White Noise

This morning I felt it. As I sometimes do. I woke up early before the world to see the quiet, and the cool stillness.  Nature–the Great Mother–was baring herself to the unconditional acceptance of the sky and falling back into the wonder of itself. And I paused on my front porch while my soul connected to the place of it’s true home, devoid of the white noise of people and air conditioners and cars and flurry and chaos.  And as the sun rested in self-assured imminence behind mountains which stand guard like new parents, felt called into remembrance, that at every turn, nature—The Earth—will impassively stand in non-judgment of our human drama and flaws until we either save ourselves or perish.

And the indifference of it didn’t make me feel small; it made me feel reverent.

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Spray of Diamonds

[Just popped in a Paul Simon CD, and now St Judy’s Comet rides shotgun, rolling across the skies and leaving sprays of diamonds in its wake. Music, poetry, words left out like cat food for homeless cats….it’s all part of love].

I’ve been waking up at sunrise to love like lightning shaking til it moans and rainbows in the high desert air, for I’ve got a Nikon camera that gives me greens of summer and follows the light across my room and all the music seeping through, saying honey take me dancing but sleeping
In a doorway
By the bodegas and the lights on
Upper broadway
Wearing diamonds on the soles of my shoes.
And I watch the night receive the room of my day late in the evening, taking photographs about the arc of a love affair. —Paul Simon (abbr. 😌)

[Edit for Paul Simon novices: St Judy’s Comet; The Obvious Child, Hearts and Bones, Kodachrome, Late in the Evening, Diamonds on the Soles of her Shoes].

Animals in order of appearance: Sadie, Cat, Lucy, Skippy, Tux, Boyfriend, Tala, Mildred, Snaggle, and Izabela. I sit for these creatures—or at least I did, pre-pandemic—and no matter how much time passes, they’ll live always in my hearts and bones.


When my sister “came out” in the mid-1990’s, a few family members made like it was a huge deal how accepting they were about it so when my own kids started dabbling in what they felt their sexuality was and it was right during/after a transformatively-dark sojourn for our little family, I was traumatized and protective and I thought “no. we aren’t going to ‘come out’ so that totally fucked up, white heterosexuals can wave the wand of “I’m such a wonderfully superior person to be above all of whatever it is you are.”

My kids and the kids in this post want your love and approval and it shouldn’t be an ego-defining moment for you to offer it. Because I don’t know everything about the issues but I know that kids kill themselves because of the self-proscribed “moral” authority of those who kick their children out of their love and I’m not going to validate it by seeking to understand “both sides.” There’s no valid side to not loving your kid.

Donated shorts

Sometimes when you rise in the morning, the light in the room holds echoes of the ancestors and other worlds, and in a speechless wisdom of such purity you can hear them saying: “No. Don’t wear those shorts; they shrunk and you’re already bloated.” And sometimes you’re wise and you listen, and sometimes you gotta go ahead and be that dumb bitch as if you’ve completely forgotten how unpleasant misery is.

Pic 1 is a sunrise favorite and Pic 2 is of dumb bitch reflection in said shorts—the wearing of which hurt both my thighs and my feelings—the moral of which funneled me down into humility and earnest promises to my ancestors to do better.

The Interiors of People

Quote/poem by Catherine “Kitty” O’ Meara.

I just saw that Jared Leto had been off on a 12 day meditation retreat and came back to civilization today to realize it’s now basically gone, and my first thought was how cool and lucky he was to be off doing that so that now he can be that person walking calmly amongst the chaos.

Because Meditation helps you take back your own mind which you didn’t even know it was hijacked, and the feeling of connecting with your self like that is akin to a profound quiet. Where the “striving ceases, and there is life waiting as a gift,” having pierced through the limitations of our own mind as if finally discovering the fullness of ourselves. It’s like that time I looked up at the night sky and instead of the stars/full moon, became terrified as if suddenly I questioned my own safety as the earth—a huge magnified rock supported “underneath” by nothing tangible—spins at 1000 mph and hurtles through the void of space. Which was the start of a journey of coming to peace with how truly safe we are; that we are only alive because of physical improbabilities we don’t even acknowledge we benefit from.

And Civilizations have fallen before—we’re not special. Physical structures fall, humanity fails one another; concepts replace the reality of a spinning planet and chaos is embedded in our inability to fully see until we’re forced to. But what we do with the chaos that’s inside and outside—who we become during it, how we can use a mind unhijacked to create a beautiful life fully lived in the wholeness of ourselves—is what makes us special.

For its not just chaos, trauma, sudden change, disruption, brand new ways of grieving as we lose the things that once comforted us; it’s also terror under a darkened sky that pushes us towards a deeper awareness—we never before could fully gasp— that inside all that truth are actually gracious invitations to long-unseen interior places of safety.


Italians not supposed to leave their house are serenaded by a musician on his balcony. Imagine all the people, living life in peace; Imagine, living for a day when the world will live as one.


Marilyn Monroe and Clark Gable on set of “The Misfits”
My daughter, Livy, and I were talking in the car yesterday about Marilyn Monroe and reflected on what a hard road it must have been during that time as a beautiful, sexually-alluring woman with a kind heart and desire for meaning deeper than popular society felt she was capable of. Livy told me Marilyn was born within one month of Queen Elizabeth and after she said that, I imagined Marilyn as an older woman just like Queen Elizabeth, maybe carrying a little dog in her purse with smile wrinkles around her eyes that doubled as her best friend. But she never got there. Because people kill themselves; that’s real and unfortunate, and often it’s because they don’t feel valued for what they truly are. They’re rushed into the smallness of a carry-on bag for what should be the luxurious potential of a flight bearing beauty, brains and authentic kind hearts And it takes a true bullshit personality to accept the limitations of a humanity that doesn’t know how to behave so fidgets. That doesn’t know how to pay attention when the sages talk so instead turn up the TV. And when the mischievous ones with the smile lines show up in curves and breathy persona, our societal norms of rabid extroversion devoid quiet listening bury them. Toss them into the abyss of unhealthy coping skills and a society which has the desire and capacity to be happy—to be so much more and make an incredible world—but delude and unknowingly phone it in, laughing loudly to cover the loneliness. The end of my conversation with Livy had me reflecting on life and society, the norms, the media, the tendency to fetishize the most vapid and unimportant things, and I told her that I’m trying to walk my own road and instead of moving through life in search of events or tangible things, trying to move through life in search of feelings of wholeness and connection independent of what society plugs as that would be. And it took me a long time to get here. It was a road where I went off the edge, down the abyss into that loneliness; into the darkness. Devoid of external value, deeming self unloved, unlovable. And that somehow I survived, is an accomplishment bestowed also upon our foremothers who didn’t. . And wherever Marilyn is, I hope she knows I’m listening to the story of her life, and relishing it’s luxurious import, and the gift that it helped carry me out of the madness.