Under the mango trees.

IMG_5433.JPG
IMG_5432.JPG
IMG_5434.JPG
IMG_5431.JPG
IMG_5426.JPG
IMG_5427.JPG
IMG_5429.JPG
IMG_5428.JPG
IMG_5430.JPG
IMG_5417.JPG
IMG_5414.JPG
IMG_5416.JPG

It’s been a while. A few days ago I came out of the wild. Well, not exactly the wild, I guess. But a wildish sort of place. 

I volunteered at a Japanese music festival up here in Northern Thailand and it was such an interesting, rich experience. Sleeping in a mango orchard for nearly three weeks, looking at the stars at night, watching the sun rise.

I was with Kenya and our friends Tayna and Aya and spent a lot of time with them, especially for the first nine days, before the festival started. I was on a deco team with lovely Chinese and Japanese artists. We made a lot of signs, all translated into Thai, Japanese, and English. “We need a sign, three languages,” is a phrase I used a lot. I painted live and organized other live painters. 

I watched my husband play music. I sat behind our bhajan band on the main stage and sang in the response to our Jesus bhajans. 

Our car got dustier and dustier.

I learned how to say “good morning,” in Japanese.

I guided a meditation in a campsite, attended one, and kept the kids quiet for a couple.

I studied and wrote papers in a teak forest.

I went to the hot springs almost every day.

It was a busy time, full of wildness, adjustment, and lots of activity. But I came out feeling ready for the next season, and somewhat like I hit a reset button. 

Chinua leaves tomorrow for India. The kids and I will stay back, do school, and make art and writing. Tumble around, deal with smoky season, cook, water the garden, and swim. I’ll write my final research paper of the quarter. We’ll try to be creative and loving and patient, even as the days grow hotter and drier.

Dear Leafy, (to my 13-year-old son)

IMG_5197.JPG

Dear Leafy,

When you have this expression on your face, we know the next thing that comes out of your mouth is going to be good.

Is the world ready for you?

You’re thirteen. (A sixteen-year-old, fourteen-year-old, and thirteen-year-old is a lot of teens.) 

Your hands, feet, and shoulders are bigger than any I have seen on a kid your age. I’m calling it: 6’5”. Let’s see if I’m correct. I’ve been taking a lot of photos and video of you. I want to capture you before you change. 

Here you are in this magical moment, living on the line between boy and man. You’ve traveled well this last year, blooming and exploding into confidence. You have a natural, lovely way of looking at the world, as if you expect it to offer you good things. And it does. It offers you humor, light, invention ideas, and new flavor combinations.

You love: creating food, seeing how things mix together, one-liners, Stephen Universe, singing and playing ukelele with Kenya, baking hard-tack or frying biscuits, and your family. You don’t love bees or being unsafe. You may be the one on the ground, telling the others to come out of the tree. You love justice. You hate injustice and you always have. 

We have some moon clay or something like that, that someone gave you for your birthday, and you brought it to me and said, “Look, Mom! It has almost no tensile strength but incredible compressive strength.” You love Science. You still walk in circles when you think. You don’t love it when someone interrupts your thought process. (Especially a younger sibling.) 

Also, you are hilarious. You always, always make us laugh, and your timing is amazing.

You’re just the most incredible kid. I really love you, Leafy. Life would be boring without you.

Love,

Mama

***

Now you can support my writing on Patreon. Patrons can give as little as $1 a month, and get extra vlogs and posts. I really really appreciate your support, it helps me to keep going with writing and publishing my work.

Mary Oliver :: 1935-2019

IMG_4913.JPG

When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.

I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.

Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.

And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”

*

Thank you beautiful poet. Your words have nourished us.

Don't Let Your Wildness Go.

IMG_4862.JPG

We went to the park (the new playground, a dream come true) and I sat under a tree with my books. Isaac and Solo played, but Solo had a hard time enjoying himself.

He wanted to make sure Isaac was playing well, not being unfair, that everyone had a chance at the slide. He kept running back to me to report on the slide situation.

He was taking on all the weight again. It’s a bit too much for a ten-year-old boy.

Oh, Solo.

I want to tell you this:

Try to stop worrying.
Let the others mess up their own fun and then figure it out. Only step in if someone is in danger.
Swing as high as you can.
Go and watch ants in the grass.
Dream your own dream.
Be a kid.
Learn it now,
before it becomes a habit written in the lines in your forehead,
before you can’t let it go
before you have to unlearn decades of trying to control outcomes,
and people
and whether anyone gets their feelings hurt,
and whether anyone is unhappy,
before you have built the entirely wrong idea of your role in the world,
Wise, beautiful artist son,
Wild One,
don’t let your wildness go.
Go and watch the clouds drift by.
You’re allowed.

Trust me.

***

Now you can support my writing on Patreon. Patrons can give as little as $1 a month, and get extra vlogs and posts. I really really appreciate your support, it helps me to keep going with writing and publishing my work.

Shapes of a retreat.

IMG_4795.JPG
IMG_4796.JPG
IMG_4800.JPG
IMG_4799.JPG
IMG_4798.JPG
IMG_4797.JPG
this one is from my friend’s beautiful new house.

this one is from my friend’s beautiful new house.

A retreat. I am an introvert living an extrovert’s life. 

Being an introvert doesn’t mean I don’t love people. It just means that if I don’t get solitude, I start to lose energy and focus, I get exhausted fuzzy around the edges, and if it goes on for a really long time, I start to forget who I am. That’s when I get clingy, peering up at faces to see if they can tell me who I am, tugging on coat sleeves, trailing after monks in the street, casting myself at the feet of the grandmother next door.

Well. That’s maybe where it would end up, if I didn’t retreat.

I walk backwards, very silently, fingers to my lips. Then run!

Actually, no, I just kiss my husband and get in the car. Find a cheap guesthouse in a part of town where I know nobody, and spread out my journals, pencils, computer, books I intend to read but never do, a bag of almonds, my coffee paraphernalia, and my blanket. Do you remember my blanket? I’m still working away on it. It’s the longest delight.

Some things I do on retreat:

Lie in bed and don’t get up.

Look at colors and shapes in the market. A stack of mangos. Embroidery thread. Dried mushrooms. Shapes, smells, and colors are very soothing. Very simple.

Find a park and look at trees.

See a movie.

Write words and words and words and words.

Read.

Paint.

Do the big shopping at the big store. (Sometimes non-retreat things have to be combined with retreat things. This is life.)

Talk to God in long, uninterrupted sentences that can be complainy, boring, or grateful.

Then I run (drive) back under the trees to my family and dog and hug them forever.

***

Now you can support my writing on Patreon. Patrons can give as little as $1 a month, and get extra vlogs and posts. I really really appreciate your support, it helps me to keep going with writing and publishing my work.