Winter Light & Root Vegetables

Hello Everyone,

First the news:

For all of you who have asked where you can read some of my current work here you go: My personal essay, “On Reading Anne Carson’s, Nox,”  will be published in this month’s (December, 2011) issue of “Poetry Flash,” which will be available on-line and in print soon. And my performance story, “Way Out West,” was published in “Generations: a journal of images and ideas,” Vol 2, Spring, 2011. Also a reminder that a version of my performance story, “Dinosaurs & Haircuts,” appears in the excellent on-line journal,  “TRIVIA: Voices of Feminism,” Issue 11, October, 2010.

Now the meanderings:

Ah, the light, the light. Love the winter light. Get out the cameras and take portraits. It is the best light for portraits. Long and low and soft. Shadows short and sharp. Time to go deep inside and find out what’s wanting and needing your attention. Maybe more sleep, or perhaps just more “noodling” time. Chop wood and carry water time. Time for that pensive music: perhaps some Bach solo cello concertos, Russian choral music, or a quiet piece by Anoushka Shankar or . . . well, we all have our favorites.

Rest and quiet and dark nourish our creativity as much as sun and fire and rock n roll. Consider two kinds of creativity: active and receptive. In one, we go out seeking. We write our thirty drafts, work hard, do our research, make those phone calls, feel our energy directed outward –– active creativity. In another, we kick back, take a long hot bath, stare into space, “do nothing” –– receptive creativity. In one we work hard. In the other, we don’t work at all. When we are receptive we listen, we receive. It is in this doing nothing that our right brains can show up with their gifts. The poet, Jane Hirshfield once talked about intentionally going for long walks without pen and paper when she was stuck on a poem. One has to be committed to receptivity.

And the shorter days, longer nights, the darkening cave time is an invitation to receptivity. This does not mean you can’t be producing, (I am busy getting my new solo monologues ready to put up on stage which is a lot of work), but it does mean there is a turn of intention. Inward. I am sleeping more, lighting more candles, making all those wonderful cold weather foods, the soups, the stews, the root vegetables. I warm to the dark and the cold. It is a good time to listen: to your dreams, to stories. A good time to be close. Happy solstice to you all.

Events in our life happen in a sequence of time, but in their significance to                             ourselves, they find their own order…the continuous thread of revelation.
–– Eudora Welty