photo from linekelin.blogspot.no

Wishes Really are Bones

My twin soul, Debbie, who lives in Arizona, sent me a musing recently. We do this, she and I, over the space of many states, even sometimes with months in between correspondence. We are both writers, both coming out of an intense personal trauma, both on the fresher side of a battering storm, both feeling strange and stark and changed. She wrote of the pain brought forth by the simple expression of herself, the self that has not, in fact, been destroyed. I know this pain. Continue reading

Moment on a Bucket

Well good morning, psychology of the New Year. Today is clear and cold, and I am looking out over the mountain just beyond my porch, trying to remember Jan 1 2014. I don’t remember. Wait, I think I do. But now that I have, I don’t think I want to. I’d rather try to remember back to the first cold day I stared out this same patio door, at these mountains in the morning. I would have been brand new that day, in an eerie way, having just moved into this house, having just left a whole world behind (not fast enough). It was not a year ago, but it’s close, and the mindset of people celebrating New Years day the world over has me looking back, trying to figure out if that other world is far enough way from me now. I decide it looks like a distant star, but still in the same galaxy. Old, dead light, still in sight. Might be as good as it gets. A faint glittering. A myth of wishes. Continue reading