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.