bed with the old iron bedframe and the fuschia fabric heart that hangs from the bed post. i see the wooden sign that says the little girl's name and has a slightly crooked z. i see the white shelves that hold the dolls i received every birthday and christmas. i want to rearrange them again; pairing them off by best friends or by couple or by color. i see the ice skating girl's blue velvet dress and fluffy white muff and the ice skating boy with matching clothes. i want a little girl who will arrange those dolls in her blue room. i smell the fresh pink and white flowered sheets on the bed that will one day keep traveler warm as i sit outside with him on a february day, on his last day, when i can't get him to come back inside and i sing to him and read to him as i wait for jonny to get home so we can take him to the vet. i see the ballerina pillowcase that i still use because it takes me back to this room, this most favorite of rooms. i see a hope chest that i am not really supposed to open but that i sometimes peek inside just for a moment as i want to always be good but also want to always know. i never touch anything. i just want to peek. i close my eyes and i can see the other rooms. i see the little tiny sewing room with the funny closet that had stairs. i see the little boy's room filled with toys. i see the guest room with the wallpaper that had hidden animals i would see when i had pnemonia and stayed in that room so my parents could hear me in the middle of the night. i see the door to the attic that housed a little girl's perfect playroom. and i hear the voices. the voices of a young family learning together and doing the best that they can. i hear those voices and the sounds of a home. i hear my grandparent's car pull into the driveway and i see myself run to open the garage door and then jump the steps down to the garage floor and duck under the door as it opens so that i can be the first to hug her. i see the sandbox and the rhodedendrins in bloom and the bird feeders and the three fir trees and the small bit of woods and i wish, i wish in this moment, i wish i could be there, right there, back inside that home...hearing those voices...and feeling my heart burst with love.