tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-134896542012-02-12T10:11:56.049-06:00buddhist blog on writing, photography, teaching, life - with the aim to open inside spaces.miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.comBlogger3051100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-79775437437963581282012-02-11T08:59:00.000-06:002012-02-11T08:59:13.780-06:00

Each week I cull new writing topics from the writing that they share aloud. We also make a bunch up ourselves, freely. They have endless options, in other words. I wanted to share their wisdom and inquiries with a larger audience. So here you go! Just try a few of these on for size next time you write... 2000 miles from my front door When I freak out... Swore we would never speak of it From my

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-50952043236249818412012-02-07T16:23:00.000-06:002012-02-07T16:23:02.916-06:00

Sometimes there's actually too much for me to blog about. Sometimes? Often. I could post here everyday if I had the time - if I prioritized it. But lately there's a spinning theme that all interrelates: The critic. Valuing writing/our voices. Doing what we value, or not doing it, because of or despite the critic... (Rinse, repeat) It all started with my assigning reading about, and

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-26055379056427489462012-01-27T11:50:00.000-06:002012-01-27T11:50:11.585-06:00

Death is the permanent termination of the biological functions that sustain a living organism. Phenomena which commonly bring about death include old age, predation, malnutrition, disease, and accidents or trauma resulting in terminal injury.  (From the Wikipedia article on Death) In teachings at various points on my Buddhist path, people have pointed out that the phrase "Old Age, Sickness

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-19261584366465679912012-01-20T20:20:00.000-06:002012-01-20T20:20:48.440-06:00

Abstract calligraphy made by participants in the LA Shambhala Art intensive I just attended. "Ok," I start our writing practice, "Let's work on topics. What are some good things to write about - personal things, things you know and experience directly?" "Relationships," the first student answers, without hesitation. "Ok, good, but get more specific..." "Close relationships, people you are close

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-89992220348144143602012-01-18T09:57:00.000-06:002012-01-18T09:57:55.461-06:00

Miniature Train show, January 2012, Discovery World, Milwaukee WI One of my favorite quotes about Buddhism is - many of my favorite quotes, truthfully, are - from Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche. In True Perception, the Path of Dharma Art, he says: "Usually people think that if you lose everything - your ambition, your self-centeredness, your integrity and dignities - you will become a vegetable, a

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-32123644984971970862012-01-11T10:14:00.001-06:002012-01-11T10:19:31.419-06:00

It's true. Last year at about this time I was in Vermont a secular Buddhist seminary retreat. Now I am in LA on a city retreat, and both times, I stayed just over a mile from where the retreat was located. This time, it's sunny and 70, that time it was snowy and 30 (or below). Both times, my walk to and from - which I chose to walk the first part of my stays in both places - was uphill both

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-41307299644147727662012-01-05T23:10:00.001-06:002012-01-11T10:22:00.170-06:00

I have already written the dedication for my book on teaching writing: "Dedicated to all my students and all my teachers. If you are one, you are the other." Natalie once told us to dedicate books to students, because you can't fail with that one. Right now I am in Los Angeles (specifically, Eagle Rock, close to the Shambhala Mediation Center of Los Angeles). I am participating in a two-part

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-41751357370321763802011-12-31T12:44:00.001-06:002011-12-31T12:45:23.593-06:00

Every year for the last few years, I have picked a Sankalpa/intention word on New Year's Eve. Or, I should say, it often picks me. The word for 2012 that has appeared is Support. Now, I know up front what I mean by that word, as it arose out of therapy, discussions and reflections on what I need most and want most next in my life. For me, right now, it means Supporting my core self - working on

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-50902473215335517512011-12-28T09:25:00.001-06:002011-12-28T09:27:08.683-06:00

 (image is mine - my brother Alex Hall used it as the cover for his EP of the same name) The chances of me waking up, getting out of the shower, coming home and hearing Bass are very strong. If Dylan's in a good music mood and willing to chug out the beats, this is what will greet me. The funny part is that this has been a likely opportunity since I was thirteen, not just in the last five

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-25775596016840449792011-12-21T22:39:00.002-06:002012-01-11T10:23:56.989-06:00

This is my new mantra. There's a head chief in my head.* A Head Honcho Who Wears the Waterproof Poncho. Big Chief in Charge of Charring. Master of all Burning Ceremonies. This Firefighter thinks that things are always going wrong, finding fires where there are none, or trying to put out someone else's fires. Enough. I know the economy is in a bad way, Inner Firefighter, but I have to

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-85245072813428991372011-12-12T08:46:00.001-06:002011-12-12T08:47:56.645-06:00

Last night I dreamt of reconciliation. Impossible reconciliation. A chance to be with my mom, for us to understand each other once and for all, not without human error, not perfectly, but to really see each other eye to eye. She's dead, so at least for the reciprocity part, that's not possible. "Dwell in Possibility" reads the quote I got in decal form, attributed to Emily Dickinson.

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-28573566870700853962011-11-12T10:35:00.001-06:002011-11-12T10:37:04.658-06:00

There is nothing scarier to me than going to a new gym or fitness or yoga class. Ok. Maybe I could rank it up there with having a gun pointed at my face or almost dying in a car accident. However, these are less frequent and less likely. Also, I don't put myself in those situations. I went to a gym this morning to (hopefully) try out a Nia class. I'd been excited about the idea of Nia

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-91390135154574151252011-10-22T11:28:00.000-05:002011-10-22T11:28:02.473-05:00

Sometimes, having a spouse who is going through a gender transition (male to female) is a lot. Sometimes, teaching people how to be there for themselves, how to be aware and in the moment, and how to practice art that takes them there, is a lot. Sometimes running my own business(es) and traveling for work is a lot. This is not a surprise, of course, that I get overwhelmed. But when all of

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-87765483888197405732011-10-16T09:01:00.003-05:002011-10-16T09:03:08.316-05:00

Letter From Dallas People in cars. People in cars ask me what am I doing, walkin' "Is it true what they say about redheads?" "Oh, I didn't mean anything by askin'. I just wanted to know what you were photographin.'" "Cotton ain't cool, it's hot, baby. You should be wearin' fewer clothes." I don't feel vulnerable walking at home walking in places I don't know at night. But here I am

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-44115695922085684742011-10-04T09:50:00.000-05:002011-10-04T09:50:35.641-05:00

(The photo is of a stack of books on my desk awaiting my entry into various documents I call "quotes to use for __" [fill in the blank specific book or teaching project]. I have a whole set of online interviews/documents I also keep in files for use in teaching/writing...) Yesterday, a student who does both academic and non-academic writing and publishing mentioned that she's taking a short

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-63339804305872113532011-09-26T10:38:00.000-05:002011-09-26T10:38:50.915-05:00

@font-face { font-family: "Times New Roman"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }table.MsoNormalTable { font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; } a poem came to me while doing yoga this morning... a few sounds take me there chickadee dee dee turns into the

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-54889063182057299982011-09-10T15:48:00.000-05:002011-09-10T15:48:08.185-05:00

About two hours ago, I just couldn't take it anymore. In some ways it feels like our house hasn't been cleaned in months. Of course, my in-laws did a great job (especially considering cat illness and dischord) while were gone in Europe. But even before then we started a room-moving project that was left half done and meant that, for instance, my shrine room had two more pieces of furniture in

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-6909727359200244652011-09-09T12:08:00.001-05:002011-09-09T12:08:25.272-05:00

Missing my posts? Try, for now, visiting herspiral's photostream on Flickr. A quick update so you can see more photos from Rotterdam. So much to write about, with classes now in their second week for the fall, and so little time. Here's hoping that photos will say some hundreds of words, at least.

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-88239737364526040632011-08-27T10:17:00.002-05:002011-08-27T10:20:14.763-05:00

One of our cats has been sick for almost a month now. It's scary and hard - he's only four years old, but we got him when he was about one and had been living on the streets, literally. Friends of ours rescued him, and he's a super cat - snuggly if jittery, soft and affectionate. I named him "Drala" which is Tibetan for "above aggression" which is used to mean "Magic." He's definitely his name

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-75598359147328229542011-08-23T13:39:00.000-05:002011-08-23T13:39:35.708-05:00

Reflections at Pewitt's Nest  Underneath the grave skies flashing occasional white space My face fills up my own reflection Mirror Mirror on the river Who is the most alive of us all? When someone dies, they take the present moment with them A chunk of it lost forever, uncontinued Without perception One less person to help keep this clumsily constructed world Rolling forward My memories are

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-89500034588964461912011-08-20T09:16:00.001-05:002011-08-20T09:17:20.781-05:00

I find that when I am left to my own devices, I don't interact much with people. I would categorize myself as relatively extroverted, or would have, since I have strong interaction skills and enjoy - thrive even - off interacting with others. However, I have come to understand that my state of rest and recoup is to be alone - alone even without Dylan. To putter, read, write, meditate, do yoga,

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-88087158254905046402011-08-08T04:39:00.000-05:002011-08-08T04:39:27.060-05:00

Rotterdam, August 2011 Aaron Siskind, Abstract Expressionist photographer extraordinaire, published a collection of his works called Fragmentation of Language in 1997. In it, he explores what it is to receive seeming messages from the visual world of cluttered ads and graffiti, sometimes even torn or ripped non-verbal messages, or rust in calligraphic form. It is one of my favorite collections,

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-53170893558910539842011-07-30T16:47:00.000-05:002011-07-30T16:47:42.864-05:00

"I am sorry I was so cranky earlier, sweetie." Dylan hugs me and kisses the crook of my neck. "That's ok. I mean, thank you but I understand." And a tiny voice inside says "No, it's not ok." (This is common  - I can never apologize enough) But then the tiny voice says "It's not ok that you are cranky with me." (Not common) That tiny voice isn't talking to Dylan. That tiny voice is me, talking

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-71012778442249246502011-07-16T09:34:00.001-05:002011-07-30T16:24:02.693-05:00

How we write is often far more telling than what we write. I am, of course, speaking mostly of rough drafts. While it is true - and in fact, Natalie Goldberg encourages us to look closely at the structure of each book, article, essay and story we read, noticing the organization of the writer's mind - that a finished product does show us something about the person who wrote it, there's nothing

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-25417149801018664592011-07-09T11:11:00.002-05:002011-07-09T11:17:54.394-05:00

Never to be wrong Never to make promises that break It's like singing in the wind Or writing on the surface of a lake And I wriggle like a fish caught on dry land And I struggle to avoid any help at hand -Sting, "Still My Beating Heart" We finalized our plans to go to Europe today. Four days with my godparents June and Bruce south of London, four days with friends in Rotterdam, four days

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-66044837981208082442011-07-06T12:39:00.001-05:002011-07-06T19:42:57.484-05:00

Marriage, plus two thought-provoking blog posts thoroughly unrelated to each other, have me thinking about what it means to mis/understand, especially: When is it innocent? A couple of nights ago, I started what seemed to me to be an innocent and quick discussion. "We need to get this Air Conditioning thing figured out," I said. What did I mean by that? At first I truly thought I meant "we," but

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-21228697108526919342011-07-02T12:29:00.001-05:002011-07-06T19:46:43.233-05:00

“I’m sorry.” My mother warned me when I was little to never say this more than was necessary. “If you say it when you don’t really mean it, you won’t mean it when you really do.” In particular, she was vigilant about warding off apologies for non-apology situations – saying “I’m sorry” when you bump into someone in the store (“Say Excuse Me,” she corrected), saying “I’m sorry” when you are

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-85918154358116004322011-06-30T13:30:00.003-05:002011-07-06T19:47:40.069-05:00

@font-face { font-family: "Times New Roman"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }a:link, span.MsoHyperlink { color: blue; text-decoration: underline; }a:visited, span.MsoHyperlinkFollowed { color: purple; text-decoration: underline; }p { margin-right: 0in; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 10pt; font-family: Times;

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-10913172995010498772011-06-17T09:54:00.005-05:002011-07-06T19:48:11.973-05:00

@font-face { font-family: "Times New Roman"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }table.MsoNormalTable { font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; } IntegrationI have noticed that dialogues in my head are changing. For a few years now, since finding the book Born to

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-8521062415412977532011-06-08T14:50:00.005-05:002011-07-06T19:48:35.846-05:00

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miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-51650463101707956132011-06-05T18:53:00.007-05:002011-07-06T19:48:58.770-05:00

...which feels ironic to write in words... I'm not dumb. I know there's an inherent conflict in even writing about how I have experienced, more and more, that statement to be true, that age-old adage:Actions Speak Louder Than Words. I just can't get over how true it is, perhaps because I listen to, write, and share so many words every day, all the time. Reading books, articles, blogs; writing

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-40606767912705104502011-05-31T10:29:00.006-05:002011-07-01T23:03:40.527-05:00

"Did you ever lie to survive when you were younger?" she asked. We were talking about our families, about our parents in particular: what was hidden, what was shared. I instantly sprang to a part of my life I felt super uncomfortable sharing for decades, but have, in the process of writing my memoir, finally "outed" and been able to talk about without shame. It wasn't lying *to* my family, it

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-32231382619150788842011-05-27T10:52:00.004-05:002011-07-01T23:19:08.590-05:00

@font-face { font-family: "Times New Roman"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }a:link, span.MsoHyperlink { color: blue; text-decoration: underline; }a:visited, span.MsoHyperlinkFollowed { color: purple; text-decoration: underline; }p { margin-right: 0in; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 10pt; font-family: Times;

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-6393936644369023192011-05-04T16:48:00.003-05:002011-07-01T23:06:12.420-05:00

Yoke: 1. (Noun) A crossbar with two U-shaped pieces that encircle the necks of a pair of oxen or other draft animals working together. 2. (Noun) A frame designed to be carried across a person's shoulders with equal loads suspended from each end. 3. (Intrans. Verb) To force into heavy labor, bondage, or subjugation. These are some of my "favorite" definitions of "yoke" from the Free Dictionary

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-53362049932552562752011-04-07T08:18:00.002-05:002011-04-07T08:22:35.762-05:00

"People should never die and stuff should never break."This is what I said to Dylan this morning, while she held me, while I was softly crying while holding my "Chat et Souris" mug. It was my grandfather's, an artisan's mug, one of a kind, likely made by one of the folks he hung around with in Chicago in the 60/70's - print makers, artisans, musicians. A very formal-looking print cat and a

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-46957445247114379872011-03-29T11:26:00.005-05:002011-03-29T11:46:34.095-05:00

(photo from a strip mall in Dallas)It never ceases to amaze me.Week after week, after month, after year - seven of them now, from when I started part part time to full time and then some.I write these prompts, and the students respond. And inevitably, most of the students will say:"I can't believe you knew I needed to write about this."or"I wasn't even thinking about this, where did it come from?

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-9753510800890928952011-03-23T13:53:00.006-05:002011-03-23T14:11:22.107-05:00

(photo of Michael Amos Hall, 1960's, N. Ireland)My father was distant, and then, he died.Of course that is not the whole story. However, that is a big part of the story I have managed to overlook on one level or another for many years. When people ask me, especially if they have recently lost someone close to them, "Will this sadness ever end?" I

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-69296740912221238392011-03-11T12:47:00.003-06:002011-03-11T13:34:53.056-06:00

I considered whether I should put both Dentists and taxes in the title of this blog entry.After all...you all might avoid it, with a title like that.However, I'm here to tell you that neither has to be as bad as you think."As you think" being the operative part.Ben Franklin so famously said: " In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes."I say: "In the world of the

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-63266096135683610682011-02-23T08:39:00.003-06:002011-02-23T09:13:11.660-06:00

Please watch this two minute video first.I have returned from my two and a half week secular Buddhist seminary retreat, where I spent half of each day sitting in silence and half of it studying in not silence with 50 other Buddhists. Guided by two senior teachers Acharyas Bower and Greenleaf (Acharyas - "teacher" in Sanskrit, considered in Shambhala to be next to the Sakyong in the hierarchy -

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-10652925339561636702011-01-30T17:31:00.002-06:002011-01-30T17:36:12.106-06:00

@font-face { font-family: "Times New Roman"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }table.MsoNormalTable { font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; } Today I participated in a Restorative Yoga workshop. Our teacher emphasized inversions, to get the blood going back through

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-17863655858871458132011-01-17T10:11:00.005-06:002011-01-17T10:36:35.240-06:00

For many many years, I waited for it, longed for it, imagined it.A letter, a note, a picture with words; some kind of written confirmation.Something from my father, who died when I was 12, saying that he loved memissed mewould miss mewished me wellwith some words of wisdom and gentleness to guide me through the rest of my lifewithout him.After searching through banker's box after banker's box,

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-89326271658106216002011-01-06T14:54:00.002-06:002011-01-06T15:00:38.452-06:00

I often wonder what comes first: the chicken or the egg. How did I land in this beautiful house, with this amazing partner and stunningly meaningful work for which I get paid a living wage? There has been a lot of pain, a lot of confusion, and also a lot of wonder and amazing conclusions.I often cannot tell which action in my life resulted in where I am or a particular effect. I have been reading

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-52342142311029364892010-12-31T11:17:00.004-06:002010-12-31T11:27:27.798-06:00

Today, the calendar year comes to an end.This is no longer my New Year's. I have become too familiar with other traditions to see the end of this calendar as the end of my year. Naturally, fall feels most the end of the year for me, but according to the Tibetan Buddhist Calendar, my "calendar of faith" it comes in the beginning of March, which also feels pretty right. February is what we call "

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-14860480209555666292010-12-28T10:46:00.006-06:002010-12-28T11:27:10.119-06:00

(a blurry shot of a Buddha in the Himalayan and Southeast Asian permanent exhibit at the Art Institute of Chicago juxtaposed against the LED exhibit of Jitish Kallat's steps)"Puce a l'oreille" is a phrase in French I only learned late in my time studying abroad. A French friend and I were driving to her parent's house* and she said the phrase quite quickly, in regards to a set of friends she was

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-7445792515854402612010-12-11T13:39:00.004-06:002010-12-11T13:49:56.698-06:00

Where have I been?That's a good question.I use this time of slowing down end of semester and year to consider how the past 365 days have gone. Where have I visited and taught, what has worked and what hasn't? These questions are crucial and it's not that I don't consider them throughout the year, of course. It's just that New Year's approaching brings revival to mind, and review.The last month or

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-87175384845944487522010-11-26T13:19:00.003-06:002010-11-26T13:38:54.952-06:00

"Taking the Refuge Vow is taking a vow in yourself. Your own Basic Goodness."This is what my preceptor (person who gives the vow) told me before I took my Refuge Vow, the "first" vow you take as a formal Buddhist, to say out loud that you will aspire to look to the Dharma first for solutions, clarity and sanity. Of course, sometimes I still look first to chocolate or TV or books, but setting

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-63017904445487346492010-11-04T16:29:00.002-05:002010-11-04T16:39:09.707-05:00

It's November, which for novelists means NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month, and for poets means PAD chapbook challenge - Poem a Day. I started doing this a couple of years ago after doing Poem a Day during the month of April - National Poetry Month - and last year I finished a chapbook (which hasn't been published but I love it none the less) on native place names of Wisconsin. Quite a few

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-18611594596513997442010-11-01T10:41:00.004-05:002010-11-01T11:06:06.597-05:00

My brother Alex got married this weekend. It was a Halloween wedding, resplendent with major crafting done by my now sister-in-law, Patty, and many images of love mixed with impermanence. Bride and Groom skeletons, for instance, held up pumpkins with their names carved out, and a ghoulish butler invited everyone into the reception room.Witches, goblins, zombies and ghosts attended the wedding,

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-3453992455221894692010-10-02T09:11:00.004-05:002010-10-02T09:21:08.801-05:00

In meditation, we notice what is.In contemplation we create a structure to connect with something specific.In meditation, the whole mind is invited in.In contemplation, the mind is harnessed toward a need.In meditation, nothing is left out.In contemplation, bracketing "shuts out" the to-do lists, etc, in favor of the perceptual moment.In contemplative photography, we are given a prompt and

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-18354862429389497782010-09-27T13:22:00.003-05:002010-09-27T13:31:19.112-05:00

Stress is not enough rest.Stress is wearing through breath, pushed to the laststep. Stress is plane ride after plane ride, dozens ofbeautiful people blurred into one.Stress is fun strained, a choice of long sleep overdinner, visiting dear hearts, crying when coming home,because sadness is the same as joy.Perhaps stress isn't stress, perhaps stress is life.Heartbeats up and down, pushed maybe

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-4015013304985418952010-09-10T14:35:00.004-05:002010-09-10T14:54:00.581-05:00

Underneath the frosting, find some sugarin cake form, spongy and airy, a welcomerelief from the dark and heavy covering.Rest there for awhile and believeyou have become free, until you see there isyet another layer beneath,a muddy area you sink into,get your feet caught in,where last year's beliefsare still alive and well.This is belief hell - the delicious layer cakeof acting one way and

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-42707953234966377512010-08-30T12:24:00.005-05:002010-08-30T12:42:16.074-05:00

A few weeks ago, I took my great uncle's 1976 Hamilton watch into the little clock shop on Williamson St across from Grandpa's Gun Shop. The night before, I had hugged a student goodnight and in the process, somehow caught the watch on her backpack, which then snapped the pin out of the strap that holds it onto my wrist. After searching around for a needle-like object in a haystack-like hallway,

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-60717999520893790572010-08-26T15:26:00.004-05:002010-08-26T15:56:36.793-05:00

EmailsWeightAllergensDigestion issuesMoney issuesDustWeedsBooksMagazinesI've spent the last week or so working through piles of things, of excess, as they say, in all of these areas. So much time eliminating, in fact, that I forgot to catch up on doing, building, adding: preparing for a teacher training I am teaching this weekend, preparing for my weekly college course that starts next week -

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-55703299175781002032010-08-13T20:03:00.005-05:002010-08-13T21:06:47.348-05:00

I began writing classes again this week, and in one of the classes, a student asked me for "tips on how to listen like you do." Huh. No one had asked me that before. She mentioned that while they frequently note (and they do, as a class) how closely I listen, no one had ever asked me how I listen, or how I know how to listen.Then, she said, to my amusement: "I mean, any tips besides saying that

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-60374025119619219262010-08-08T11:35:00.004-05:002010-08-08T11:54:55.120-05:00

Rain turns red blue flagsinto streaks of liquid color -prayers fly free.Looking out over the backyard through a rain-streaked window and screen, the cool wind comes in from the tiny slits we can leave open where the rain won't leak. It's a beautiful morning - stormy, cool, and the blue sky is on its way. To my right is our sink - not yet operating, but subject of hours of conversation, action and

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-40201056117025229252010-08-05T12:21:00.004-05:002010-08-05T12:59:59.306-05:00

Ever since my Facebook post about having an awesome Hakomi therapy experience, the crowds have been in questions - what on earth is this Hakomi thing and what exactly did I mean by an "awesome" experience? So here it comes...Hakomi was first introduced to me by a friend who's been seeing a Hakomi-trained psychotherapist for a few months now. Every time she talked about her appointments and her

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-51495314313469983242010-07-17T11:30:00.005-05:002010-07-17T11:52:15.665-05:00

I never have been very good at math.My Enneagram sign (2-the Helper) says that makes sense - that I am more an ideas person than a numbers person. I'm more a person person. So when my employers tell me I'll have 17 13 or 14 year olds in my summer program for the next two weeks, it means little. Not until I see their files, then especially, not until I see their faces, will I have anything in my

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-58261624362573199802010-07-15T15:22:00.005-05:002010-07-15T20:26:26.616-05:00

I went into a Post Office this afternoon, and waited in line, watching a solo woman clerk interact with numerous international students, most of whom had a limited grasp of English and couldn't understand her directions quite clearly. 2 or 3 had to come back a third time, only to be corrected and start again. Key words were missing, key ideas, and I felt the loss, felt for the international

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-85269168762147771492010-07-13T12:54:00.003-05:002010-07-15T20:27:35.878-05:00

-title of blog post is lyrics from "Walk a Mile in My Shoes" by Coldcut-image is album cover of "Alpinisms" by School of Seven BellsI am working on a mix cd for Bermuda Triangles, my first memoir. The memoir is subtitled "A Young Woman Lost in the Sea of Intimacy" and is mostly about dating and sex, working on boundaries of intimacy and openness, from ages 8-28. I am 3/4 done with the rough

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-33956159254898435312010-07-06T15:43:00.004-05:002010-07-15T20:28:52.059-05:00

The title of my post on losing weight wasn't called Gaining and Losing, but that was the topic. I got many responses - comments on the blog and also over email - people noting that they, too, had in some ways had mixed feelings about losing weight. I barely addressed what I meant by that, though, and a few folks were curious. So here it goes, an attempt to get at the nuances of those "emotions

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-19438624311072183002010-07-02T14:17:00.005-05:002010-07-02T14:46:29.445-05:00

Last night, before meditation at the Shambhala Center, I finally did one of the practices I was given at the 10-day retreat I did a week or so ago. I hadn't made space for it at home yet, and we had the supplies at the center, so since I was a bit early for setting up, I settled in and did it.A practice I had done again and again for a week in a tent full of 100 people became, for me, intensely

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-55367523558621936012010-06-29T21:16:00.004-05:002010-07-02T14:45:26.698-05:00

(Image of me at a student's farm teaching a retreat this last weekend,by Dayna Flores)"If you lose your mind, come back again"A slogan from Shambhala Sun CampFor over a month now, Dylan and I have been doing Weight Watchers. The first couple of weeks were awkward - adjusting to their point system, shocked by how little or much certain things "cost" me. But once I got used to it (and, in fact,

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-27094785446496563912010-06-24T21:24:00.006-05:002010-06-24T22:06:41.237-05:00

Photo of the Great Stupa of Dharmakaya from my retreat.This is the question, the inevitable, loving, probing question, one receives upon returning home after being gone for 12 days anywhere. But this question takes on special space when one is returning from a meditation retreat. Before I left, my sister-outlaw Patty (who will be my sister-in-law in a few months) noted that I was pretty

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-28374823988224627742010-06-23T11:45:00.003-05:002010-06-23T11:55:11.896-05:00

Soul II Soul in my head today...I arrived home yesterday mid-evening, after a non-stop flight from Denver. DIA is the most sprawled out airport I have ever had the misfortune to travel through (and one I usually avoid, though the treat of a non-stop from retreat is a worthy price to pay). It can take an hour and a half to get from arriving at the airport to get to one's gate, and that's at a

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-50765554560541779132010-06-09T16:50:00.003-05:002010-06-09T16:55:07.781-05:00

Tomorrow I leave for a 12 day retreat. There will be a lot of inside time - out in the mountains, camping, programs in large tents, exposed to the elements - but inside of me, I'll be going in.An acquaintance once said long ago that he hated the word "retreat" - it implied one was disappearing, escaping, going away, giving up. He proposed "intreat" (as opposed to entreat, which may also be a part

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-17130043898357383712010-05-28T10:25:00.004-05:002010-05-28T11:19:48.375-05:00

Yes. I've gone from Watching the Watcher to Noticing Narcissism, in a week. I'd like to think that this is a common occurrence for others, but I think it's more likely a common occurrence for me. I was raised by a Narcissist, a fact thoroughly overshadowed by her alcoholism and undiagnosed depression and social anxiety. I thought that people who generally disliked themselves couldn't be

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-74986708974903650092010-05-21T17:19:00.003-05:002010-05-22T12:31:25.868-05:00

We began Weight Watchers on Monday.This is after a weekend of watching a friend interact with her WW app on her iPhone at a Buddhist program in Chicago being lead by Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche. We spent much of the time at the retreat talking about "who is doing the watching?" when we become, or aware, that we are thinking, or have even awareness of our object of meditation - breath, candle,

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-40382754144150572432010-04-30T09:57:00.005-05:002010-04-30T11:04:19.142-05:00

Ever since attending a creativity - success and pitfall - talk with singer/songwriter Suzanne Vega a week ago, my mind has coursed over how I play/work and interact with the whole that is bigger than the sum of its parts. This wasn't a direct theme of her talk, but she spoke numerous times to intuition - paying attention to what Chogyam Trungpa would call "first thought, best thought" - not the

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-91893571109673967452010-04-16T09:57:00.006-05:002010-04-30T11:05:39.567-05:00

"three sisters" from albuquerque botanical gardens, february 2010I rush through the last of the first chapter of John Thorndike's The Last of His Mind, his memoir about his father's experience with Alzheimer's and John's time caring for him, and hurry out the door of the coffee shop to come home to my laptop and write. The feeling is intense - joyful and piercing - that I want to write so much

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-50002693558411085472010-04-09T09:10:00.005-05:002010-04-09T11:00:52.839-05:00

It's a clear morning. The snow seems to have passed, and it's not raining anymore. The sun poured into our bedroom for the first time in a week or so, waking us on the earth's current clock.It's funny - there's actually very little to say. I am well-rested but tired. My overloaded quarter is caught up for now - the 70+ people I have interacted with this week, in person or online, as students are

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-36863763935466331502010-03-29T10:24:00.002-05:002010-03-29T10:37:19.377-05:00

So it turns out that not only is the house I grew up on the market, but of course there is a virtual tour of it on the internet. I looked at it, disoriented, trying to figure out which room they were in - this one darker than I recall, this one brighter; where would the porch be if this is the room I think it is?The most disorienting of course was sheer decoration - as a friend stated on Facebook

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-84826960795520860002010-03-27T11:08:00.004-05:002010-03-27T12:02:44.107-05:00

A couple of nights ago, I decided to drive by the house I grew up in. I was in the area, teaching the last of my Junior High creative writing program (through WCATY) and it was late - post-drink with a new friend, pre-hotel return. The times before back in the area are sometimes overloaded with emotion and I can't go anywhere near the north side of town. But this time, everything closed down but

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-16107485964632199282010-03-15T13:21:00.003-05:002010-03-27T12:04:19.692-05:00

Michael Amos Hall, my father, as Judge Hawthorne in the Crucible at MIT, 1955.Today is the 20th anniversary of his death. He died when I was 12.I don't remember when I picked up a copy of Born to Win: Transactional Analysis with Gestalt Experiments by Muriel James and Dorothy Jongeward. I know at some point, in Florida, early in my Miksang teaching days, a student asked me if Miksang is related

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-39590553422292158972010-03-12T14:40:00.004-06:002010-03-27T12:05:16.852-05:00

The verdict is in. Between massage, acupuncture and sickness in the last three weeks, it's become apparent to me that the upside-down lobed leaf shape of my lungs is actually the heart here in my body. The heart, more shaped like a tangle of weaving, must be doing something else, because my lungs are doing all of the feeling.Last night, after a forum at the Overture Center on Miksang, a few of us

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-38340692954835642042010-01-30T15:11:00.004-06:002010-03-27T12:07:01.162-05:00

I dream often of a mixed-together Madison-Appleton. In the dream I am thinking of going home, to the house I have owned in Madison for 6.5 years now, and accidentally, the house I grew up in pops into mind, still as was last I saw the inside of it over 12 years ago. They become one and I can't tell where I am. Bedrooms swap with each other so the home in my dream is a mix of both, and sometimes

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-33025395651036891782010-01-21T11:32:00.003-06:002010-03-27T12:17:49.032-05:00

The first song I run into in my iTunes this morning as I sit down to write aboutcoincidence and intuition?"Synchronicity" by the Police, of course.All the lyrics are worthwhile, so here they are:"Synchronicity I" by the Police With one breath, with one flow You will know Synchronicity A sleep trance, a dream dance A shaped romance Synchronicity A connecting principle Linked to

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-70850706031339894822010-01-10T16:55:00.006-06:002010-03-27T12:19:25.072-05:00

(With thanks to St. Vincent and her awesome album "Actor")I vividly remember the second to last class of my fall at Marquette, just over a month ago now. We did a show, as we started doing the class before, of final pictures selected by the students, on slide at the museum on campus. The year before, the very eager students invited family, friends, professors, and the place was packed to the hilt

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-40309249534032316632009-12-31T11:44:00.004-06:002010-03-27T12:20:30.512-05:00

(image from Kohler Art Center Artery, where you can make art of your own)All I can hear over the distant hum of traffic on 151 is the sound of eggs whirring around in a pot, boiling hard so there's protein in a one-person package for my students on Saturday. In preparing for a retreat, I like to give myself a broad list of things to do - make the soups, cut images out of old National Geographics,

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-11785540354510039742009-12-21T10:09:00.004-06:002010-03-27T12:21:39.048-05:00

Christmas equals ambivalence for me, as I am sure it does for others.And yet, this morning, I woke with the song "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year" in my head. In fact, it won't leave. And I have to say I don't mind it, strangely, though I am feeling somber today and a bit tuckered out from too many (even if good) social interactions over the weekend.There is something about how this time

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-26268450116139068082009-12-05T09:43:00.003-06:002010-03-27T12:24:08.843-05:00

Awhile back, a student at Edgewood College here in Madison asked me if she could interview me for a paper she's doing on Buddhism. Actually, the paper is on the role of silence in spiritual practice, I found out when she came to interview me. We talked about John Cage and chanting and all kinds of stuff. She took notes and recorded our interview, but it turned out the tape didn't come out right,

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-28087476092608030202009-12-04T10:36:00.003-06:002010-03-27T12:24:53.749-05:00

(title is a lyric from St. Vincent)Outside, the first layer of sticking snow covers all the horizontal surfaces and clings to those half between up and down and side to side, like my 45 degree roof. Inside my body, all the connections adjust to the new cold, another 10-20 degrees lower than it has been previously, and my eyes contract with the new light reflected by all the whiteness out there. I

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-46041499875818718022009-11-20T11:32:00.005-06:002010-03-27T12:26:52.046-05:00

Last night I met with my Marquette University students again. I had to miss last week, because of a nasty head cold, and this week I am still sniffling and hacking out phlegm. But I didn't want to miss this week - germless as I am - because we were talking about Magic.It's clear from their response papers that some of them read the chapter on Magic from Shambhala, Sacred Path of the Warrior, with

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-16632524194570321172009-11-18T14:35:00.004-06:002010-03-27T12:27:57.378-05:00

Last week I had what I quickly realized was a panic attack.Even more astonishing was the realization that I have had them before, once every other month or so - that in fact, they punctuate the PMDD I take anti-depressants for - but I had never recognized them as being panic attacks.I spent a couple of hours frozen, unable to act, feeling pressure from even the tiniest inclinations, desires, much

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-79969366724499600302009-11-14T09:11:00.003-06:002010-03-27T12:28:41.832-05:00

I have been sleeping a lot the last month or so, since my last trip to Taos, banking up the hours of rest, getting all I need, fighting off the flus and colds and "other" things that have taken down any one of my over 40 students a week, not to mention retreats and travel and other petri dish circumstances I am quite often exposed to.Before I left Taos, Natalie warned me that maybe I shouldn't

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-21264100963176499162009-11-09T13:00:00.003-06:002010-03-27T12:29:15.329-05:00

I've been really busy making a chapbook's worth of poems over at Poetic Asides this month.I did their Poem A Day competition in April of this year, and helped to judge the preliminary results. This time it's the same idea, only with the "goal" of making an end book (ala NaNoWriMo).The participants will spend December revising it, and in January we'll submit our final revisions that someone will

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-26775455082669895002009-10-30T09:15:00.005-05:002010-03-27T12:30:19.044-05:00

I've been reading this last week like it is going out of style. Natalie says to us, when we are meditating, "Meditate like this is your last minute on earth," during the last minute of the meditation session. Katagiri used to say it to them, now she says it to us.I've been reading like each book is the last book I will ever read - On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan. Truth and Beauty by Ann Patchett.

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-55861919585516174702009-10-26T11:44:00.004-05:002010-03-27T12:31:19.346-05:00

I'm back from 4/5 weeks in Taos, spread apart over the course of a year. The trip has become "easy" now, my BFF from the intensive, Maryam, and I have decided. We are so used to the flights, the trip, that we were able to shake it up big time this time, take stops along the way, meet up in Santa Fe and do separate legs, coordinated through texting and my iPhone GPS system. Fun had by all before

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-10570640048708223552009-10-14T11:59:00.005-05:002010-03-27T12:32:26.934-05:00

I asked the Miksang students this last weekend in Chicago to consider what exactly happens when we are saying "Too Much Information" or "I am overwhelmed." It's an important question, especially when we can use it as defense against the world. Shut down. Close off.I am in a state right now where I want to do both of those things. I have indigestion from something funky I ate (broken yoghurt

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-32898661491896111412009-10-06T16:23:00.003-05:002010-03-27T12:33:12.869-05:00

The cats are very wiley today. Aviva got up every half hour or so after midnight and played with a large mirror that hangs on my bedside wall. Her tactic is to futz with it, pull it a bit so it fidgets on the wall, then stop, paw usually still in the air, and look at me in the moonlight to see if I see what she is doing. If we aren't awake, she keeps doing it until we are. And when I spray her

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-45496673398480390922009-10-05T11:25:00.005-05:002010-03-27T12:33:56.153-05:00

Skulls and skeletonsLine the autumn sidewalks-Last Echinacea dies.It's that time of year again, when skeletons and monsters and witches appear cartoon-like on the lawns and in the windows of our neighbors and storefronts. Last year I began to wonder most seriously about this strange holiday, which I haven't much celebrated for years now, being a bit out of the "drunk and wild on State St all

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-29402167098200780492009-09-27T16:51:00.004-05:002010-03-27T12:39:51.821-05:00

I spent the majority of this weekend in Milwaukee, WI, a very working-class Wisconsin city on Lake Michigan. It's about an hour away from Madison, WI, where I live, and it's a place I spent no time in except to drive through on the way to Southern Wisconsin from Appleton, WI (where I grew up), until I became an adult. Now I teach there once a week in the fall, and spend time there on and off to

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-61975434712908405082009-09-21T11:00:00.004-05:002010-03-27T12:41:03.048-05:00

I managed to pull a weird muscle in my eye last night crying.Behind my eye, of course. Eyeballs don't have muscles.I remember in High School when my theater group took a trip to NYC for the first time, and Luke, one of the actors, got a burst blood vessel during the flight due to sudden changes in pressure. He said it didn't hurt, but it looked like hell. Blood floating all over his eye, but

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-69993765405405511092009-09-14T10:12:00.004-05:002010-03-27T12:42:03.274-05:00

I'm back into order. The office, the kitchen, are fully functional. The structure of the school year has saved me from myself. And falling back into the forms, freedom comes. The freedom to consider what structures haven't worked before, why, how to re-form them, what to reject and what to accept.Family. Family order and inheritance is in my head a lot lately. A very good friend is going through

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-1979486533077988162009-09-11T11:31:00.005-05:002010-03-27T12:43:29.353-05:00

I got Regina Spektor's latest album, Far, a few weeks ago, and have been pretty inseparable from it. It's rare that music haunts me nowadays, except with nostalgia. I seem to have developed a strange separation from music; I don't "need" it as much as I used to, and tend to prefer silence. So when I get into my car to go to Milwaukee, for instance, once a week to teach, I listen to Alan Watts or

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-64741424983946074662009-09-09T18:14:00.003-05:002010-03-27T12:44:25.144-05:00

PMS. Pre-Menstrual Syndrome. Syndrome - syn/drone. I act the same every time, or my emotions seem to be the same and I respond in habit. Which is the syndrome part? The hormones?DromeMoneMy response is to get sad, always has been.The trees on our block are already starting to change. The first to go, I see just now, is the yellow Honey Locust on the corner which gets the most of the setting sun

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-1353182593769872922009-09-04T08:15:00.004-05:002010-03-27T12:45:13.396-05:00

Yes, I know the last entry was entitled "Inspiration."No, I didn't remember that when I woke up this morning thinking about my most recent rejection letter.Lately, I've been uncovering, discovering and trying to be honest with/about my deep, deep core under-beliefs. My secret beliefs, the beliefs that are not shaken by evidence, by logic, even by experience (unless any of those three contribute

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-44711714059363471322009-08-31T11:48:00.003-05:002009-08-31T12:23:42.293-05:00

I'm home! 10 days out of my own bed, without my cats and loving partner. 10 days with new and old friends, teaching, learning, and spreading out my experiences in New Mexico, deepening them. Lots and lots of writing and photos to be posted soon, especially the photos.What a place that New Mexico is. I saw more inspiration than ever before, and felt the desperation of the place more keenly. Just a

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-47087711129254639432009-08-18T13:12:00.003-05:002009-08-18T13:37:10.441-05:00

(photograph of a print from Memorial Union show "Home Sweet Home," which is up until mid-September . Artist/title unknown. Link: http://www.union.wisc.edu/art/)So here I am, in writing residency again at the Shambhala Center. It's pretty casual - I hang out and write the whole time, and students and other writers just kind of drop in whenever they have 15 minutes or three hours and write

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-4399112521760507372009-08-09T19:39:00.004-05:002009-08-09T20:08:43.459-05:00

(L-R me in my 2$ rummage sale find, June, Dylan, Alex, Patty and Heather and Tyler in front)There are so many cheesy metaphors I could espouse here, the day after our third and final "wedding." The one which actually is fitting is the life ahead of us, and how it could be similar to an un-played playlist.Last night, we turned our neighborhood coffeeshop (often referred to as "our second living

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13489654.post-7936647147602631772009-08-04T08:57:00.003-05:002009-08-04T09:14:01.613-05:00

A low-grade sadness has underpinned my interactions with the world for the last few days. These activities include parties with visiting friends, to-do lists a mile long preparing for our wedding reception this Saturday, and our kitchen, which will hopefully be done in time. Is it pre-menstrual? Maybe it's this or that, I would say to Dylan, grabbing whatever event had most recently occurred. Not

miriamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06107671021769120700noreply@blogger.com1