Day Light, Evening Glow
Life is here, now, expressing
In the park, a pack of twenty or so dogs walk by — silent, together, slowly moving across the field, their leashes like sun rays, radiating out from the dog walker at the center. It’s the morning, the streets are quiet, we — those of us in the park — emerge into the trail as the day begins its arriving. I am astonished and stop as this dog pack passes by, and I hear my voice involuntarily, expressed quickly, whispering wow into the air. I was a dog walker once, too, and though I loved the animals, I never did figure out the art of walking with multiple dogs at one time. From there, I decided, this is an awe walk, I think. I will look through the lens of wonder.
Later, I find a trail I’ve never seen. They always seem to arrive at the right time, these trails, or rather perhaps it is that my morning eyes are tuned into the act of noticing. Noticing is a practice — a skill of paying attention to where we are giving our attention, what is sparking that interest, and how we are choosing to focus the lens, a process of tuning in. On the trail, I feel the earth (soft) hear the children (laughing, playing) and look down in time to see a feather, bright and striped from a bluejay.
It’s been a month of grounding down into Brooklyn. I have noticed so much already. I am writing every day and find tuning; Arriving heightens the lens of novelty. Writing is a lens that affirms life’s experience. What was blurry focuses in, and gets clear.
Sometimes the lens of my mind fogs up. I am clouded by limiting beliefs, the perception of being constrained, anxiety is the master, constrainer, limiting and coloring my view. Anxiety is a close focus, a too-close lens, a gripped hand, concrete instead of soft earth, a time where nothing gets through. In those times, when possible, I tune to the body, and pair that together with my mind, and talk to friends, and smile at strangers, and see in those instances that there are momentarily glimpses where yes, everything is in fact, okay. That an anxious mind is often one trying not to break down, but to break through. So I walk, and I talk, and I sit, and I write, and I relax when I can, and usually something moves, and something gets moved through. Experiences metabolize. When I experience these moments — thankfully, I think, and feel — I understand these moments of clarity as the experience of awareness itself. This is creative insight, this caring force, this desire to be in life and be alive, and it is the generous presence of attention.
In learning a new place, I root down into familiar routes: the street where the crosswalk sign flashes four beats after we start walking, the place where the cardinal comes to call most mornings, times like now when it’s quiet for writing, no construction. In the dusk hour, the purple sky comes, a fade from lavender into orange like a melon, the sidewalks emptying, warm lamp lights glow orange from the interiors of homes.
Creative life is a force expressed in conversation of life being lived, a glow asking to be emitted from our lived experiences, from the center of us, our cores, the earth’s center. It is our feet on the streets, the shapes we make in our bodies, the breath we share with each other in connection, and in our internal lives and out there in the world outside our homes. It is our perception of colors and textures and tastes and smells. It is the force that pulls us onward into the conversations that enliven us and yearn us forward. In the evening, I look at the sky, lavender as I pass the marigolds, grey blue as the moon comes through and cool charcoal as the dusk settles. The season, winding down, shows its signals. Whether we’re noticing or creating, life is in the process. Life is here, now, present, always expressing. What are we tuning in to?
Creativity is alive in all of us, asking to be channeled, shared out, given a place to flow into expression. It is the evening glow, the lamp light, the sun and the clouds, the wind, the soft orange glow. It is the noticing, the needing, the yearning, the no and the yes, the asking. What can we celebrate and express in simple ways everyday? Look to the dog parks, the granules of sand on the ground, the face of the bodgea strangers, the cloud that looks like a UFO hanging quietly in the sky, the sounds around, the food on the plate, the conversations that pour into you, that you pour into. Connection and conversation with the world is in our biology. It’s cellular, essential. Connection and conversation is also what happens between us, the world, and our experience when we’re writing on the page.
This week, if you’re walking around, writing around, wandering, if you’re mapping from one point to the next, if you’re feeling curious, tuned in, or uninspired, notice and ask: what’s the lens through which I’m viewing my life? Can I shift focus here — by zooming or tuning in and out? Where is there harmony or dissonance? What is being expressed here, and how am I in conversation?
experiences
Writing is how I stay in tune with my interior experience, and how I savor, love, and mediate life. I love words, shapes, creative expression, and my work helps you celebrate this, too. If you’re interested in starting a creative journaling practice, try my experiences in the recording library. Paid subscribers, it’s almost time for our next seasonal session — arriving 9/23
visit the calendar for fall experiences
this week
Creativity = the dredges of the pantry, thinking there’s nothing, and ending the day with a pot of soup. Broth, egg, spinach. Nourishing and simple. If you’re new here, welcome. Read some recent reader favorites: last week’s letter on Expressing What Is and Bittersweet from a month ago. Become a paid subscriber and let me know what’s nourishing you, below.
