Painting With My Dead Friend
Holly, a dear friend of mine, died last summer. She was a writer and a creative soul in many ways, including artmaking of all kinds. She was an imaginative free spirit who appreciated the unconventional. So her art was usually quirky. Self-taught, she didn’t often...Respite from the Mind
I’ve just returned home from several enchanted days on Lake Superior. My greedy mind — muted for awhile by movement, story, song, beauty, affection, and silence — now wants to read mail, catch up on national news, make necessary appointments, resume tasks set...Images of Insecurity
Until a few days ago I was at a retreat center in upstate New York. Twenty women and the facilitator, Jalaja Bonheim, came together for a week, experiencing the powerful geometry of the circle, allowing sacred space and silence to fortify us and help us move from...A Poem for the Fourth of July Weekend
In the Fourth of July Parade Right down the middle of main street the woman with the long red braids and fairy wings strapped to her back rode a unicycle more than two times taller than she was—rode it with balance and grace, her arms stretched out, as if...Summons
The other day I stopped into the Penn Lake library to retrieve a book being held for me. I intended to pop in and out, absorbed in thinking about my next errand and my plans when I got back home. As I bustled to the hold area for my book I was dimly aware that the...Share This Post
Welcome to Whisperings
“There is a place where words are born of silence,
A place where the whispers of the heart arise.”
— Rumi
I will ponder here what whispers to me in the silence. I’d love for you to whisper back; maybe we will all get clearer—or maybe, like in the old kids’ game of “telephone” we will end up somewhere else entirely (which would be fun too)
