• Love,  My Brain On Crack

    Polynomial

    You remember those, right? Am I giving any of my geekiness away when I say that solving quadratic equations was sort of a highlight for me, mathwise? I found a certain exquisite perfection in creating balance. Each side of the equation balances the other. Yummy. To refresh, in case Algebra II was (cough) a few years ago for you: a polynomial is an expression of finite length constructed of variables and constants. [What, you don’t trust my truthiness in math? Go on, Google it.] It has not escaped me that I am involved in the creation of a polynomial. I already told you that 1 + 1 = 3, remember?…

  • Write Like You Mean It

    Humility

    Humility. It is from the Latin humilitas, which may be translated as “humble,” but also as “low,” “from the earth,” or “humid,” since it derives in turn from humus (earth).  Wikipedia says it is a virtue, since it is connected with notions of transcendent unity with the universe or the divine, and of egolessness. I sang yesterday for a woman who lay dying. I sang with three other women who all sing their heartsongs, and as I sang I looked out at the sparkling blue-gray bay beyond, hearing our voices lift to carry the breath of one whose breaths can be counted now, so slowly. As I sang I thought of humility. Lift…

  • Magical

    Magic, the gathering

    I have been looking for a way back instead of a way forward. I look through the destiny book of awesome and its secrets stay locked within, remaining tightly shut within black walls and creamy pages, mocking me. Remember this? they hiss, When things were magical and all was possibility unfolding in front of you like a golden carpet? I look at the magic and want it so much, the beautiful song. I try to grasp it tightly to hold it to me, but it slides through my fingers. Ahead. That is where I should be looking. But how do we know anything except what is behind us? I replay the…

  • My Brain On Crack,  Write Like You Mean It

    Spring

    Everywhere I look I see new growth. Buds ripening. Cherry blossoms bursting into soft pinkness. Vivid colors superimposed over the blue-grays of sky and water. New green shoots pushing up from seemingly lifeless brown twigs. Surely there is a metaphor here. I am cold. I miss the warmth. I long to feel it permeate my limbs, my skin, my heart. I’ve used a cliff metaphor perhaps too frequently in the past for it to fully fit now, but I do feel that I have at least dipped a toe into the waters of change. Change happens slowly sometimes, stealthily, without us noticing, like a cat climbing into your lap: one…

  • Ho, Earthling!

    Medicine

    It takes more than one hand to list the animals that have been showing up for me lately, filling the air with their song and presenting me with wisdom, perspective, challenge. [Note: I count on my fingers beginning with the thumb. How many people do that? I would wager not many. Not many Americans anyway.] One. Hawk. The messenger. Visionary power and guardianship. Paying attention to what might otherwise be overlooked. Two. Eagle. Bald eagle, off to the west of I-5 somewhere around Stanwood. Ability to see highest truth or viewpoint. Spiritual energy. Connection from earth to sky, symbolizing balance. Three. Ants. LOTS of ants. Many more than I am…

  • My Brain On Crack

    Connecting

    The last several days have been sort of epic. Not necessarily good-epic. More like intense-epic. The root of change epic. Changing direction, switching lanes epic. Only … it’s not yet clear where things might go. I am drawn to nestling myself in a tree-lined hilly neighborhood of four million overlooking blue-gray waters (and on magical days, the snow-tipped Cascade range beyond), where I can push my heart outward in concentric rings to connect with other hearts and draw inward again. I am drawn to sparking my cells with the essence of carrots, celery, and apple, connecting with the Earth by drinking her lifeblood. I am drawn to jumping feet first…

  • Magical,  Write Like You Mean It

    Hawk redux

    Driving northward today toward my What Comes Next, I saw my friend Hawk. He sat calmly in I-5’s manicured median grass north of Seattle, surveying his dominion with sharp brown eyes. He saw me but did not look. We nodded briefly at one another while I sped past at 70 miles per hour, his feather-blur held sharp by stilled recognition. My thoughts, immersed in the grounded action of how my next few days will be spent, flew on speckled feathers to Black Friday last when Hawk spoke words of promise to me and brought me aloft with him into worlds dreamed of but yet unreached. My car flew silently on redbrown…