happiness

What makes one happy? Do we simply choose happiness in place of regret or loss or disappointment or guilt? Do we need to choose happiness at all? Perhaps it’s a point of perspective; rather than choosing to be happy we simply need to change the lens through which we view our own lives.

Painting Under Stars

Sneaking out in the middle of the night, in lieu of candles, stars. Darkness proffers moonlight. Armed with easel and brush, canvas and oil, I lie in the grass; let the brush move my hand. The movement, fluid. The colors acquiesce. A woman in red emerges.
Last night I found time, time to be alone, time to create, time to express, time under the stars in mindfulness. My body lies under sky. I finish two canvases. The passion dripped from fingertips.

So Much For Promises

There are two subjects of which I self advised to never plague upon my blog. The first is infertility. The second is politics and religion (as a demonstration of my patriotism I treat them as one and the same). I found it imperative to avoid these subjects as their discussion has the tendency to bring out my bitter bitch; every woman has an inner bitch (if you disagree you are: A. not a man B. not a man married to a woman or C. not a man who has ever met a woman). I, however, have replaced my inner bitch with a bitter one.

So much for promises made to thy self . . .

I hate pregnant women. Is that statement too biting? My teeth seethe when I walk in front of a maternity store, its patrons’ rosy with anticipation “oh how wonderful, my genitalia will stretch to accommodate an un-ripened cantaloupe, what wonderment, my nipples suckled till raw and red, losing all resemblance of their former shape!” Much worse than the maternity store is the never-ending parade of pregnancy walking down my block; these are the women announcing with each step forward their refusal to gain a pregnancy pound, electing instead to move fat from their ass to their firm round belly. Is my bitter bitch beginning to show herself? In the presence of the expecting I am expected to give up my seat and preferred parking; I’ve been carrying around an extra 20 lbs far longer than nine months, where is my reserved parking spot?

Living ‘childfree’ in Utah has frequently made me a target for questioning. No-orgasm Nancy’s feel it their God ordained duty to “be fruitful, multiply and replenish the earth”. Amazing they even find the time to cast judgments. Questioned in the lobby of my doctor’s office I responded . . . why my husband says my pussy is far too pretty to go through childbirth . . . at once Nancy shut her mouth, in fact, every mouth in the lobby shut . . . or fell open . . . as if I were watching synchronized swimming.

Into the wood...

I have spent the last two weekends amidst a castle of trees. The Manti La Sal mountain range lies two hours south of here, its forest dense with life untouched, unharmed. At home there is nothing to suspect that I am anything other than a city girl…painted toes and silken scarves perfume behind my ear…but in the forest I am Ianthe, a river nymph come home to her wood. Lain back, my eyes are captivated in the luminosity of the night sky, falling forward as the background darkens the stars appear as night has given birth. The flames begin to smolder; the glowing red ash casts obscure shadows at my feet. River rushes over rock, my lullaby into sleep. Thoreau went into the woods to inhale life; I go into the woods and exhale.

She stands quite alone among the most distinct and luminous stars.

- m. sambrani

I have more than a dozen blogs to post. During my trip to the DC area as well as NYC I scrawled my thoughts and ideas onto small steno pads, their little yellow pages now everywhere... my purse, wallet, coat pocket, book jacket, luggage...there were even a few in my toiletries bag! I would also like to post excerpts from the Me Book I compiled last spring for a class. So maybe, just maybe, I can overcome the fear that prevents me from posting my thoughts...better to wait and see before making any promises.