when you wonder~

January 23, 2017

I’ve wandered into big wonder many times in my life

the child, wildly birthed from my own body

gently cradled into my arms.

 

 

 

 

 

the workshop faces, staring back at me, the eager eyes, telling me I have something good

and get to give it to them.

 

 

 

 

 

the airplane cabin, cozy and half lite, home for 17 hours as life shifts from north

to south, from secure and known to

what will come.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve wandered into big wonder many times in my life

and seek more.

always more.

But I am home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I am so HOME-

I ask the heavens where wonder is, if I get it again, settled home, as I am.

 

 

 

 

 

This past week twelve women gathered with me at home-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

around my barn wood table

around the wax dribbled studio tables.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In my home.

There was such wonder.

There was such wonder!

Not big like child birth

or a 17 hour flight to what if,

but the heavens continue to deliver wonder

heaping spoonfuls-

and I graciously open my mouth. 

Let my life be filled to overflow.

Come.

It is wonder-filled.

You will find it too.

in love.

trish

SummerWax2017 is here~

thoughts on a new year~

January 01, 2017

There is a deep quiet in these winter months. I profess as I often do, that we were meant to hibernate these short, cold days away….
But in this quite-this week in particular with the anticipation of the coming new year and now it, 2017, crawling under the covers and waking us up on this best-day-of-the-week Sunday morning-I ask myself this question of hibernation, with a new eye.

For I can look back at,

at least the past few years,

and see that these deep, dark weeks of struggle against self-judged laziness have been nothing more than a necessary and rich fallow time. 
Fallow: A period of time when a field is left unseeded.

 

 

 

 

Fallow.
This deep dark winter time,

these weeks of growing anticipation of the holidays,

of the turning of the calendar,

of slightly, slowing growing-longer days,

what if they’re not a struggle against the lethargy that calls up hibernation thoughts, but a leaned-into rejuvenation?

Not with effort, for that would negate the very state of being implied, but an accepting of the undeniable lethargy and therefore seeing what is good in it and intended by it.

As my youngest, wise son said to me recently, ‘Stop condemning <your> self condemnation; just accept it. What does it look like now?’ 
Oh wise one.
So on this first day of 2017 I stay under the covers. I leave the journals and books scattered around me on the bed, I pour the kettle over a third cup of tea and lean into the lethargy.
I am not lazy, I am fallow.
And I know from experience, I will be reseeded.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Will you ever bring a better gift for the world than the breathing respect that you carry wherever you go right now? Are you waiting for time to show you some better thoughts?
William Stafford

_______________________________________________________________________________________


in love.
trish

Silken holiday morning: so much more light~

December 25, 2016

There is a silken veil of fog only

darkness knows about

and perhaps the reflective cloud-sky.

darkness, the sky, and the one light left on by a distracted hand

shining from the garage eve onto a circle-patch of damp lawn

and me.

the air is oddly warm 

but not unwelcome; Christmas morning.

the furnace hums irregular, keeping the one lone, slumbering guest deep in down-covered dreams

the boys arrive; sometime in the daylight then 

Christmas will begin.

but now, 5am quiet house, furnace shhhhh, fireplace crackle

and me, under this blanket

pen in hand

rejoicing.

in love.

trish

 

Onward 50~

December 19, 2016

There is still a surprised disbelief that I am here. 

That these hands becoming spotted

this hair thinning and greyed

these knees-are they really mine?!

showing signs of-

seen on my grandmother!-

elephant-likeness….

utter surprise.

Aging is a strange thing.

On the outside the body changes, 

as it always is and does,

yet with so much more attention and shock 

than any other age.

50.

And yet, when I get over this self-of-me that wants to only see the changing body…

when I begin to turn my gaze onto what is still…

I can see so much MORE clearly

At 50 there is a sense of reciprocity, of co-creating, co-dependence, community, collaboration and relation that is the truth

that is the sustenance of forward motion.

There is nourishing and re-enlivening like no other time in life…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Take 40 for example.

A definitive fundamentalism about life existed at this labyrinthian turn.

As well as an allowance. 

Yet I have questioned and now come to believe this allowance married with the fundamentalism caused retracing that have become,

I can say without remorse or shame, the bettering of me.

These days turned and twisted behind me have made the me that is ready to be what is.

It is the first time. faith.

Faith that has surprised me.

Coming not from blind obedience,

and not of the form of belief in the face of no proof,

but faith grounded in self-discovery

trust

and long glances backward

that have skillfully made me to see

     that on which I stand

and go forward. 

50

     seems to be made of courage 

Courage begotten of self acceptance.

Yet

     no grand absence of doubt

     no hopped-up absolutism

     certainly not now nor ever

     perfectly placed steps

-although I wouldn’t mind it looking this way from the outside for a time or two-

This courage is simply gentle self acceptance.

     I too, just as I am, am given a part in the wondrous play of living~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I have been cast a position that I will not refuse to play,

perhaps can not refuse to play,

and to the best of all possible ability I want to play.

 

 

 

 

 

A schematic view of the labyrinthian course that comprises my life would tell the most ignorant observer that I’ve been held.

That I am true to course.

That I can stand strong where I am.

Not an allowance;

a sanctioning.

I can.

I get to.

 

What 50 brings me to is a realization that it matters not what I feel I am standing on, where this standing has me positioned, or where I will step as a result.

What matters I see

in my 50th birthday presence

and what I think all of us at whatever turning of age must ruminate on, is what, pray tell, I intend to make of this me-ness in this world~

Because this is what’s been spoken in the onrush of 50-

in the look-back-at years that have swept under the bridge and muddled together as one dear life-

this is what my river of days, that I can call an amazing life, have said to me-

‘What now, oh wise one, do you intend to do with these tremendously rich, gifted days you’ve lived, in order to

BE 

that which your DOing intended all along,

and quite frankly necessitates,

in the mere fact of 

getting to

live?~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

With hints at the great poetry of Mary Oliver,

and the not as well known last few line from Rilke’s great, I set out

as much as my confidence will allow,

into this one wild, next-

life.

I get to.

I live my life in ever widening circles
that reach out across the world.

I may not ever complete the last one,

but I give myself to it.

I circle around God, that primordial tower.

I have circled for thousands of years,

and I still don’t know: Am I a falcon,

a storm, or a great song? 

in love.

join me everywhere. It is better when we hold hands as we walk~

trish

life comes in clusters: May Sarton

October 20, 2016

I call them rhythms

ebbs and flows of days-

moments even-

solitude; busy-ness

company; quite alone.

not just days and moments either-

weeks months and years.

it is all rhythm

clusters~

Life comes in clusters

and autumn, the fall of leaves

the falling away of long days of sunshine

of heat of sun overhead

of light and life

reminds me most poignantly that I am in the ebb

the clustering

of days, moments

seasons myself.

Studio wax is turned on.

Lights little used get flicked on in the late-rising daylight hours.

I enter into this new ebb

this cluster

as autumn descends and a new rhythm begins in

the creation of art

and me.

in love.

trish

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