marbles on monday….

been slacking here in blog.  not interested.  back into writing poetry and taking pictures and posting to instagram, for the fun of it.  feeling more private and less available to talk about my life here.  but i am going to anyhow.  still not knowing where i am going.  but feeling more free each day.  returning to a pure place inside.  hard to explain.  spent the weekend doing fun things.  oh who cares.  this is boring and i don’t want to write about it.  that’s the thing.  but just like yoga, i go when i don’t want to.  and i need to write every day and hold myself accountable through this dry phase when no project sticks more than an emotionally unavailable man.  or maybe i am the emotionally unavailable woman?  leaving projects as if i don’t care, after telling them how much i will devote through to completion.  it’s all talk in the beginning.  the real meat is in the actual doing.  not just sparse paragraphs, or even thirty pages, but a finished draft.  everything is in flux.  my body and my writing and my everything.  dandelion fuzz on the move.  water in the flow.  knowing there’s a new home and job and place on the horizon.  feeling the artist return stronger than ever though, even if projects hang like thai prayer flags.  cause i decided, for the millionth time getting lost, that what makes me happy is making art.  the healing work i do for others, i will always do.  it’s a part of me and a duty i will never ignore again like i did so many times in my youth, reluctant as a clam shell.  but it does not make me happy to do it.  it’s just work i happen to be good at.  what am i living for, i ask myself over and over.  i don’t feel like i am on any karmic wheels anymore.  don’t think i came here to let go of attachments.  the variety is endless.  colors capture my attention.  love rules my being.  the temporal fuels desire.  i see larger mountains to climb but not as a warrior.  the sunshine is dim this morning.  a cool monday.  soft and sweet.  the soul of seattle is my heart.  i cannot try to make sense anymore.  i miss the seventies.  i want to look at art today at some point.  my time is running out.  gotta leave in half an hour.  this blog is just a splattering of marbles thrown by a child’s hand…