This newsletter was written from me to you at some time in the not-so-distant past from a hammock under a canopy of pines and aspens outside of Taos, New Mexico. Here at the 8,500 feet elevation in early July, the temperature is something like “long sleeve or short sleeve, either will do” and I’m coated with the thin layer of dirt that comes from two nights of sleeping in a tent. Despite my initial protests and half-hearted attempts at bargaining for elevated lodging offering four walls and running water, we are camping. And while I did not expect this, I am enjoying myself and quite glad I didn’t let my hesitation get the best of me.
A few weeks ago I started a course called Channel led by Jocelyn K Glei to help reconnect with my writing practice. The course isn’t specifically designed for writers; there are all kinds of artists and creators in the class. Instead, it’s focused on supporting an artist’s receptivity as part of their creative practice. I was drawn to the course because my creative practice has felt stifled in the last year in this respect. By that I mean that while the actual volume of words to paper is down versus years past, what is more troubling is that I’ve felt more disconnected from a sensation of being plugged into a creative charge, like a sort of wavelength where I’m writing purely for the sake of it. It’s a charge that my body knows, and so it feels its absence too. It’s my intention to tune the dial back to that wavelength, trusting that it’s out there and all around me.
In a recent prompt, Jocelyn invited us to ask ourselves: Why do you want to engage with your creative practice more deeply? What is the value in it for you? For me, the answer is that when I am creating — an essay, a watercolor painting, a movement sequence, a dance, a meditation recording — I’m connected to a wider web of nature. When I create for creation’s sake, I come to know myself more deeply and through that knowledge, I feel as though I understand the world around me more. When I write from this space where it is merely a practice, it seems quite clear that it’s the only way I am myself. Put simply, when I’m writing, I’m myself. All other moments are just preparation for that time.
I suppose that I am not a painter, but I was recently told that my painting would be featured at a studio/retreat center outside of Joshua Tree in Landers, California called Jackrabbit. It’s a simple watercolor painting of a desert scene: black construction paper saguaro, agave, coyote outline set against the sunset of watery oranges and yellows and blues. It’s not my job to make good paintings, but that is not important, because in fact I did make that painting and then I gave it away. Then years passed and I had long forgotten about this postcard-sized paper, until it was called “art” and I was asked to write the accompanying description. In that description, I share that watercolor is my chosen tool to overcome imposter syndrome. Now as I close my eyes, I can’t help but wonder if one day some retreating artist might read my words on a day that they feel barren or disconnected from their own charge, and feel so stirred to realize that they are not an imposter either, but are in fact exactly where they are supposed to be — creating exactly what they are supposed to be creating. Just like that, I am myself again, I feel the charge.
I’m not sure I’m here to be a world-renowned writer any more than the tree that holds this hammock is aiming to be a good tree. But I do know that when I am doing almost anything other than writing, the moment I pause to observe what I am doing, I am doing so because I know one day, I will return to it through through my writing practice. This should be enough to keep going on, right?
And often enough, it is.
On Friday evening, I attended a crystal sound healing and yoga nidra session in Tucson led by Robin Doxey and Reiki healer, Christina Bryan. You never quite know what will come of such an experience, mine has been a little different every time. This time around, near the start of the session we were asked to imagine a place that felt safe that we could return to if needed during the practice. I imagined a grove of trees in a forest, then shortly after I don’t recall a single cue and basically went to la-la land until the crystal bowls started. Anyhow, afterward Christina offered feedback to each participant, and shared that for me she sensed a huge tree with big branches reaching toward the sky and deep roots feeding into the earth. I had to smile since it was the only and last thing I had conjured in my mind’s eye during the session. So, who knows! It could be a coincidence! She could simply be a psychic or just really good at guessing! But the magic of it is too much to deny and life feels more fun when I can dance in the tension of the two: a large tree so sturdy and unconcerned while also bending to the unpredictable breeze.
Or said another way by Aisha Badru, whose lyrics I will leave you with today:
Send your roots down through the dirt
Anchoring you through the hurt
With every breath lengthen your spine
Reaching steady towards the lightFeel the sunshine on your skin
Turn up the wiser voice within
Your story is your offering
You are here for a reason
From Whom and What I’m Learning From (Aside from Trees)
Recently got my hands on Andrea Gibson’s You Better Be Lightning and spent the better part of a Sunday afternoon devouring most of it — a transcendent testament to the healing and connective power of poetry.
Finally getting around to reading No Bad Parts by Dr. Richard Schwartz, the founder of Internal Family Systems, an incredibly enlightening and practical piece of work.
Went on a bit of a binge of Jocelyn Glei’s podcast, Hurry Slowly recently. Something about how they were released 4-5 years ago and the evergreen nature of their topics has been a balm for my creative soul, like I don’t need to move at the speed of the world around me. Favorite episodes include: Small is Beautiful with Paul Jarvis, Asking Better Questions with Courtney E. Martin and Dawning Awareness.
A quote from Patricia Hasbach, a psychotherapist and ecopsychologist in Eugene, Oregon [Nature really is good medicine. Science can explain why, Stacey Colino]: “If you think about our relationship to nature, it reminds us that we are embedded in the natural world, as a species. We’re kind of returning home when we go into blue spaces or green spaces. It fosters a feeling of being part of something bigger than ourselves.”
Practice Not Perfect, Fall 2023
I am thrilled to share that I’m offering a fall session of Practice Not Perfect, a weekly practice with music, movement, meditation and guided journaling. We will begin in September, likely around the fall equinox, and I am thinking we will go for a little longer than past sessions this time, perhaps ~12 weeks. If you are looking to rekindle your movement or creative practice or just need some accountability to do more embodied work and find connection to yourself, please sign up on the wait list from which I’ll be offering a reduced pricing if you join later.
Lastly, I’ll be sharing more details soon about a new year’s 2024 retreat I will be hosting. More to come soon!
Exactly! Where we're supposed to be. <3