admiring their greenness.

i have two succulents 

living with me

on 2701 grand avenue south.

one is tall and sure and stretching.

the other is full and ample and branching.

these past few weeks, 

as the temperatures

bite

and mornings mean 

leaving the comfy cave 

of rest that’s kindly held me 

during the blackness of night,

to enter the air of chill 

that hovers and hangs in my room.

and this morning, 

as my head peaks out

to test the gelid temps

i wondered about my resident succulents.

outside icicles cling to

buildings, garages,

rubbish bins, tree branches.

coldness envelops us

as it often does this time of year.

and this morning, 

I worry for my 2 resident succulents.

when the sun comes out

{only ever so rarely}

i rush them to that sun soaked spot.

my resident succulents

speak their appreciation because they

continue to grow.

Green.

despite the cold.

taller & wider they reach.

when the shine comes out

i too rush to rearrange myself accordingly.

i also crave the sun’s warm attention.

when you are meant for warmth

how can you grow in the depths of winter?

i appreciate their Greenness.

maybe, I am even a bit envious of it.

no color is like Green. None.

Green is the perfect color to allow 

absorbing & defining 

of oneself.

it’s gentle yet firm.

it’s inviting yet knowing.

it’s comforting and never overwhelming.

it not afraid to adjust according to seasons

all the while always remaining itself.

this morning i wonder 

for my 2 green resident succulents.

how can you grow, keep growing, keep reaching

when the climate engulfs, inhaling the life

when the air is less than ideal

when the surroundings confuse your core

when what’s home becomes foreign

when you can hardly breathe

how can you?

grow.

today i brought them to the warmest

most comfortable part of 2701 grand avenue south.

to the center of all things.

the kitchen table.

today they will sit

side by side.

in the shine of the sun.

with their green leafs stretching.

touching.

despite the imperfect space,

the confusion, the thin and fragile air,

even if gasping for air is the best

you can do

know this.

there is more in you

than you think.

and despite the enveloping circumstances

your green will still shine.

your roots will still dig.

and that small patch of sun 

will touch something 

deep inside

& you will be reminded that

all will indeed be well.

it will.

growing.

reaching.

stretching.

even in the harshness of circumstances

cold & winter.

Life is here.

- n.

when the words go out

it's been a long while
since i've headed
to the library
with such intensity
and purpose.


when all around me
there are words
words words


and i discover that
i have nothing left to give 
you
you
or you.
or actually you either.
or myself.


it's then that i need to
jump in.
off deep.
swirl and twirl and turn and roll.
flip and glance, skim and read
again&again&again.


when all the words go out of me.
there is little to do except keep the 
fear away.
away.
away.


and search for connection.


yes.
to be with what is.


roaming the aisles
of books
like an impulsive buyer, while
making no commitments that
cannot be kept.

up and down each aisle i go.
car repairs to travel.
chinese to teen fiction. 
american history & the ancient wisdoms.


poets and their poems.
design and redecorating. 
a children's book to teach what 
really needs 
to be known.

an author, just grab all 4 of her books 
in order to hear how her voice 
might change and grow.

i just need them near.
these words that are not my own.
from room to room
i carry them.
sit them next to me while i work,
while i eat
while i call through the phone. 


friends i'll never know.
but their words they left behind.
they are not mine.
they're theirs.
except.
if the time is right
our words might grow together.

deep roots.
yet, new branches reaching
further than
either them or i can begin to
imagine.


and here they sit.
safe with me.
and me with them.
the words.
the words of another.
the words of others.

and so my mind can be calm.
can settle and rest.
just be.
just be.


my words will come again.
not today,
maybe not tomorrow.
but they'll be back.
because they never left really.
they were just resting.


resting in the work of another.


but for tonight.
i'll just flip and turn.
peak and skim.
over&over&over again.
slower this time then skip
to the next.


yes.
to be with what is.


and that's what to do
when the words go out of you.




- n.

never stop.

It just keeps going....


It's like a drug really. I start and I just can't seem to get enough. So I search more and more and more, around this corner, through this link, onto that blog and halfway through that book.


That's why what I'm doing now -- researching, writing, asking, searching, learning, creating -- it seems to fit. Yes, it seems to fit, nicely.


Almost perfectly. Like I've always been meaning to do it. Like I know it. It feels right. Comfortable. Kind of like my favorite pair of jeans. Nothing flashy or out of this world-ly. Just a bit faded, a little stretched, blue blue jeans. Familiar, really.



I think I'll just keep going then.
Keep learning.

Stopping seems impossible.

So I think I won't.

cheers.

extra courage.

start.
...hesitate.
start again.
then...stop.


i watched a young girl
do this precise
dance
while trying to cross the street
this morning.


cars passing her by the many
she struggled to know
when.
to make that move.
that step.


i wanted her to be careful.
the cars were moving too quickly
for neighborhood streets and
paying no mind
to a little girl 
in a purple hood.


you can do it,
i heard myself whisper inside
my thoughts.


those first steps often require
the most intention.
and courage.

directions were being hollered
from across the street.
"go, go, go!"
"no, no. wait wait!"
"come on!"


but still she hesitated.
something hesitated.

no doubt she could do it
on her own.
she looked more than capable with
a younger-brother-hand 
tightly
encased in her own.
no doubt she'd done it
countless
times before.


but sometimes the road.
the same as yesterday
looks different
today.
the thing you did yesterday
it feels unknown today.
different somehow.


another car.
"not yet!"
"wait wait!"
"no, no, not now."


and sometimes
even those trying to be helpful
are just words
floating
in the space around you.


the intention
and courage are inside.
you know they are.
but summoning them
in that moment
seem impossible.


there i was.
standing next to the
purple hood.


sometimes asking is the 
hardest part.


i put my hand out.
found her wide brown eyes
staring back at me.
"maybe we can go together."
i ask.


she breathed deep
and nodded up at me.


and together we went.
both
fully capable on our own.
but together nonetheless.


sometimes we need 
that extra
courage.
to do the very thing
right in front of
us.


today.
may that extra courage
find you.


mine did.


- n.

rub your arms moments: are you listening?

i once had a teacher
who would rub her arms 
full of goosebumps and implore
her class,
"shhh! shhhh!!
did you hear it?!
weren't you listening?!"

she was not everyone's favorite.

she gave us B's.
sometimes C's.

shook her head
and told us we weren't trying hard enough,
just when we thought we were.


she marched out when we were

impossible.

she pursed her lips, piercing 
us with silence, when we

didn't listen.

she moaned when we couldn't

hear our own faults.

and worse...
she made us do it 
again & again & again.


we would say, i'm no good.

she would say, you can be.

we would say, i can't.

she would say, you can.

we would say, i won't ever.

she would say, you will.

but we loved her.

when she was absent for even a day,

we begged to have her back.

she stole our hearts.

we might not have known.

she might not have known.

regardless.
it didn't matter.
because she taught us
what she was.

 

melody.

rhythm. 

movement.

moments.

music.

she taught us these things.

but most importantly
she taught us

to listen.

to listen to 
our own voice.

to the voice beside us.

and the voices all around.

she taught us to love beauty.

beauty that we

all

standing together

working toward one thing...

created. 

together.

she taught us

harmony and perfection

could come into a single moment.


she taught us to
notice the moments.

she would gasp.
and glow.
her excitement
and wonder penetrating the room,
rubbing her arms.


"did you hear it?!
are you listening?"


the body knows beauty.


but she taught us to listen for it.
and appreciate it.


this teacher
she doesn't know. 
she can't.
of how often my mind wanders to her.
to her classes
where she would push and push us.
bubble with pleasure
rubbing to her arms...


because of her,
there is always something for me
about a choir...
those moments.
only envoked by voices
working together.
to create
those moments of perfection... harmony
and utter beauty.


hmmm...
it touches something deep inside.


do you hear it?
are you listening?


may choirs find you.
or 
may you find them.
and may you notice
the moments.
and rub arms full of goosebumps.


let the season begin,
natalie.

ps beautiful images found here. here & here.

two hands. and one heart.

in ... out.

in .... out.

it's the

in ... out.

that sometimes is the

hardest.

because i forget.

how it feels.

why it's important.

and there is only blankness.

darkness?

yes.

lightness?

i can't be sure.

whiteness.

i think.

nothingness?

nothingness?

nothingness.

it's confusing.

how can there be the

unknown amidst the known?

confusion amidst the clear?

staleness amidst the beauty?

beauty amidst the pain?

emotions amidst the nothingness?

i only have two hands.

and one heart.

how can it possibly all be held?

the opening

seems so small.

and there doesn't appear 

to be enough 

space.

in ... out.

in .... out.

it's the

in ... out.

1.2..3...

remember.

you can do it.

but.

i only have two hands.

and one heart.

how can i ask them

to hold so much?

sometimes it's just a matter

of finding the light.

and remembering how to let

it encircle...

regardless of the 

blackness

the darkness

the whiteness

the nothingness

that resides

within.

in ... out.

in .... out.

in ..... out.

breath.

just.

my friend's view through her lens.

wherever you find yourself today

find your breath.

look at your two hands.

and one heart.

and let the light

encircle you.

because today.

these things are enough.

hoping for...

- n.