I love spices. I love that the earth is rich with colors and plant medicines, tender flowers, and healing waters. I love public radio, mason jars, and little white lights strung over doorways and railings. I love crafty people who make crocheted potholders and lampshades out of coffee filters. I love holding hands with someone I adore and pressing colored leaves in books, only to find them years later by surprise. I love the worn-in roper boots I bought at Murdoch’s Ranch and Home Supply in Longmont, Colorado; they’re about as close to a cowgirl as I’ll ever get.
Read MoreI love pinecones. I love walking in the woods when the leaves are bright and it’s chilly enough for me to wear my favorite fake furry vest that looks like a sheepskin rug. I love that I stayed up until 2:00 a.m. the other night writing a song to the Buddhist goddess Tara, whom I adore.
I love my womanhood. I love the way my soft form is connected to the moon, the way another soul can take shape inside my being, the way that I am permeable to the raw beauty and pain of the world. I love my shadow. I love how people look innocent when they eat. I love that I long for something un-nameable when my heart feels empty, and that sometimes I can fill the hole of my yearning with my own light.
Read MoreA few weeks ago I spent a fortune repairing my car—the head gaskets were leaking. As you might imagine, I was more than a little irritated that a paycheck’s worth of money vanished in one credit card swipe, but something beautiful happened on the way home: When I looked out the back windshield, it was covered with hearts! The sweet mechanic had drawn them all over my car, which pretty much erased any memory of the bill; it also made me think about marrying him for a split second, but that second faded very fast.
Read MoreLately a lot of people have been asking me if I want children. I don’t know why, but the question keeps coming up for no discernible reason. Maybe these lovely folks are trying to figure out why someone in her thirties is living in the boonies all by her lonesome, but whatever the reason, I only have one answer: I don’t know. Having kids is something I take pretty seriously, considering the divorce rate and the fact that the world population is more bloated than my worst premenstrual moment. Also, it’s a bit hard to imagine making a person since I haven’t yet stumbled upon a man I want to make one with.
Read MoreIt’s summer in the Berkshires, and a beautiful one—wet with rain, quiet blossoms, and bird songs. I love the changing seasons. Here in the Berks I live in a cabin that is pure magic—filled with skylights and wooden beams, little lights, and hanging stars. The space is so special sometimes I just look around and smile. Then I remember that, yes, it’s beautiful, but it’s also in the middle of nowhere. This thought often propels me to pack my car and move far away, but as I stand in the driveway and look at the house with all of its loveliness, I always walk right back in and make a cup of tea.
Read MoreWhen I started meditating many years ago, every time I sat down and closed my eyes, I burst into tears; it seemed like a problem. Other people appeared so damn peaceful when they meditated—eyelids gently closed, hands folded nicely in their laps. What was wrong with me? My crazy mind was on fire with thoughts and all I wanted to do was let out a long, piercing shriek.
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