casting our nets~

awelltraveledwoman.tumblr.com

it is a lone fisherman who casts his net. 
flings it to the wind. 
trusts it to the universe or god or whomever is waiting there in the leap. 


it is the casting off, the tossing, that allows for a catch. 
that creates a possible connection.  
that invites a gathering where there would have remained


solitude. 

iloverainandcoffee.tumblr.com

 what is gathered in your net will always be a mystery of the deep.
what finds its way into the gossamer threads (that are meant to be hard to see. subtle.) cannot be predicted. but what is "caught" will be the treasure of all treasures... as long as you see it that way. 


perhaps you will stumble in a tangle of netting and land in a foggy spot, but find small flowers you'd have otherwise missed. 

goodmemory.tumblr.com

perhaps your net will serve as a ladder helping you to climb to heights previously imaginable. and from that height you'll find the soft first flowers of spring, or the softer nose of a new friend. 

crazymaybe.tumblr.com

perhaps you'll dangle from the threads of your net, and feel the pull (gravity or centrifugal), the tug at the heart, and you'll hold on for dear life. hold on for clear living. 

goodmemory.tumblr.com

or perhaps~

if you're lucky, you'll find the net wrapped around you. holding you up. holding you close. 

as close as the breath of your mother, whispering answers to you. 

as close as fog brushing the skin.

closer than a best friend. 

closer than a held hand. 

even closer. 

your very own net. 

from above...

Seashell by Hypoactivemedia

 on pine point beach, you'll find handfuls of these shells. 
shells that fit easily your hands.
shells that fit easily inside each other. 
that can't help but snuggle with each other. 


i filled my pockets there.
walking, scanning the beach. focused. full.
i towered over these shells digging deep into the sand. (i still have their sand in my pockets, and under my fingernails.) 

CREDIT: NASA/SDO 

this tornado is kicking it up on the sun. i don't know the science of this photo. i just know i feel smaller than those shells on the beach while looking at it. 
the distance of the sun. 
the dependence on the sun.
the pure heat and light of it all.

by Images Monsoon

   
today i stood, on a second floor, looking down on the rare phenomenon: 
a puddle, in maine, in february. 
and there was april-like rain falling. rain cold enough to cut into the earth, warm enough to thaw it at the same time. 
rain drops making circles in puddles that move with confidence, slam into one another, and then join or continue spreading. 

Submitted by Haggard & Halloo

i feel in between the above and the being above. 

i'm surrounded by swirls. 

i'm moving in confidence through heat and light. 

and happy for sand under my fingernails to remind me of that day. 

that walk on pine point beach. 

life. 

in sickness and in health~

Ekaterina Koroleva

i felt sickness coming on. the inside of my belly was cold. my nostrils felt icy air coming in, hot germs going out. couldn't get the germs out fast enough. i lay in bed thinking. 

thinking:

i'm an adult. 

i'm more than just a body. 

i can breathe this away and out of me. 

just don't don't don't move. 

chills came to shiver me. 

the sickness was so strong. stronger than even my will. 

which, believe me, is strong. 



and then, tears. as i couldn't hold it in any longer. i had this image from the novel extremely loud and incredibly close of the sign language made up between two without words: 

mollyruns.tumblr.com

"Don't cry," I told her, by putting her fingers on my face and pushing imaginary tears up my cheeks and back into my eyes."

and i couldn't hold it in any longer. tears.

and he was beside me. he wasn't telling me, "don't cry". just there, with a hand on my back. jumping out of bed as fast i've ever seen. just there.

with me.  

By jamie heiden

but sickness. i feel alone in sickness. it's not my way of being. it's not flying and soaring and light. 
not graceful. 
it's brittle and harsh and sweaty and 


sick. 


alone in a field of images swirling behind my eyes:
a rock being hefted across a busy street. the rock being the back of the soul. my soul. turning the rock in my hands, my gnarled old woman hands, like turning the underside of my soul up to the sun to be shown to all. not really wanting to show it, at first, but then feeling the relief of warmth on that dark protected place... 

Lucio López Cansuet

like a hot shower. the shower eroding off the sickness. holding it off for the time being. so many showers~ hot hot water pelting my back, strength in my weakness. feeling my joints loosen, but bracing for goosebumps. knowing they're waiting for me on the other side of this warmth. but he's there too, after goosebumps. waiting. watching. there. 

Kathy Hare

and the kids. the kids swooping and sailing around me. the way i ought to be, i think. but you know... 
my wings are still there. firmly fastened to my back. and i can do it. even if "doing it" means 
being sick and needy. 
means being sweaty and weak.
means being less than i think i am. 
because of course, it's all a part of who i am.  

by Yoskay Yamamoto

i'm a mother who has children who teach me because although right now i might have more knowledge, they'll always be smarter. i'm a wife who has a husband to stand beside me, with his hand on my back, reminding me he's there, always.  i'm a woman who has this underside of a soul that needs to rest as much as it needs to soar. in sickness and in health are gifts to be given, and to be received. 
gratitude for them all. 

on tiptoe...

littleg.tumblr.com

a young thing finds a puddle... 

finds a magnetic pull to dip in a toe. 

the water wraps itself around the toe, and takes in the heel, the ankle. 

the tickle, the tingle, the taste of fresh clarity.

below toes, swimming deep are strong colorful bodies of strength. swimmers of confidence. searchers for truth. sleek. swarming unseen.

kelley123.tumblr.com

feel the flutter of birds dangling around your neck, landing on your fingertip? a new fact of life nests on the top of your heart~ feathers falling slowly in your hair, a chirping you cannot ignore. do not ignore. 

sativa

 a burning firebird has stolen the blindfold, has found a deeper room, has darted here and there, leaving ash and rebirth in its wake. it flies. it floats. it soars. it sears. it beats at its cage (the soul!!) to "let me outta here!!" the day comes when it will not be caged for a moment longer. falling is flight. flight is strength. strength, weakness. weakness, the willingness to fall again. 

"My Etherial Dancers" - The Art of Didi Foronda 

and when the time is right. 

and when the light creates clarity.

and when eyes open.

and when day dawns.

and when life fits. 

and when love comes to stay...

                                                                               tumble down. get up on tip toes. and

 sodahead.com  

  

kiss.

full (egg) moon

http://marieelisabethsrum.blogspot.com/

i began my day with my usual, eggs. 
filling up with protein, beginning with the beginning of life. 


eggs: the balance. 
          a hard shell, so easily broken... 
          appearing clear, until cooked...
          the symbol of spring. 


what came first, the chicken or the egg? 

margaret macdonald

there's a centering when eating eggs. an awareness of taking in the possibility of birth... birth that feeds your morning, that breaks your fast. 

i crack the eggs. 

the children come running:

 "what are you doing?" "what are you making?"  

breakfast, of course. 

unknown source

i finished my day with another orb, brilliant and balanced. full and rising. tangled in trees, swirled with clouds... the sky stained with just enough color to indicate days getting longer, sap stirring. 

a moon that waxes and wanes~ that remembers cycles, that renews itself each mo(o)nth, that pulls at the ocean, that creates tides. a moon that never rushes. a moon that sees us through our most romantic evenings and through our darkest nights. 

this moon stains the snow with shadows, and lights the sea with direction and hope.  

this full moon finds me on a balancing point. full of light. full of love.

full of eggs and the moon.  

open to everything~

 kay nielson

"all the seeds beneath the snow start to grow, all the seeds that lie below are the ones we sowed...."

                              ~the wailin' jennys

i've been wishing for snow this winter in a way i haven't since days of dreaming of snow days and the thrill of snow forts and wet snowsuits hanging in the tub to dry. this has not been a winter (so far...) of snowstorm after snowstorm dumping inches and feet of the glittering white, not the winter of shoveling callouses. there have been days when i couldn't see the earth hiding under snow and ice, but not weeks. in fact, when i got home from the grocery store yesterday, my feet sunk into the mud of our driveway, and i felt that slurpy suck, and, yes! smelled the earth. my wishes for snow this year are for different reasons than my wishes as a child. this year i've been wishing for deep snow for protection for the precious seeds i planted in the fall, for the seeds buried deep in my spirit and my soul.

i've been a little worried~ worried that the spring is coming before the winter does its work, that the leaves haven't had time to blend into earth, that the ground hasn't had enough time to rest and restore. sometimes i worry that way. 

From piccsy.com

"i hear a bird chirping up in the sky. 
i'd like to be free like that, spread my wings so high.
i see the river flowing, water running by. i'd like to be that river, see what i might find. 
i feel that wind that blowing slowly changing time. i'd like to be that wind i'd swirl and shape the sky.
i smell the flowers blooming, opening for spring.  i'd like to be those flowers, open to everything. "
              ~the wailin' jennys

and then i remember about being like those flowers, "open to everything". after all, those seeds that we planted deep in the soil in the fall have been resting in the dark. and those seeds that are meant to sprout in strength will. and those that need a hard winter to usher them into spring will wait until the next one of those winters happens. 

Photo by FlynetPictures.com

i saw the movie 'extremely loud and incredibly close" this weekend, and loved the "lesson of the swing". the young boy in the film is scared of going on swings because they "aren't safe." his father (tom hanks) urges him to just try it. here's another one of those images that reassures me when i start to worry if things are going "as they should". sure, it's safe to stand on the ground, and wait for the time to be "just right", but then what about the thrill and TRUST of simply sitting down on the swing, and beginning to feel the swing, the pull, the lift. the flight. the courage to get on and swing in the movie came after a "harsh winter".... perhaps the seeds i planted in the fall won't need that. perhaps they're already stirring, and feeling the impatience of 'when will spring arrive?' perhaps they're ready to feel the warmth and wonder of spring, and light, and new life. 

From ucmoons.tumblr.com

From cargocollective.com

so, i'm climbing on this swing, and i'm feeling the pull of spring coming... even if it is early, even if the winter hasn't been what i thought it might. because i don't need to decide how it should be. i need to decide how i will be. and my seeds? i believe in them and all that is within them. i can't wait to see them peak their heads above the earth and see what an amazing place it is. 

"swing low. sail high!"

        ~the wailin' jennys