Stream of consciousness… words & story

Juice

Injustice

Kind

Joke

Flower

Fold

Midget

Twist

Red

Stitch

Click

Twinkle

Nothingness With Twinkles… Oh!  But What Twinkles!

The kind midget twisted the lemon for juice and pulp. A click drew his attention to a fold in the drapes… is this a joke, he thought?

A twinkle from behind the fabric lit the stitching in shiny neon-like light. It sped and shimmered forward into the air.

Around the kind midget flew flowers and red grapes in temporary light– bright then dissipating, its disappearance an injustice to the sense of sight.

The kind midget had lemonade and thought about imagination.

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one breath taken

East of the fog, I settle in for silence

I belong here:  under broadleaf maples

atop the mottled moss

and fallen feathers

The ground is wintry

quiet as a water skipper over the creek

Weight shifting to forest bed

slumber comes to mind

Tucking gauzy white gown around my knees

I draw myself in

I imagine a girl, staring at an ocean

unafraid of its vastness

unafraid of its depth

She stirs, diving into the aqua blue

past the urchins and otters,

the tentacles of octopi

She falls deeper still

surrounded by traces of bubbles

left by the flow of her movements

She is down where there is no light

only the feeling of resistance

between limbs and water

Here, she sets up a house

lives on one breath taken –

taken in the light with wide open eyes

Drifting across anemone

the skeletons of coral

she is asleep and dreaming –

dreaming in the light and of one breath taken

We surface together, the girl and I

A moth rests its powdery wings on our joined hands

We don’t move, we take it all in

Setting amber resin on a small bed of stones

we see fire, we watch

Smoke stretches in flight

a stirring of the very moment

 

At Night in the Floating City

 At night in the floating city

gargoyles stretch, crawling

from architecture, swelling

across arching bridges

Young women wake

to their own words

like insects they wander

with purpose

They weep into silver buckets

carried to the garden

with simple grace, tears for moonflowers

and gardenias

Night passes softly as swanskin

’til the light of morning spreads

like bolts of scarlet, unwound

002 (2)

For Kate.

Finding the Middle Path (or) Silent Moments with my Brain


Finding The Middle Path

Ten years ago I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD).   BPD affects how people feel about themselves, how they relate to others and how they behave.

People with BPD often have an unstable sense of who they are. That is, their self-image or sense of self often rapidly changes. They typically view themselves as evil or bad, and sometimes they may feel as if they don’t exist at all. This unstable self-image can lead to frequent changes in jobs, friendships, goals, values and gender identity.

In addition, people with BPD often engage in impulsive and risky behavior. This behavior often winds up hurting them, whether emotionally, financially or physically. For instance, they may drive recklessly, take illicit drugs or go on spending or gambling sprees.

People with BPD also often engage in suicidal behavior or deliberately injure themselves for emotional relief. In my case, I resorted to self-cutting as a means of escape. I cut my skin to feel relief… and sometimes to feel anything at all.

The borderline person uses self-cutting to distract from pain, to create a wound to nurture, to tell the world that something is wrong.  With this series of paintings, I turned the knife away from myself and onto my artwork.  Each painting is layer upon layer of color, then scratched with a knife to reveal the layers underneath.

Smoking Jacket with Tentacles

Watercolor and pulverized metal on paper, 9″ x 12″

Smoking Jacket With Tentacles

 New Orleans, 2005

Watercolor and acrylic on paper, 9″ x 12″

new orleans

 There was just no way to tell.  No explanation.

Watercolor on paper,  9″ x 12″

just no way to tell

 Sweet Face, for GG

Watercolor on paper, 9″ x 12″

no02

M’lady’snotaniron

Watercolor and chalk on paper, 9″ x 12″

m'lady's'not an iron

Silent Moments with my Brain

Watercolor and acrylic on paper, 9″ x 12″

silentmomentswbrain-1

Scratch.

Watercolor, acrylic and chalk pastel on paper, 9″ x 12″

scratch

 

Thanks for being here…

Brain Anarchy

Circular thinking takes down sanity

is there intuition in madness?

yes

listen

speak

learn to unlearn

unbind the mind

unrestrict awareness

look but don’t find

deathlessness

is a forever to interpret

language, translation, philosophy

synthesis, mind’s eye, explosions

what it means to mean something

Shadows

There is a forest I remember… with an oak tree unbelievable in its twining, fantastic limbs.  I turned a bend and there it was, standing in a deep hollow beside the trail.  It was surrounded by steep and unstable banks, just out of reach.  It was safe.

The bark was cracked, casting dark shades in the narrows between.  It was nearly bare of leaves, which had carpeted the ground below, crisp and coiled.  I felt a sense of magic… the higher powers of nature.  For a moment, I belonged.

I was with people I didn’t know, one of those planned hikes for nature fanatics and/or lonely people.  I was both.

Nobody that was there is imprinted in my memory.  I only remember the ring leader telling incredibly stupid jokes, followed by nervous laughter, setting an air of separation amongst the sparse crowd.

Much of the trip followed a brook… music over stones and moss.  We trekked a few challenging miles that day.  I felt my loneliness deepen.  Alone in a crowd.

As I grow older, my journey seems to become even more introverted.  I find peace in words, sewn together into stories.  Peace in solitude and mindful moments.

I sometimes wonder if I am doing myself a disservice, with my increasingly hermetic lifestyle… but it just feels right.

Guanyin rests on my altar, towering above all else that is there, observing the sounds of the world.  Within her, I can hear the brook, see the heart of the oak tree.  The moss is bright, the shadows deep.