Today I finally understood why Cinderella was transported into a magical realm by a pumpkin. I can’t believe these big round orange magical things grow from tiny seeds into sprawling vines and then sprout these incredible fairy tale globes, the very essence of growth and
I guess the point is that, even now, a million years later, books are my Orient Express, my journey into the Sultan’s Palace, my feet slipped into the upturned toes of a genie’s slippers, and my three wishes involve more books, the kind that feel like catching magic by the tail and making it into a kite, the kind that change minds and nourish souls, and of course, living, passionately, wildly, softly, and always always always, living “by heart.”
It looked like she was some sort of goddess scattering starlight made of love-bursts right out of her body to wrap around mine. I think she would like that I am not running from my pain. but absorbing and integrating it into my soul, allowing it to change me moment-to-moment, and knowing that time and space can not separate me from her. I think she would encourage me to keep spinning my stories and assure me that they are indeed, spinning into gold. I think she would like that I have found healing in my Unhealable Wound.
Everyone copes with the sorrows of the world in different ways– for me, I choose to play in what I call “a glitter cyclone,” aka my Magic Treehouse camp.
Ecstatic whooping, chirping, buzzing… dancing in the sky like drunken sailors after a night of carousing, drunk on nectar, zipping to the sun, diving back to hover midair before dashing full-speed towards a blossoming tree, a delicate stop to plunge into a flower, drink some more…
The boy has finally found a sport he likes. After years of trying football, basketball, and baseball, he tried Lacrosse a few weeks ago and has been happily running around the fields of Maine, New Hampshire, and Massachussetts for weeks now. When he played football
I’ve written before how death and divorce can make holidays especially piercing, seeing everyone with their loved ones when so many of mine are now gone.
This is the first Easter in 6 years that didn’t feel like I was being stabbed with 1,000 tiny pins all day long.
I wondered why the feelings changed. Was it time? People love to say, “time heals all wounds,” but I have not found that to be true for me. In my experience, some wounds never heal.
I miss my beloveds all day every day. The pain remains, as big and all-consuming as ever, but the more it tries to pull me down, to destroy me, the more ferociously I create: writing, dancing, filming, creating…
I have learned to live with loss and grief, it is a part of who I am, and though I wish this wasn’t true, it is: grief is also an integral part of my children, and I know they feel the loss a little extra on holidays too.
EEEEEEK!!! I’m so excited (and terrified) to announce …. (drum roll please) I’m heading to New Orleans this week to begin filming and the Kickstarter for my documentary is NOW LIVE!!
“You must move through the world in a way that enchants you!”
“The only people that interest me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue center light pop and everybody goes ‘Awww!’”…
Which might explain my eclectic group of eccentric friends and why I was drawn into the theater and circus life, the type of life who attracts people who choose a life of freedom over a life of fancy cars and big houses…
