golden hour

It was dazzling, just like the pieces of jewelry, and enchanting and dreamy, like how a child feels about her play when she’s safe and discovering the world on her own terms. It was a light only possible in make-believe worlds, and yet, there it was, as earthly as steam rising from dinner cooking on my grandmother’s stove...

some thoughts on freedom

In the spirit of progress and a dreamy, glutinous way of life, which has always been propaganda for pooling wealth for a smaller group of people, we’ve neglected the importance of solitude and small, focused, egalitarian, and cooperative communal life. As a result, no one is free. Some, a smaller group of people, are freer, but only artificially, and so long as capitalism can keep itself going. Even those with the highest net worth won’t be able to out-run the climate disaster taking place. We’ll have sacrificed human lives, species, coastal waters, river banks for something completely fake – dollar bills and account balances...

slowly undefined

By choice, this cook rarely ate with us. He slowly prepared everything all day, offered the food before serving it, and then he’d retreat to his space or eat alone in the kitchen. This was his contribution to the community and he was greatly loved and appreciated. Everyone was nourished together at the same table through his food, which was incredible and mostly served from big stock pots...

relax your neck

Trauma, especially repeated trauma, continuously sabotages our ability to have embodied experiences. Breathing gets us present in our bodies. It’s like being tethered when the wind picks up, versus not. Being connected to our bodies can also feel terribly frightening. Yoga has helped me with that, too. This body I’m in has shaped my human experiences, but it is not who I really am...  

tides

I was constantly ebbing and flowing between ideas and decisions that led me to all different sorts of jobs and experiences. These shifts often felt as jagged and unforgiving as these rugged coastlines I love so much. But these weathered rocks also tell a story, and in much the same way my life tells a story. So far, it’s the story of someone who held high hopes for herself only to realize that prayer came easier than money, that all she really needed was a tiny, modest patch of beauty...