There is so much to say, so much I don't want to see in writing, so much I want to birth. I'm beginning with 30-min a day until this poetry books gets finished. I love breaking down big projects into tiny little chew-able pieces, but it's not the scheduling that's the difficult part.  It's all the questions I ask myself about the project that distract me from the purity of art I'm aiming for.  Why am I doing this?  Maybe it is as simple as needing an external deadline to truly push myself into the practice, which will push myself into the poet I know I am inside somewhere.  Maybe it's because I want to have a sense of accomplishment, maybe I want to self-destruct, maybe I want to live for your approval.  

It's true, I've found it hard to put pen to paper lately. Upon the opening of my journal today, Octavia immediately decided to welcome it back by gracing my lap with her presence.  She's missed me writing, too.  I am not sure what it is...something about that stark black line permanently defining that minute, solidifying feelings and people.  I hadn't put two and two together, my recent lack of writing and my recently undefined sense of self, but as is the result of my time with Jess, sipping wine in front of a fire at a historic hotel, I realized their correlation.

For those of you who cannot read my scribble, "Once the moment is gone, the inspiration fleeting, I find it hard to go back and edit my poems.  They are so momentary in nature, meant to store the tone of one particular feeling.  It's as if the muse blindfolds me, then uses my hands.  Later, when I'm more objective and the tone of the moment is no longer, I see that the writing simply isn't as good.  So now, I'm defining a process for myself.  It's time to do the work, remove the blindfold, and see what I'm actually made of."

Currently:

Fear = 72%

Bravado = 23%

Good Poetry =  5%

Goal:

Fear = 20%

Bravado = 20%

(damn) Good Poetry = 60%"

Here's to taking the next step with only the courage of NOW in my pocket, 

I have a lot on my mind of late. Joel and I are looking toward the future and trying to plan with wisdom and with soul.  I keep working on scenarios, financials, and timelines  that might afford us optimal happiness.  It's driving me a bit crazy.

The other night, I walked to my yoga class.  I left intentionally early.  I stopped to smell the darkest purple lilacs, a luxury in their differentiation from my lavender-colored bush at home.  I noticed the sounds of the neighborhood and stumbled upon a girl dressed in sparkly pink mary-janes, pushing a stroller and talking to her cargo playmate, a younger child also dressed up.  I giggled at her nonchalance.  It made me walk lighter.

I entered the glorious old building.  I smelled the age in its bones.  I caressed the thirsty wood on the staircase.  I was dwarfed in the enormity of the windows.

I arrived to class earlier than expected. I took my deliberate time setting up the mat, blocks, blanket.  I found the place I wanted to do my practice.  I tried really hard to meditate on the moment.  I kept getting distracted by the flashing leaves outside the window.  Mission accomplished.

I kept Thomas Moore's quote in my head.  

"The soul is nurtured by want as much as by plenty."
found in Care of The Soul
Chapter 9, "The Economics of Soul: Work, Money, Failure, and Creativity"

I realized how guilty I feel about how much I want from life.
Conversely, I realized how entitled I feel toward those goals.

I carried both in my paradox pouch and let myself feel the nurturing embrace of desire;
the sheer goodness of wanting.