Making and Taking, Sunday Mornings

Pedaling fast, passing through the overgrown bike path, my mind takes pictures of this leaf and that sunlight. My eyes capture views for later, for memory. I carry these moments with me for recollection during painting or when I need to grin and appreciate beauty whilst sitting in a cube. 

On Sundays I take and I make. 

The morning is for gathering: thoughts, pretty paper and mind pictures. The morning is also for coffee and cigarettes. 

After stretching, I want to read: poetry, blog posts, news, social media. What’s going on in the world? What new dresses need to be bought? Who is doing something cool and inspiring? I take these pieces of information as well, up to my studio. 

Making begins. Creating newness happens, making meaning on a page or canvas. 

Making art, taking photographs, making meaning, taking meaning, making pictures to take. Creativity is magic. 

How Deep?

How Deep?

Diving into the mystery of our own spirit, our own selves- it’s scary. What will it take for me to hold onto this very moment? Instead of wandering toward the future or longing for the way things used to be; I want to be here now. 

I’ve made so many promises to myself. My stomach is full of unmet expectations and hope deferred, all because of pie in the sky standards. 

There have been surreal moments of contentment throughout my story:

Sitting by the big ocean, feeling small and yet so alive at the same time.

Dancing wildly with a man I don’t know, but feeling safe and free. 

Riding fast in the summer breeze, following a dear friend in front. 

Hearing truth and beauty from someone who really cares for me.  

SInging at the top of my lungs any day.

These are moments of clarity, capturing the true essence of this life. It’s the feeling that everything is alright. 

“I’m right where I belong,” my spirit whispers. 

The pain and joy of high expectation

Call it idealism or simply high hopes, there are those of us that may have our head stretched all the way up to the clouds. I listen to and follow the voice that whispers, "Come up here." It's an alluring suggestion.

The upward movement of my mind and its ideas has caused such hope and anticipation for myself and those I share life with. So many circumstances where the possibility is seen and paddled toward through the thick muck from which we make our meaning.  

Aren't we complex enough humans to feel this and dwell in that constant flow and interchange? I believe it in the secret of the morning, the holding dear of sunlight in the afternoon. I feel that light. And in the same day I feel the dark of the evening, even in the same moment.

As I write this letter to myself and you, in the back of the Kroger parking lot, I remind myself that it's okay to be with the wild wind inside of me. Sure, I must stand strong and I long for life to be full and perfect. But I must not be afraid of myself and my inexplicable ability to be in two places at once.

I cherish each joyful dance, each pensive inhale of my cigarette, the dull loneliness of falling asleep alone and the deep pain of losing someone.


Dedicated to my beloved Paige Dora Bailey Goslin