She finished her midterms and we went to the sea and drank some bubbles and ate some bread and bundled up and told our stories. She kept her hands warm in my armpits and the sun came out enough to inspire us to take some photos. That's all. Enjoy, friend.
Down the Coast, Through the Desert: Part One
It's been five days since we left Seattle for the green hills of Northern California, headed south for the families and the soul tribe and the sunshine (and the wedding I'm shooting on Sunday, but that's really just the monetary reasoning for this trip; we've needed an exhale).
We have sat with brews in hand in the Portland dusk, pranced with the mountains, discussed philosophy with many creatures, awoken to the California springtime sun grazing the tips of hillsides around our tent. We have painted one another and breathed and sat by the fire in reverence. We have continued to learn that self love begins with realizing that you don't have to apologize for existing. We have affirmed one another in our bodies, reminding each other there is no shame in the physical space we inhabit. We have held one another in gratitude and grace.
I am thankful for Butch and Laurie, Shannon and her husband, my dear Elise, and all the other souls who we have encountered and helped us along on this lovely journey we seem to have embarked upon.
(photos of me and Elise by my beloved Austin and Elise)
a KallieD birthday bash
Kallie is a woman of deep, fierce kindness. Last night, we celebrated her 25th trip around the sun with whiskey, nail painting, Big Little Lies, the best damn birthday cake I've ever had, and lots of belly laughs.
These are people who know how to lift up their loved ones; it was an honor to bounce along in the festivities. We were all very full, and our eyes were dancing with light.
recently (mostly photos of sam and danny)
We hiked the Oyster Dome outside of Bellingham for Evan's birthday. He got banana all over his backpack and snacks. We went to Aslan Brewing after our uphill jaunt and drank tasty 21 oz brews and ate mac n cheese. My sister, Austin, and I went to the sunrise Easter service at St. Paul's. We went to Brooks' apartment for brunch. We went to the Fremont market and sat by the canal, then went to Gasworks, then took my sister to the Discovery lighthouse for the first time. Austin and I drove home to West Seattle and went to the 5 pm St. Paul's bonfire service on Alki. Sam and Danny came over and we played Carcassone and we laughed a lot. It was a holy weekend of sorts.
Today I finally restocked on loose leaf licorice and rose and bought hops for my tea for the first time! I treated my friends and I to a 100% cocoa chocolate bar. Miro isn't going to serve crepes anymore (truly a staple of my time in Seattle tbh it's a sad sad thing), so I savored my last bite of their brie and fig jam crepe glory alongside a pot of red roobios. Hannah and Austin sat beside me quietly and we did our separate works. And it rained. Today was life, and it was good, whatever that means. And now I sit alone in West Seattle, listening to Hozier and drinking my new teas and exhaling.
Pine Manor - The One Life We're Given ft. Mark Nepo
Last weekend, my mother, my partner, and I spent three days in the Saddleback Mountains east of San Juan Capistrano at a small retreat center called Pine Manor. Mark Nepo, one of my favorite poets, philosophers, and spiritual teachers, led our small group of twenty five through the rhythms of his work and mesmerizing stories. It's hard to articulate what a weekend of intentional spirit breath can do for the heart and mind. I take pictures when I can't find the words, and I'm still at a loss. But beauty, translated in some capacity, can offer a glimpse into my internal wonderings and weepings of relief and hope.
"Like light of the sun
spilling out of the sun,
the spirit within
beams its way
through all our cracks
till our most treasured
walls come down."
- Mark Nepo
2016 --> 2017 (a big sur new year's celebration)
This last New Year's Eve was spent in the wild waves and ancient hills of Big Sur. It was unexpected, full of perilous and unabashed whimsy. I could write about these days for paragraphs, but I'll let this poem and the photos speak for themselves. Thank you, my dears Austin, Maddie, and Josh. You are family. We rang in this year with rainbows and rushes. These days were sacred and ceremonial, and looking at these images feels like a reminder to sit in the core of my deepest, most alive personhood. What a gift!
.
We have sat
knees to our chests
wrapped in membranes we created as protection
as eastern winds battered at our last shreds of survival.
will there ever be relief? I wonder
as I stand, spine against bark,
pulling pine branches back,
needles brushing against my cheeks,
I can see strands of light
reflecting off of dew drops from the
recent storm.
Did you know that rainbows are circles?
and it’s only our perspective, our physicality,
that keeps us from seeing the Whole.
spread your wings,
shake off the mist that has collected upon
the down feathers that give you flight.
that weight has no power here, now.
As it turns out,
the darkness we once thought was a cage
is actually
a cocoon!
to the moon and back
after the trembling
and the, “oh, --, here we are,”
there is moonrise
and our assumptions about light
are put to shame
humbled, an attempted alignment
we are amateur chiropractors for our souls
and we stretch further, deeper, with every crack
and discover muscles we never knew existed
bits of home, gentle nostalgia, new traditions, etc
I have become a professional at the flight from Seattle to Orange County. Ever since I moved to the Pacific Northwest four and a half years ago (that feels bizarre to type), I have probably made the journey 15-20 times, to the point where now, I am not even exhausted from the frantic ordeal of security and cramped legroom for two and a half hours. It is wonderfully normal to be picked up by my best friend and trot off to lunch or a tasty luxury treat and enjoy each other for a few hours before I head south to my silly beach hometown. It is a nostalgic thrill to sit in her small white car and blast mediocre pop songs and laugh, simply at each other's company. It is good to sit on the upstairs balcony of Pizza Port with my partner and drink good brews and watch the final remains of the warm Southern California sunset. It is good to drive to the top of the world, carelessly listening to a new album, and watch the flickering headlights of strangers careen down I-5, perhaps to San Diego, perhaps even to Seattle eventually. It is good to walk on the beach trail without shoes and sip a lavender caramel iced latte and pour water on my dog's head to keep her from overheating in her winter coat. Salt and sunscreen and seaweed and two day old bonfires are the smells of my adolescence. Cracked heels from hot pavement and light sunburns on my forearms are grounding, in a peculiar and comforting kind of way.
I will never return to this place, but it is good to return to this place.
tanisha, my friend - a first blog post
I don't know how to curate a blog. But I know what it's like to connect with another human and share stories and wine and walk on the beach with local cider in hand and watch the sunset, however dim it might be due to winter's residue. I don't know much about most things, but I know sunlight spilling onto the bodies of people I love, an illumination of gold, and glory. I know a fair amount about sending texts that say, "We don't have to have intentional one on one time, in fact, I have a lot to do, but I want to just be near you," and then lo and behold, having most of the time be spent in conversation without expectation. I now know about laughing as we plop blackberries onto our tongues and scoop goat cheese onto fig and olive crisps (praise the good Mother for Joe the Trader and all of his delicious snacks). I met Tanisha a week(?) or so ago and I photographed her for my Space series. And here we are! I am hopeful. Here's my first blog post. It's not much, but it's true.
