… an occasional sharing of what I smile at, what I cry with, what touches me, and some of the rest.
It’s a journey towards wholeness, pencil in hand like a torch in the darkness.
It’s a place of thresholds, doorways, gaps in the hedge, and paragate (skip the ad on the youtube link to get to the beautiful chant sooner).
I am a biologist, poet, gardener, lover, mother, friend, life-writing companion, and witness.
Journalling, poetry, letters, essays, and songs have been my shelter from the too-bright sun, and now employ me, now I’ve moved north for summer, like the swallows, or – as one neighbour said fondly (I hope): “you return like the cuckoo” – to Dhruvaloka, ‘Place of the North Star’.
For the rest of my life, I choose to drop down more deeply into play, song, poetry, dance, intuitive touch, and soul-witness. Sometimes mournfully, occasionally with skepticism and often comically irreverent.
Sometimes in the land of Thule, less often (these days) in the groves of academe. Always invited onward to look towards The Bright Field . (A big thank you to Emily Ardagh for the article on R.S. Thomas’ glorious poem).
Oftimes beside my compost heap, appreciating the remaking of Good Brown Earth by the annelid worm recyclers. (We all have a relationship with dung, after all. Where there’s muck, there’s grass.)
This body loves to dance (conscious movement practice), in a community space surrounded by wild and caring friends. Or, more recently in lockdown, solitary in the kitchen or sitting room, sending and receiving in a wireless network of kindfulness. And when it’s warm, I love to move upon the young bright turf, and to meld into the misty subtleties of rag-rug landscapes, up where some of the rocks are young and some are very very old.
And this pencil loves to move upon the page. As my teachers might say: Go, write.