Monday, August 24, 2015

{ slap } - yogi. biker. writer. mama. austin, tx

It started with a rainy ride.
White shorts, chambray, and streaming tears.
It's easy to cry in public when it's raining.
Only I knew, because raindrops don't taste like salt dipped heartbreak.
Muddy splashes into my shoes and my ankles covered in dirt.
I'd have thrown myself into a ditch for full emersion if I were back home.
It was foggy and I dove into my penance.
Thank god for the slap.
Verdant leaves heavy with the rain whipped my right shoulder.
I sped up.
A spark of hope.
Light emerging in my darkness.
Old drops fell as leaves could retain no more and released them to cleanse me.
This was my life and the magic air I used to breathe.
Through tunnels and under trains, was I riding or flying?
Something carried me or I was floating.
What I'm sure of is that I let something go.
Something daunting and that did not belong to me.
That sludge was not mine.
I'd have to open up, say it.
The more I share the more I receive.
I don't want to go back to that cave.
I want the grass to brush my legs.
I want the wind to muss my hair.
I want to feel pockets of cool amid the steamy Texas air.
I want to stay awake for this life, no matter what.

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

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

Stop.
Simply quit this torturous routine.
Baby who knows what life will bring?
Knock off the abuse.
Cocoon yourself in lilac, be enfolded in petals of grace.
They touch your skin like liquid velvet.
You're going to be okay, say yes to soothing.
Let the water run through your hair, take in the scent of divinity.
Light is inside you like embers just beneath your skin.
Don't fear your fire, spark it and be warm again.
You can't continue to punish yourself for mistakes, you never deserved that.
Feathers brush against the back of your calves and soles of your feet.
Strength from the wings of curious angels.
Slow down and find your North.
You're not as alone as you feel and someone cares that you hurt.
It wasn't ever right for those things to happen.
Take a soapy rag and remove the barrier.
Toss the whole bloody bucket and rinse the sludge.
You're shiny now.
Don't run from the mirrors.

Monday, August 10, 2015

{ a time ahead } - mama. yogi. writer. austin, tx.

Someday you'll hold your own and know that the stars are in the sky for her.
You'll understand that the sun wakes up to kiss her cheeks and sparkle light upon her shiny hair.
In time you'll see her smile, hear her speak, watch her grow, and your heart will belong to her.
She may break it, bruise it, and test it, but without her it wouldn't work anyway.
Through the pain you'll learn her language and the tears will become elixir.
Tell her she's the reason you're alive and affirm her sweetness.
Never assume that she knows.
Generations have toiled at tearing her apart.
Wrap your arms around her and plant firm kisses on her head.
Look her in the eyes when you say that you love her.
Be her foundation, guide her to see her worth, and never forget how much she needs you.
It will take great strength my love, but there is nothing more valuable in this world or any other.
Her eyes close and night falls, the moon lifts to witness her slumber.
Breezes blow to feel the softness of her skin.
You'll know all of this and you'll still want to give her more.

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

{ not my fight } - yogi. writer. nostalgic soul. austin, tx

I can't remember her name anymore, but I recall her Dallas skyline t-shirt and slightly frizzy brown hair.
She had freckles and seemed like someone who would swear a lot, brave somehow.
My instant desire was to be her friend.
Ridicule came like a blow, like a heavy fist in my gut.
I choked on my tears and childhood heartbreak.
"Little girls are so mean."
Sound encouragement for life from my French teacher.
There were phone calls of harassment and threats.
She wasn't going to be my friend, she wanted to ruin my face, she sought some vile leadership of Monday Skate Night.
I never told my mom about the calls, never cried to my dad about the ugly words spoken against me.
I hid in my room.
I closed off the world.
I failed to understand that this wasn't my fight.
My self defense of kindness was like ammunition to her.
Little girls or grown men, some people will splash their pain on others without realizing.
Maybe there is a reason she always wore the Dallas shirt.
Perhaps those cruel words you only have courage to say to me, because you know I will never snap back.
It's possible suffering souls draw from a well because they feel empty.
You have my pity, you have my love, but to hell with you taking my light.

Thursday, July 30, 2015

{ fishbowls + portholes } - writer. observer. austin, tx

There is smoke rolling from an open window.
It's 4pm and the sheets are rumpled in a passionate way.
There is a porthole that exposes nothing but a reflection.
Cheers above a coffee table and they scatter to the noisy street.
So many stories, they go up and they fill my mind.
Lights turn on and others turn off.
Stairwells and picture frames trying to feel like home.
Broken promises and futures unknown float in the air like bad perfume.
It's 8pm and who knows what the truth is.
The later is gets the fewer there are to see but they are certainly more vivid.
If you have an imagination and empathy they may break your heart.
Who knows what the fish see when they look out.

Thursday, July 16, 2015

{ the great fire } - yogi. music lover. thinker. austin, tx

Sometimes I do this thing where I replay a song...continually for hours.
Same song, over and over.
A song will strike me, beg to be played again and then it deepens.
It digs into the fibers of my mind, I'm humming it on the trail, singing in the store, anxious to play it again.
I have to start turning it up really loud to feel the musical vibration and let the words permeate my bones.
I'm convinced there is a healing magic in music.
Perhaps it's the connection to someone who makes melody and shares words to match my emotion.
I get stuck in the loop and the beautiful tune pulls my heart through my eyes and down my cheeks.
I coast down hills and swirl around curves and the music pushes me on.
The door closes and the volume goes up.
Repeat.

Thursday, July 9, 2015

{ the smallest } - yogi. writer. lover. daughter. austin, tx

He looked up at her and his grin suggested he wanted to know all her secrets.
Weeks later she could see the threat that they imposed on his world.
She's the fragrance you lift your nose to catch in the breeze.
Her hair is what you crave to curl your fingers into as you pull her close.
You'd know her stride from more than a block away.
You blush at the sound of her voice through the phone.
But her heart can't be yours even if she's willing.
You'd dive head first into her bathwater to have her on your skin.
If she could be carried in your shirt pocket you'd tuck her away there.
Just to feel her snuggled next to your chest and humming her strange song.
She is no trinket, not a thing to be bought or held.
There is fire beneath her skin.
She warned him not to stoke it.
Now they'll both burn.

Wednesday, July 1, 2015

{ when i looked ahead } yogi. artist. lover. austin, tx

"What do you see when you close your eyes and think of the future?"

I answered exactly what I saw, I told her that I saw myself and my girls were there too. Then I said there was a dark haired baby. Oh god how hard this was.

"And are you happy?"

With apprehension I admitted that we all looked very happy. Why was it so hard to see myself full of joy?

"Tell me where you, the girls, and the baby with dark hair are and what you are doing."

I knew I had to keep being honest and open and saying what I saw. Well I said, we are outside someplace. It was the only answer I had because the location was so unfamiliar.
There were no stand out features, I just knew we were outdoors because I could feel the sun on my shoulders and a breeze against my neck.

"What are you doing?" She prodded once again.

A tear spilled from my eye and left a warm path down my cheek. I told her what I was doing in the future, I was painting.
I was outside, with my loves all around me and I was painting some silly picture and I was sublimely happy.

Monday, June 29, 2015

{ time travel } yogi. mama. writer. photographer. austin, tx

I woke up to harsh light and a tender touch.
It was so early and I didn't understand why I was being taken out of bed.
Everyone was in the living room, sitting on the blue sheet with white daisies.
There were finger foods spread out like a picnic.
What time was it?
I was so young I couldn't really conceive of time anyway.
The den was so dark and our tan bodies were making alien outlines against the light linens.
When I ate a grape it soured as it mingled with the toothpaste still fresh in my mouth.
Still blurry eyed and confused I spit it out.
They laughed and I didn't really know why, but I liked the attention.
Why was everyone else so alert?
What family was this, all together and in the semi-dark.
I liked them a lot, enough to bottle them like this in my mind forever.
Gangly and a little pushy, but close knit and smiling.
I wished that the food tasted better.
Eventually it started to be clear and still made no sense.
This middle-of-the-night feast was completely spontaneous, a wild hare my mom had.

It remains one of my favorite childhood memories of all time.

Sunday, June 28, 2015

{ a good man and a good woman } - yogi. child. writer. lover. austin, tx

She loved to sit in her chair and watch Jeopardy! with her feet up.
Her laugh was ridiculous and contagious.
I always had to look at her face when they argued, and her mischievous sparkling eyes gave her away.
They may have fought, but I never saw a real one.

He liked to grumble and murmur while he puttered around.
When he made his way to his chair near her it wasn't long before his head would drop and his snores began.

After he passed we were sitting there one afternoon and she looked around at their living room, took it in.
With a sigh she said to me "you know he used to come home every day and call out to me "Sally, I'm home!" just to let me know so I wouldn't be surprised. Now I'm never going to hear "Sally I'm home" again." With that the room fell silent. I don't really know if I was the only one there, but I remember it as just the two of us. I had no words to give her back, simply admiration and a heart full of hope that I'd one day know that great of a love.

Me-Maw, you made life more fun.
Thank you for giving me Twix and Hersey with almonds.
It's because of you that I have my name and my love of pineapple juice.
Your humor and strong nature inspire me.
Nothing compares to the way you loved your man and your boys.
Sometimes I secretly wished I had been a boy so I'd feel that special.
I felt spoiled when you took me shopping.
You made the best chicken spaghetti and chili with rice.
When you introduced me as "my namesake" I felt proud.
I know you're foggy now and it's hard to remember me.
I tell your stories to my girls and I try to do the special things just like you.
You gave me baby oil after a bath and Buttered Pecan ice cream.
I watched Winnie The Pooh and To Kill A Mockingbird with you.
If I had my way I would sit with you and ask you all my burning questions...

"Tell me how y'all met and all the good things that come from loving someone for a lifetime."

I remember the last thing you said to me about him, "he was a good, good man."

Me-Maw, you are one really good woman.