“She drank alone…” Journal entry

She walks– arms crossed, cold hands tucked into armpits, chin tucked into chest. The familiar dark ink pool spreads around her feet. She bends down this time. Curious? Her reflection- just fragmented spirals. She slips! lurching upward and backward, around. The black ink fills her mouth. Hog-tied, she lets out a fluid-filled silent scream. A…

Dear Camille, I regret…

Dear Camille, Today is your birthday. I open my journal to share something with you. We met in dance class at university in 1983. We found our way to each through dance, through arts and crafts, through books, through pie.  And through letters. We intertwined our bodies in the studio and on stage. I regret…

Admit it- you crave simplicity.

September 30, 2018 Dear Me, I am writing you this as I sense you need a reminder. I am writing to remind you that it is OK embrace what you are realizing right now: that the older you get, the more you will recoil from complexity. It appears that when you face complex chaos,  the…

I can feel the planet churning…

And into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul. – John Muir When I am in the forest in Stanley Park, and sit down on the forest floor, I am acutely aware that I am on a sphere.  In fact, I swear that I can feel the planet churning.  I place…

Guilty of intent.

One word… come on, Thorsen— just one word… If I am to continue to commit to this artist life, answer to my gift, I must at least scratch out one word a day… just one word. Maybe it is this long winter, or old age, or plain old fatigue from getting up at 5 every…

You are motherhood. You are the greatest mystery.

Only do not forget, if I wake up crying it’s only because in my dream I’m a lost child hunting through the leaves of the night for your hands… – Pablo Neruda Journal entry November 8, 2016: 8 years ago today, my little brother held my mother’s face and spoke sweetly, guiding my mother.  I laid my…

Of being age 21 at age 54. Being a menopausal millennial. Journal musings.

Have you ever sat so fully in the moment, teetering on a sharp blade, fully aware of being so profoundly present- wondering if you are living a parallel storyline or path not predicted, not destined, but accidentally claimed? The world is chaotic and painful, glorious and terrifying, and large- yet each of us spin around…

Write for 10 minutes without stopping. #journalexercise

I feel tired, excited, more peaceful- but tired and worn.  I am indeed— worn out.  Maybe it’s muscle memory.  Anniversary grief catching up.  This time last year- JEEEEZUS. Accepting, surrendering, packing, moving, bankruptcy, no money.  That week with no home.  The incredible support from family and friends. “You need  to finish your book here,” the…

I am a tired worn cardigan.

I am a tired worn cardigan. Old. Tired. Ugly. Comfortable. I think I’ll play with this metaphor and fix up my fave cardigan. Perhaps, as I fix it with fancy string and buttons, I’ll feel like I’m fixing myself.

As I walked the labyrinth, I repeated the mantra: the question is…

Journal entry- at Xenia Retreat Centre inside the Sanctuary after walking the labyrinth on December 29, 2014 [unedited] @ Xenia with Laura.  What a treat!  Thank you! She picked me up at 7:10 –> Ferry –> breakfast at Snug Cafe. My hands now cold, limbs frozen, toes frozen, numb and painful.  Reminds of being on the…

I thought I was holding on to this ONE life I knew. #journal

I thought I was holding on to this ONE life I knew. My heart feeling the weight of  having died a thousand deaths. I thought I was the tree, whose roots dug so deep, So deep that it was surely invincible. I thought I was the tree that houses the egg, the chick. Providing a…