words…

My prayers don’t have words these days. It feels empty, forced, not at all genuine. I’m the kid calling home who really has better things to do. I’m not paying attention, just nodding my head and uttering a faint “uh huh” every couple of minutes. I know this happens to everyone, I know it’s to be expected. I feel so emotionally and physically tired I don’t even care. Well, I must care…

light from light….

There is no getting around it. I still feel stupid and awkward standing in front of my altar at home, praying. I feel stupid and awkward at the church, mind you, but at least we’re all there for the same drill. At home it’s just me. I’m not sure what I’m modeling to the small carlson folk at this point so I guess I am choosing stupid and awkward. I’ve had votives…

social anxiety as a crutch…

Finding a community in Nashville has been daunting for me. The choices were limited but remarkably different. I was alone, mostly. I’d drift into the back and try to blend into the paneling. It usually worked. I’d sneak out early because being in the space was intimidating enough but then having to meet and greet actual real life humans…that’s when my hands would start to sweat and I’d go all tongue-tied. This…

blades of grass…

This is what comes to me today as I scatter what I like to call “wishful thinking” and “hope” on our poor damaged lawn. Again. It comes in a plastic, resealable bag, boasts the ability to grow in most any soil or weather condition and most people know it as grass seed. When we killed all the weeds in the back yard lawn we killed pretty much anything green in the back…

relax…

I always hear his voice in my head when I start to spin. For a long time, the words of greeting were, “do not fear” or “be not afraid” and “be at peace.” Now, we’ve moved past the formalities and in the midst of my spinning a loud crack of “Relax!” breaks in. Perhaps I recognize this because it’s the tone I use when my kids don’t listen to me and I…

small town…

I had an interesting and somewhat surprising (to me at least) feeling while I attended Wild Goose Festival in NC last month. Wild Goose is an “emergent” music and arts festival some friends of mine have helped put together. I went to teach some DoxaSoma sessions. Many of my friends spoke or played there as well. I was very excited to go and see the fruit of what I knew firsthand was…

under pressure…

The pressure is the weight of my hands pressing down on my shoulders. At first it was a reminder to keep my shoulders from hiking up around my ears, stress-making, hunching, not at all open as postures go. Now, it’s a binding of sorts. I find I’m hugging myself tight, trying hard not to unravel and that seems all kinds of wrong to me. There’s always been some talk in our house…