"Saint Nothing" by Daniel Rossen

(Silent Hour / Golden Mile E.P.)

lift, lift your head
myth so pristine
and white with age
walk with me, speak to me

saint i don’t know your name
but your voice so strong, speaks through the glass
speaks through the ground
an empty phrase, a hollow sound

call quite severe
leave the throne and mind so clear
you feel no pain
an end so near
you taste the blood

how long?
how long?
how long?
how long?

In Wonderland

I had the tremendous privilege of attending the LACMA exhibit In Wonderland, The Surrealist Adventures of Women Artist in Mexico and the U.S.

I could not help but be deeply impacted by the images that reflect the inner world experience of these women. I attended several times, taking friends, my parents, and my husband. My mother remarked "Mujeres audaz," meaning audacious women. Indeed.

Otherwise by Jane Kenyon

I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.

At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.

Folklore

Mexicans are a nostalgic bunch. This brings me so much joy.

In Blackwater Woods by Mary Oliver

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars

of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment, 

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders

of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is

nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned

in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side

is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

Pina

Found the dances and movements in this film so enchanting, heartbreaking, and moving

Heroes

“Therapists are heroes. They are the heroes of listening.”

— Bored to Death

Pilgrimage: London

While on our way to spending the holidays with family, I had the chance to make a pilgrimage to Freud's London home, the Keat's estate, and Shakespeare's Globe Theater. I cannot convey the potency and legacy still resonating in these space. I was particularly blown away by Freud's collection of objects of anthropological and mythical significance. Whoa!

However, the whimsical side of me left her heart at The Book Club - what a delightful community space chalk-full of magic!