Dear Diary

This morning after a blustery and perfectly pleasing walk in my neighborhood I returned home windswept in the here and now and drank an entire french press filled with organic mexican coffee. Which went brilliantly well with my homemade edamame hummus and feta on toast. I love my home so immensely. It seems to move through the rolling seawaves of the landscape rather than turning inward upon itself, which lends an exquisite feeling of danger to being here ~ almost as if the house might surrender one day to the sea and disappear with the tide. But it is the tone of the house I love the best. So strangely designed there is an acoustic wonderment to it ~ a surroundsound of wind and train whistles and speaking of tongues from the nearby abodes of worship, which swoop through the asymmetrical beamed ceilings like wild birds, searching and beautiful.

It’s not just me that feels this irreplaceable magic and grace to my home and neighborhood that has such scope for imagination. My friends feel it too, and keep coming up with excuses to drop by uninvited for coffee and wine (bearing gifts of dark chocolate and lemon tarts from Fieldstone bakery so I cannot complain) If my house has a smell, it is the scent of gold, tangerine and currants with a whisper of patchouli.

I am so content working on an article celebrating my obsession with hands which gives me an excuse to approach strangers for photo’s. As I work it occurs to me that my art and way of self expression is ultimately fueled by my intimate relationships and this makes me feel so happy. I am trading this sublime piece of art for some of my photo’s, loving these books …curious about this film ~ and still buzzing from my talk the other evening with my friend Darlene. ( Who is coming to stay in my home with her sweet husband in February ~ yay!)

The other day I was listening to music…a delicate composition by Satie whom I adore, when I was surprised to find burning tears rolling down my cheeks. The language of music is so mysterious, how it illuminates the congruences between our external lives and our emotional inner world. I have no idea why I cried which is the most surprising thing…perhaps that is the greatest beauty of art, music, dance…the true meaning often remains unknowable (perhaps even to the artist as well, sometimes)

Today I am exploring an insistent feeling of resistance so I am pondering these words from the Art of War…

“Resistance is experienced as fear; the degree of fear equates to the strength of resistance. Therefore the more fear we feel about a specific enterprise, the more certain we can be that that enterprise is important to us and to the growth of our soul. Resistance is directly proportional to love. If you’re feeling massive Resistance the good new is, it means there’s tremendous love there too. If you didn’t love the project that is terrifying you, you wouldn’t feel anything. The opposite of love isn’t hate: it’s indifference. The more resistance you experience the more important your unmanifested art/project/enterprise is to you ~ and the more gratification you will feel when you finally do it.

Well said, Steven. Now I know and can forge ahead with a sense of relief. And, oh! It is Sunday. A perfectly pleasing Sunday.

yours, lovingly,

Maddie