Monday, September 30, 2013

{ easy } - yogi. photographer. industrious. austin, tx

Today has been phenomenal. I have worked hard and continue to do so, because days like this make the hard work feel easy. Thank God for retrospect, a strong-will, yoga, and sunshine (baby-wipe-showers also deserve honorable mention).

I believe we are all co-creators of our lives. We find the work we are passionate about and then we must do it. Easy, no, not always. Scary, yes, there will be fear at some point. It's in following our heart and bringing our best into the world that we inspire ourselves and others to go a little further, try one new thing, and perhaps dream of life beyond default.

Today I proved this to myself. Life is wonderful! I am inspired by the dreamers, the doers, the determined.

vasisthasana - side plank variation


Sunday, September 29, 2013

{ porch song inspired } - yogi. photographer. more. austin, tx

Friday I was told a story about this song called "The Porch Song." When I heard the song everything made sense, oh how I relate.

bakasana - crow pose

Lover, I take me back.
There are no pieces that you may have.
All of me belongs to me.
I warned you of my selfish nature.
Don't try to hold a gypsy.
We run.
We pack everything and move.
I have nothing to send you, I need this to survive.

One day we should celebrate.
You will forgive me in the future.
When you find the golden light of your own that I left with you.
I told you, I don't lie, I am not a thief.
Your treasure.
Look for it.
You're so close.
Put down your anger, drop all the weight.

Oil, amber, earth.
Energy, music, dreams.
I told you I wanted more.
From childhood I have been a seeker.
We chase.
We run to the edge of reason and jump off.
You knew when you met me, my dirty feet gave me away.

Search for your Divinity.
Saturate yourself in bliss.
Babe, you are wonderful.

uttanasana variation - forward fold


Wednesday, September 25, 2013

{ sadness in try } - yogi. photographer. self critic. austin, tx

Do I love my own photos? I guess you could say that it's a "love/hate relationship."

Why am I challenging myself to this project of photographing myself practicing yoga with so many exposed flaws? Because I want to love it all.

visvamitrasana - working towards

Each of us enters our own battle of self image. Mine began very early in life when my older sister used to call me "potbelly." Over the years I have done many harmful things to my body to lose weight, maintain weight, or just because I was caught in a habit. This skin, these bones, all of my muscles have been abused at some point.

When I look at my pictures, I scrutinize. Mercilessly I judge down to the tiniest (but huge in my mind) detail, things I would see as gorgeous on someone else, I furrow my brow and self deprecate in my head. There is an ever growing list of things that I want to "correct" about my body. I want this to end.

Today I'm struggling in my long fight against self criticism, it's a low day for my body-image. While it's very kind to hear praise for my strength, my ability to overcome, I find myself thinking "I wish I saw that" or "well they can't see...."

My photos and self expression are aiding me in a journey toward loving the entirety of my being. Like forcing a narcissist to live without mirrors, I am pushing myself in front of the lens and my words into the open. In waves I experience this awe of my own body, followed by doubt or disappointment. Onward I plow, to the place where the beauty I see in others I can also witness in my own flesh. One frame at a time I am unveiling, I am desperate to accept fully, to revel in a love for my skin, blood, bones, muscle, hair, even my softer, more full (because I'm not going to use the "f-word" on myself anymore) parts.


Sunday, September 22, 2013

{ surrender cool } - yogi. photographer. austin, tx.

I don't want to be the cool girl.
I tried, but I'm not her. I am passionate and jealous, I love headstrong just like I do everything.


Once I was afraid of crazy.
I tried to be chill, mellow, the cool girl.
That's not me.
Warm blood, short temper, strong touch, me.
My attempt to go with the flow, disaster.
I have desires, opinions, and giant dreams.
Mediocre, less than extravagant, never.
Years lost to hiding, a love lost as well.
Lessons learned, confidence gained.
I'll hold you tight, kiss you hard, and pout when I'm sad.
You will hear loads of "I adore you" and a few four-letter words.
Halfway is hardly.
I let you see and then I ran.
I accept, admit, ridiculous me.
Wild, full of mischief, green-eyed monsters, and smiles.
Teasing, crying, caressing.
I witness my emotions, no movie can compare.
I feel deeply and give decadently.
A lifetime of play, passion, unabashed desire.
Too late, and never too late.
I'm okay to be crazy.


Tuesday, September 17, 2013

{ purely physical } - yogi. photographer. austin, tx.

The mind body connection never ceases to amaze me. I will notice my mind, a busy pot of boiling thought, emotion, plan making, goal setting, questioning, ect. This state of mental frenzy can make me feel utterly crazed. Sometimes it takes me a minute (like a Lil Wayne "minute"...more than 60 seconds) before I realize that my body is the key to release. My solitude is found on my mat or on a trail run. Movement.


During practice (yoga) or a run, I do not mentally check-out, my mind still whirls. Somehow as I sweat it begins to soften and untangle, I become a moving witness. A body in motion allowing my energy to expand and even shed layers which I no longer need to hold tight to, open to see and sense the clarity of my soul. Even my legs and arms begin to feel lightweight. I imagine myself gliding through the air, lost in an enchanted memory or dream of the future. Happiness.


When I have tangible experiences such as this, I'm bewildered how it takes me so long to remember/decide to get up and move. Perhaps I subconsciously resist the healing. It is when I push the threshold and elevate my activity level the energetic shift occurs and I feel saturated in love. I physically run (vinyasa) into the arms of God. Prayer.


Wednesday, September 11, 2013

{ meagre + imprints } yogi. photographer. memoir. austin, tx

A text conversation today went like this...

"When I was about 8 I saw a girl walking down the street with a long thick ponytail and it was swinging side to side as she strode.
I remember trying to make my hair swoosh side to side so many times following that scene.
Today I am running and my hair is grazing my shoulders from one to the other in time with my steps."

"From the book?"

"This is just a text message to you."


It's quite fascinating the things that return to me at the most unexpected times. I thought today after this exchange, "I have a lot of memories." Of course I began to analyze this. Do I have so many little captured moments in time because I was very present as a child, perhaps I am just old enough to finally have accumulated many pictures from my past, or am I such an impressionable being that I just recall details that might be forgotten by others. Continuing to document my abstract memories is proving to be a challenge (as there are many) that I adore or feel are significant to who I am.


There were plays on the back porch, cats were my children.
I was a mermaid under the steps in the pool.
I wore pink shells and had long blonde hair.
The pigeons in the barn were terrifying, but nothing compared to the skin of the snake.
Barefoot, tangled hair, tan skin, wild.
Playing house in a horse trailer.
Poohbear, Gray Kitty, Rascal, and Dexter.
Barbies consumed the third story.
Desks like a real school, I could pretend.
Always an outsider, without having read the book or seen the movie.
Skating rink on Mondays, the park on Thursdays.
The days blend, experiences stand out.
Feeling strange and not understanding normal.
My sister's dirty books, party line phone calls, Seventeen Magazine.
French lessons, Tom Petty, sleeping on trampolines.
How many lives have I pressed into these thirty-one years?
I challenged it from the very start.
Out of bed at nap, in the bathroom, pink pills, fear, a hospital room with a mobile.
My first detailed memory.
Why didn't you hold me? Were you as afraid as I was?
Worms from the gutter, he deserved them smashed onto his head.
Punched in the face, I should not have hit her.
I was not soft.
Everything was impulsive, by nature.
Not much has changed.
Soda with a city skyline, He-Man and She-Ra, Sega, Aerosmith.
Easter or Mother's Day, sometime in the Spring.
I craved these times.
Chili and rice, who weighed the most?
Spit down the fireplace, a ladder taken away.
I always had a hug for Paw-Paw.
The pictures don't end.
I remember it all.

tripod progression

Last weekend I was struck by something. I was blessed to have a sleepover with just my Evelyn. She is just like me, impressionable, she's culminating her own memoir. Each moment is an opportunity to offer her what I was given, experiences that shape her. My quirks, opinions, delights, compassion, fears, ect. all come from this wild ride of life (or lives) which I have been fortunate to be a passenger on.


Saturday, September 7, 2013

{ grace bath } - yogi. photographer. austin, tx.

I wasn't born graceful and sometimes I feel that it is unattainable for me. Today however, I recognize grace in my life. Where there is immense pain I have invited love, when I feel stiff I have moved toward fluidity, and as fear has escalated I have planted my feet in faith and friendship. This is grace, offered toward myself and others. It is a worthy quest I commit to. This is my work.


In a body that refuses to bend, I flourish through moveable joints.
I dance to my breath.
Sun touches my skin, it has not killed me.
Washed in light, it lands on me and flows like honey down my arms.
Dreams are nourished by this nectar.
Toes pointed, heart lifted, head thrown back in abandon.
The kind of passion that makes my unyielding back arch.
I feel the anchor inside me lift, I am weightless for this moment.
Sweep through me, swirl around me, carry me away.
Music, forgiveness, the salt of sweat and tears.
Graceful at last.


Tuesday, September 3, 2013

{ face to floor } - yogi. photographer. austin, tx.

A series in prostration.

surrender - firelog

a series in prostration.

Head down.
Vision, come inside.
It's splendid my love, settle here.
Can you stay and hold me when I cry?
I only cry for a moment each time.
My eyes lift, clear, passionate, forgiving all I have seen.
Each bow renews innocence.
This wave I need.
I rise, I fold, my gaze paints my body.
Strong, so strong I tire.
Can I rest against you once? Twice?
Days away from you are the hardest.
I'm sorry I run away when I get scared, you wait for me patiently.
Head down, on your shoulder.
All day with you.
These tears are gratitude. This sweat is anointed oil.
My heart leaks through my body.
Deep inside, you touch skeleton, muscle, dreams.
Beloved, get closer.
I prostrate myself, take this honor.
Teacher, friend, lover, religion, balance, livelihood.
Head down, at your feet.

upavista konasana


Sunday, September 1, 2013

{ unspoken pride } - yogi. photographer. mama. austin, tx.

I'm reading a memoir now, I'm fairly certain that memoirs are my favorite books. I talk all the time about writing my own. Because there is something so lovely about knowing the history of my own family, I want my girls to have the chance to read about me when they are grown. The reason I mention the book I am currently reading is that it has been evoking all of these tiny seedling memories inside me. As I let them sit and visit me, even as I journal about them, it is clear they have had some deep impact that has been part of the molding of my worldview.

{ peace in her speech }

If you said it, I didn't hear.
If I didn't hear, I'm sorry.
He said it once. In the tractor while I helped drive.
For a moment I was brilliant.
Smart became important, smart became salvation.
Without smart I was condemned.
I let you down even in the day I chose to come to the earth.
You remind me.
Wrong in my gender, my manners, my volume, my touch.
Even smart could not impress you.
I could not achieve, so I decided to no longer need.
There were times it felt close.
Those were followed by "but."
It might not have hurt so much if I had not admired you more than any other.
You felt it somewhere inside.
I tell myself you feel it now.

Today I said it three times.
Tomorrow I will say it six.
I will draw those words out of hiding and splay them in light.
I will make them heard. Felt.
They will know.

{ sealed }

I have the most beautiful girls, the sweetest, sometimes smelliest, but without a doubt the most extraordinary, wonderful, young women. I adore them so much, I am so proud of them.