Sunday, September 21, 2014

{ sky burn } - yogi. photographer. mama. austin, tx

The hills burned a special shade of pink alight by the fire of a setting Texas sun.
Warm pockets of air juxtaposed by strange coolness like the breath of angels saying to keep moving.

When moving from the place where light is clear, life becomes rich.
Windows of the soul thrown open to let the fresh breeze enter and the warmth touch the world outside.

There are smiles in this life that etch deeply and firmly reside as memories.
One look laced with encouragement can blaze brilliantly through sadness and lift a spirit.

Gratitude is ripe on the branch and I will stand underneath and cherish nectar spilling onto my whole body.

sirsasana intro

yogablogsign1

Thursday, September 11, 2014

{ satya } - yogi. mama. writer. austin, tx

In the cold there was a hike to a glacier in the mountains. Lives converge in wild places where you cross marsh bridges and step-to-stones, following chipmunks and gaining wisdom from crooked trees. Magic happens everywhere, but the forrest holds special enchantment.

My feet tell the story of my day.
Tired, but not weary. Dirty, but not soiled.
These are the feet of my work.
Strong and able to recover, to press on, to run, and to ground.
They carry the weight of my body and they anchor the lightness of my mind.
These feet will strike the earth, float and dance across my mat, and follow my heels over my head in love.
I bare my feet, my father's daughter.

satya - truth

yogablogsign1

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

{ farrago } - yogi. mama. writer. austin, tx.

Words swim around, looping with the rhythm of breath and footfall.
It's a sky saturated in periwinkle that begs description.
It's fingertips enjoying the texture of a lover's back as they curl in.
Sensation, viral through the webbing of the mind, clattering a beautiful, chaotic melody.


tulum, mexico

The colors are always these exaggerated hues, haze has cleared and unveiled rainbows pour into my eyes.
Lowering my eyelids only serves to expand the boundary of my imagination.
Life so grand, so real, so simple, so glorious.
To rest suspended in air, the rock-a-bye-baby as majestic as the illustrations of my childhood books.
Dear soul believe, do not let slip these sentences that scroll, etch them in your heart, carve them into memories, put them down on paper.


yogablogsign1

Sunday, June 22, 2014

{ fall of spring } - yogi. dreamer. photographer. traveler. austin, tx

There was smoke, lights, cold, rain, and confusion.
Smiling did not cease and desire was not shallow.
Small beginnings and somehow all at once.
Head first with a heart surrounded by full guard.
"Impossible" she said.
"Never" she proclaimed.
Until maybe became a thought and sincerity poured on her shoulders and trickled down her spine.

tulum, mexico

There has been the gentle crunch of gravel under foot while hearts and minds raced.
Breath and movement together.
Reality lost to the welcome embrace of dreams and fantasy.
Angels held close to her chest, memories of the sweetest gift.
Tangles of limbs and jungles of fears conquered by two spirits open.
Long moments of silence are filled with burgeoning trust and adoration.
A canopy of trees, the swish of water, the goosebumps brought on by a breeze.
Life more awake or deeper into this dream.
All she had to do was be honest, be seen, and patiently wait.


yogablogsign1

Sunday, May 11, 2014

{ extend a memory } - mama. photographer. stylist. yogi. austin, tx

To prolong a memory you must recreate it again and again in your mind. A photo is the easiest and most effective way to deepen and savor a passing moment. I hope these are never lost. The loves of my life, the greatest gifts of all, the reason I try.






It can't always be serious...not in our world anyway.






go. play. love. live. hug. kiss. take a lot of photos. xo y'all.

Saturday, May 10, 2014

{ lovers and such } - yogi. mama. daughter. austin, tx

to whom it may concern,



I watched her drop her chin,
shrug her shoulders to protect her cheek from his lips.
Shudder at the touch of his hand to her back.
What joy you missed.
Self prescribed punishment.

I saw his heart fall to his belly,
rejection leaked like tears at the corner of his eyes.
So much tenderness to give and no alter to receive.
Love turned to fear.
Lessons learned only very late.

I've seen the boys strategically half naked,
the girls in their well planned garments for attention.
A precious dance they step and sway as children on the brink.
Endearment grows as lust.
They know not a difference.

I have felt a hand at my face,
pressed my skin into the pressure of a tender touch.
Fallen heart first for kindness and the lack of.
Given my all to nothing.
Lingered in sweetness of exchange.







Saturday, April 5, 2014

{ tastes like living } - yogi. photographer. austin, tx

Dive in, taste it all, fill yourself on experience.



Glass to her mouth,
her lips curl at the corners in just the right amount of wonderment.
The flavor on her tongue adds a sparkle to her eyes.
Being alive is so rich, so satisfying.

Lace across her skin,
smitten by the texture and femininity of lingerie.
Lather of shampoo and the suds running down.
Warm and freshly oiled, ready to sleep.

Music over a crowd,
her body moves to a felt beat and her heart expands beyond her physical self.
Joined to a collective energy with each note played.
Dancing into a new realm, sweet freedom.

Ink on a page,
written word or sketched artwork she pours herself out on blank canvas.
Her wounds heal and her creativity thrives.
Giving time to her gifts, purpose fulfilled.












Sunday, March 16, 2014

{ showers + revelations } - yogi, witness, austin, tx.

Dancing on the intersection of arrogance and wisdom.
Strong, both in will and body.
Bruises only serve as fuel to do more.
Skin so tender, heart so fragile, hardly real.
What anomaly is this?

Open the door, shower under the bamboo faucet.
The words and music wash over this stone exterior.
So many miles away and always so close.
No reason, no understanding, only passion.
Why such an enigma?

Some worthy opponent in this trial of life.
Bring to the surface the potency.
Fighting only as a facade for the deepest love.
Pushed to a wall, pinned down, unable to restrain.
A mysterious bird will fly.


Sunday, February 23, 2014

{ silly in ernest } - yogi. photographer. swooner. austin, tx

I can be a heavy writer, a strong romantic, and completely stubborn. I reflect on the wise words of Ernest Hemingway (which I could linger on forever...and might)

“Write hard and clear about what hurts. ”


Dark writing y'all, I do this a lot. Maybe that's why I love Ernest Hemingway so passionately. There is an abundance of beauty to write about from the bright places and the absolutely ridiculous nature that lives in me. I'm going to work to express those things which make me laugh until I shake, smile until my cheeks hurt, and shudder in embarrassment (yeah that last one doesn't really happen anymore...). To write in celebration of not taking myself so seriously anymore. Life is too short you guys. So much to feel and I want to go to the deep dark waters of pain and heartache, and I want to splash in the shallow bubbly tides of humor and sublime pleasure as well.

"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."

Mr. Hemingway, brilliant man. Bleed out entirely from the most terrifying to the most imaginative and delightful, that's my desire.



“In order to write about life first you must live it.”

“My aim is to put down on paper what I see and what I feel in the best and simplest way.”

“The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places.”


*All above quotations - Ernest Hemingway. I'd marry him.

Thursday, February 20, 2014

{ smelling memories } - yogi. photographer. mama. dreamer. austin, tx

It started last week with the scent of a soy candle...




Nose to the wax, my face in your neck.
Your stubble on my skin, another night we sleep.
Lost so quickly, naive, and it's gone.
A candle to the right, standing by a La-Z-Boy.
Always his partner, always his fan.
Hugs, tobacco, and giant cowboy boots.

Face against my mat, 17 summers long ago.
Inner tube over my shoulder, trek down to the river.
From birth, to experiment, and to motherhood.
Wind with green, leaves so bright and fragrant.
We walked by day, haunted cabins and cemeteries.
Water to anoint, snakes and all.



What a miracle is this mind, that I can take in a scent and be transported to the cinema hosting my memories. The feelings and nuances so real, so tangible. Life in full force, abundant with experiences. I revel in how fortunate I have been to wake up to sensation, to know what the texture of my own skin can excite within me, to find the drip of sweat splashing to my yoga mat a reason to push forward, to look to the sky as I run and realize the earth holds me and propels me to move and love.

Moments in life where everything is alive and I am slow and conscious to see, taste, feel, breathe, smell, and completely fall intoxicated by the potion of pure experience. Lavender bath salt trickling from my hand into a warm bath, smearing a soothing balm across my lips, sunshine warming me and tinting my olive skin brown, this is living. Sidewalk shopping with good friends, the breeze on a bench while we talk and lift each other to higher spirits, lingerie of softest lace, lotion that smells of spice and cologne, sunglasses of golden age glamour, juice with ginger and pineapple, days filled with smiles.

As it turns out, one of my mom's favorite things to say to me (and what I hated hearing) is becoming entirely true for me... "it takes a boring person to be bored." - CTR
Mom, you're kind of right, I only feel bored when I am in a boring state in my own headspace, when I open my eyes and find my positive highest self, I find pleasure in the most unexpected places.