some days
all it takes
is to simply
rewind
and start
again.
Category: stitchings (Page 35 of 37)
i declare my independence from self-deprecating humor that’s used only as a non-threatening tool designed to subjugate myself so that others might listen to what i have to say. i pledge my allegiance to using my true, authentic voice, trusting that even when using my native language of humor, i will clearly express what i’m experiencing.
i declare my independence from the stories i’ve conjured or constructed or otherwise bought into, using them to protect me or aggrandize me. i pledge allegiance to birthing and living fresh, new stories that truthfully portray who i am now and who i want to become.
i declare my independence from living as though if i can do it, it is of no value. i pledge my allegiance to knowing (and living, accordingly) that the tasks i tend to regularly, and the things i create, have value and sometimes – every now and then – that value is expressed in terms of money.
i declare my independence from the notion that doubt is always and categorically a bad thing. and i pledge allegiance to give doubt a voice, a chance to be heard, realizing that sometimes doubt has much to say that i need to hear.
i declare my independence from the need to always present as positive and perky. upbeat. i pledge my allegiance to honesty, to risk revealing the lows and less-thans, trusting that doesn’t enkindle an irrepressible need-to-fix response from others.
i declare my independence from planning something right out of existence before ever getting started. and i hereby pledge allegiance to trusting my lizard brain more often.
paint the picture you want to hang.
make the trip you want to remember.
take the photo you want to view.
build the house you want to live in.
cook the meal you want to eat.
lay the stones you want to walk on.
run the race you want to win.
dance the dance you want to feel.
plant the tree you want to sit under.
sew the dress you want to wear.
write the music you want to sing.
craft the play you want to star in.
stitch the quilt you want to use.
weave the cloth you want to stitch.
write the book you want to read.
tell the story you want to hear.
create the blog you want to visit.
live the life you want to live.
(psst: that’s me there
in those last 6 lines.
starting something new
today,
putting a new spin
on something quite familiar.
skip on over to
rootsofshe.com
to find out more.)
i am a grove
a copse
a rich, fruitful orchard.
my tree of she
bears the fruit
of music
and cloth
and sparkle
and words.
my tree of she
bears blooms
of food
and flowers
and a strength
so soft,
it’s often mistaken
for weakness.
my tree of she
bears leaves
of dance
and duty
and generosity.
leaves of
preserving
and nourishing
and protecting.
my tree of she
is rich
in the red roots,
of blood
and hearts
and spirit,
and tears,
in the determination
and tenacity
and quiet boldness
of the women
who precede me.
their fierce independence,
their unbounded love,
their unending creativity,
unlocking the wonder
and the aching beauty
that is
my tree of she.
Today’s post is inspired
by the lovely Lindsey Mead
who sweeps me away regularly
with that special brand of wisdom
she shares over at a place called
A Design So Vast . . .
in the beginning
there was light:
the lightness of laughter,
the lightness of femininity,
the lightness of self-assurance.
she was fiercely delicate,
this one,
fluent in the strength of vulnerability.
eventually her sure and tender feet
encountered the straight and narrow,
a path lined with directional signs
and dire warnings,
a path with unwavering rules,
a path that blistered unprotected souls.
then came the day when she
stopped –
she just stopped,
i tell you.
picked up the fabrics of her life,
and ripped them to find the straight grain.
she wove
then stitched
the strips together,
the up/down
in/out
over/under
eventually blurring the lines,
fraying the edges,
unraveling things just enough
to form
a whole cloth,
a blank slate
a stout, staunch cloth
on which to write
the rest of her life.
i see darkness.
mourning
what was
and what
never was.
i see bruises.
life tends to give you those.
i see the softness of
melted butter
and early morning sunshine.
and maybe
a teensy bit
of fear.
let’s review: julie daley posted a photo on facebook that set me whirring.
first, the seed.
from my writing partner and friend julie daley:
which sparked this in me:
which became this:
and you know how it goes.
one seed blooms,
then another,
then another
which is to say:
there’s more.
just you wait.
It’s been such a lovely day – filled with such productivity and possibility. At one point, I felt totally in control of my life – like I am right where I’m supposed to be.
But now . . .
See these lovelies? They are from the talented hands of my friend Glennis who really knows her way around shibori. I have held these bits of cloth in their cellophane wrapper for so long, keeping them segregated from the general fabric population. Today I pulled them out not just to look at and drool over, but to weave together into cloth for a Very Special Project. Then shoot, before I could start, doubt crept in and hissed me into paralysis. So I return them to protective custody and prepare to stitch on an existing cloth – one I created last night – one that’s ready for layers of embellishment – while the blue lovelies resume their patient, optimistic wait.
Ways to Donate
Donate through PayPal Giving Fund and PayPal pays the fees so your entire donation to The 70273 Project.
integrity
This work by Jeanne Hewell-Chambers is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at http://www.TheBarefootHeart.com.
here ‘n there