Love

Fearless

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Look at that little guy … a young praying mantis, sitting next to Pumpkin (R.I.P.), one of the most fearless animals I have ever known.

How is the mantis so brave? Is this innate to his species, or an individual who takes risks or is just naive and inexperienced?

Looking at ourselves, if we aren’t fearless like the mantis, how did we get this way? Perhaps the bigger question is can we become more brave?

I believe there are two core emotions – fear and love, the opposite of one another. To become fearless, or start heading in that direction, we need to love ourselves more, to tip the scales. We need to let go of things we were told that we were. These often had nothing to do with us, but more to do with the individuals that told us. Think about it.

Many of our behaviors that make us unhappy today were once developed as children because we needed them in order to cope or survive, whether to make others happy or comfortable or just to leave us alone. But we can look at ourselves now, at our fears, our outer coats of beliefs that no longer work in our lives, and release them.

It was Socrates who said, “The unexamined life is not worth living.” Looking and seeing who we are underneath those once-needed layers, we can love and accept ourselves for what we find, forgive ourselves for behaving in ways we have not understood. And we can change. It takes time, and it’s not always easy, but we are capable of change.

We are always braver than we believe.

p.s. As for the yet-unnoticed, young praying mantis … I called Pumpkin over to my back door for a snack, and the little one, apparently having made his point (to me), quickly disappeared.

Tinicum – the Difference of A Year

/ still a dreamer / 6 Comments

I am very grateful to be invited to be at the Tinicum Arts Festival Author’s Table again this year. I was first invited to participate in July 2022, a month before my book was even released. I had a lighted canvas made up, bookmarks, and handouts to encourage book sales the following month. My wings, of course. And one lone sample book marked “Please do not remove”. It was all I would have for a while.

I loved chatting about my book with all who stopped by, as I did again in 2023. But 2024, invited once more, was a bit of a different story.

Last year’s event was preceded by four months of Jazzy’s slow fall into increasing neurological issues that could not be identified through endless amounts of tests. This culminated in my needing to say my last goodbye to her on the Friday right before my Sunday appearance at the arts festival.

I didn’t want to go. Didn’t know how I could possibly face discussing anything, even my book, with strangers considering the loss of this small, steadfast companion I’d adopted at three, and known and loved for eleven years.

But I went. It was a wonderful distraction. For an hour or so, I lost myself in talking about my book with so many lovely people. When my time was up, I wandered among the vendors, and found these:

No sooner had I paid, than the sky blackened and thunder rumbled in the west. I gathered my book-ish things and made a run for the car, sitting there for 15 minutes in a torrential downpour.

Jazzy was a very opinionated girl. Perhaps she left me with a small token of her love and a farewell to remember.

But the Tinicum Arts Festival … I am completely looking forward to greeting folks, signing books, and talking about writing, butterflies, art, and more on Saturday, July 12th. Please stop by if you’re in the area.

Meandering in A Confused World

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One of my small daily pleasures each morning once I’ve fed Charlie and made my coffee is to sit by the living room window and do two things – a perusal of Instagram, a gathering if you will, of positive words, thoughts and images (occasionally my own work), and then sharing them in my Stories. Then I journal to clear out the cobwebs, sort out my challenges, put to paper my joys and angst … whatever the day calls for.

While on IG, I always hope that whoever stops by gains some benefit from what I post. We know, vaguely, how the algorithms work; you get more of what you like (almost a corollary of karma, right?), and therefore, I find vast amounts of insight, positivity, and beauty. Some mornings, when I open the app, I am greeted with exactly what I need to know for that day. Because I do believe the Universe works that way.

Sometimes I share things like this, courtesy of @spiritualgoal –

Sometimes I post things I’ve been doing, like the gecko drawing above, or how I’ve redesigned my picture book, Where Do Butterflies Go at Night? 2nd Edition. (You can read that in detail here.)

But mostly, I’m sharing insights, inspiration, and the beauty of life.

Inevitably, while I scroll, I come across other things, often in Threads, about our current political circumstances. And sometimes, I drop in and read, because most of what’s really happening is on social nowadays, not the mainstream media. I find life – mental and emotional life – is a balancing act of trying to remain informed and at the same time, keeping my sanity.

It’s why the positivity is so important. Knowing, remembering, how important we are in the larger scheme of things. Even just being centered and loving in this world is a huge contribution. Holding the place of love.

And sometimes I create my own memes. This one’s for you. Just keep holding that light up high.

National Poetry Month – April 30th

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It’s the end of April and the end of National Poetry Month. I felt we were overdue for a love poem.

PERMANENTLY

One day the Nouns were clustered in the street.
An Adjective walked by, with her dark beauty.
The Nouns were struck, moved, changed.
The next day a Verb drove up, and created the Sentence.

Each Sentence says one thing – for example, “Although it was a dark, rainy day when the Adjective walked by, I shall remember the pure and sweet expression on her face until the day I perish from the green, effective earth.”

Or, “Will you please close the window, Andrew?”

Or, for example, “Thank you, the pink pot of flowers on the window sill has changed color recently to a light yellow, due to the heat from the boiler factory which exists nearby.”

In the springtime, the Sentences and the Nouns lay silently on the grass.
A lonely conjunction here and there would call, “And! But!”
But the Adjective did not emerge.

As the adjective is lost in the sentence,
So I am lost in your eyes, ears, nose, and throat –
You have enchanted me with a single kiss
Which can never be undone
Until the destruction of language.

– Kenneth Koch

Away …

/ still a dreamer / 8 Comments

Searching through photos for one thing inevitably surprises us with something else. Especially when you have the amount of photos that I do.

This is a photo I took when visiting my cousin in Portugal when I was 23 years old. He and his family lived here, in a small fishing village, Vila Nova de Cerveira, at the mouth of the Minho River, just minutes from Spain. It was an indescribable experience, and looking back now, even more so, especially as the area has evolved so since.

Truly, it was a village. There was a tinker (today’s handyman/carpenter), a small bakery/grocery store, a church, a police station, and a few other shops. There was also a castle, and a variety of homes. The streets were cobblestone, and it seemed that everyone knew everyone. Many people grew or raised their own food.

In the morning, we heard the clanging of the bell at the long driveway gate. A neighbor had brought a clean bucket of milk, fresh from her cow. Wherever my cousin and I walked, there were young children skipping after us, fascinated by the visitor with her light-colored eyes.

Coming across this photo brought back so many memories, which could probably fill a short memoir of its own. My cousin, his wife, children, and dogs were my warm and wonderful hosts. With all I experienced in that too-short week, I existed in a slice of time never to be known again.

I also remember the train ride home, first to Porto, then a switch to a second train to Lisbon. In my compartment were five Portuguese men and women, none of whom spoke English. During the 5-hour ride, they brought out their lunch, and so generously offered everything to me – bread, cheese, some kind of meat, wine. With hand signs and broken language, we talked and laughed all the way to Lisbon.

I remember wondering even then if Americans would be so utterly kind to strangers who spoke no English in a traveling compartment. The importance of that entire experience has deepened ever since. Would we all be as kind and generous as they? Can we still share? Can we still love?