Fieldnotes February 27, 2015


The snow just keeps falling, weighing down the pinons and the pines.

Lucy’s positioned herself; paws curled over the couch frame, head resting  on top.
She looks out the window, just looking. Just looking.
I’ve been thinking about lineages and writing and forms; of things.
And time.
I’ve been thinking about changing at the cellular level, the very changing of our DNA
And curious as to how this shows itself, on the outside and the physical body.
Fuzzy head, mind expansion/opening consciousness/ a larger experience of the moment.
Understanding of deeper awareness.

I’ve been working on editing the book I’ve written, The Entering. I thought I had it all neatly tucked into this software I’d bought; all tidy in 25 chapters. Fifty thousand words; ninety or one hundred pages. I tried to open up the software and… chapters….
I did finally find them. I realized, I’m still not completely clear on where things get saved in my new computer. I usually go into a frenzy; but I decided not to. I’d saved the project on my iPad in an app.
I though I’d share some of it over here.  It’s a story about time and bending time and leaning in to time. The story is based on a dream I had in 2006.It’s pretty stream of consciousness….I hope to make it into an e-book with images I’ve created.
We’ll see.
Here’s a small portion from the first chapter (out of sequence).


Tell me, who am I? Have I found you and lost you all in the same breath? My skin has the slightest scent of roses. Where are you when I call you? The clouds are my visions into the unknown future, or present or now. If there is only now, then does it matter whether I can or do I need to identify if I am in the present or the past or the future?
Isn’t it all now?
The shadows descend, a liquid sense of confusion. Calmness at the center. All is quiet.

There are a few lights out on the pier. The boats have all been put in storage for the winter. I make my garlic butter pasta. Bernie, my young pup, snores on the couch. He’s my unconditional source out of loneliness. I hope I am for him too. I am in search of finding out, not so much the “why” of how my life is but more and more I want to learn how to lean in to what I am. And what am I?

I take my plate of food, steaming, to the second hand couch I bought at the salvation army. It’s an old dark red velvet over stuffed piece of furniture with dark carved wood too big for the apartment but I don’t care. It holds me, no it enfolds me, when I meet its cushions.
I have it facing the window looking out over the lake.

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