there is a fire burning in the center of my chest.

can you feel it?
you must be able to feel it, even you, so far across the ocean.

i cannot hold it in.
i do not want to hold it in.
it is all that is good and true in me, setting everything alight.

the fire does not discriminate.
it burns for the homeless man on the freeway entrance ramp,
the single brown leaf on the tree,
the dog on my bed.

the fire burns with passion and purpose.
it is a funeral pyre for the dead;
it turns coal into diamond;
it is a beacon in the darkest night.

the fire is fierce and wise and holy.

it is lighting the way toward a wild, joy-filled life.

last week, atlas and i were napping on the couch. when he was tired of lying next to me, he got up and moved to the end of the couch. i rolled over onto my side, only to feel the hard splint in my back. sleepily, i thought, “why is the splint here when atlas is there?”

needless to say, that sleepy thought woke me right up.

i still don’t know how he did it.

when i sat up to investigate, the splint was right where it is in the picture. it wasn’t stuck in the couch cushion. i definitely didn’t feel him wiggling around like he was trying to get it off. and as you can see, it is perfectly intact.

i spent the whole morning telling him that he was a genius.

alas for atlas, that wasn’t the end of the splint. it was going to be until he limped over to me with the expression that says “i am really really hurting”, an expression that i rarely see. i brought him to the vet immediately to have them put it back on him.

p.s. there are still some calendars left, if you want to spend 2013 with atlas!

“In his general theory of relativity Einstein astounded the world when he said that space and time are not separate entities, but are smoothly linked and part of a larger whole he called the space-time continuum. Bohm takes this idea a giant step further. He says that everything in the universe is part of a continuum. Despite the apparent separateness of things at the explicate level, everything is a seamless extension of everything else, and ultimately even the implicate and explicate orders blend into each other.

Take a moment to consider this. Look at your hand. Now look at the light streaming from the lamp beside you. And at the dog resting at your feet. You are not merely made of the same things. You are the same thing. One thing. Unbroken. One enormous something that has extended its uncountable arms and appendages into all the apparent objects, atoms, restless oceans, and twinkling stars in the cosmos.”

– Michael Talbot in The Holographic Universe

(i suppose this may or may not be true, but when i read the second paragraph, it was so beautiful that it took my breath away. also, it gave me an idea for a story about a world that was also an octopus.)

“All men dream, but not all equally. Those who dream by night, in the dusty recesses of their mind, wake to find it was all vanity. But the dreamers of the day are dangerous, for they may act their dreams with open eyes and make things happen.”

– T.E. Lawrence

just for fun, i made an atlas calendar. i liked it so much that i ordered eight of them. two calendars are already spoken for, so i have six available.

they’re desk calendars, 5×11 in size, with a built-in easel for display on your desk.

i’ll also request your birthday month and atlas will send you a birthday card next year. (if you don’t like birthdays, or like your birthday month to remain a secret, he’ll send you an un-birthday card sometime during the year.)

the cost is $27, which includes shipping.

want to spend 2013 with atlas?

this offering is no longer available. come back next year!

i spend a lot of time thinking about beauty. i also spend a lot of time thinking about art. of course, art is only one of a million ways to bring more beauty into your life, but it happens to be one of my favorites.

i also spend a lot of time idly wondering why people do or don’t buy art. often, people don’t buy art because of money. sometimes that’s the real reason. sometimes, i think, it’s not.

when amy was here, i talked to her about it. her walls are full of art. every time i visit, i go home thinking that i really need more art on my walls (which are not exactly bare).

we were talking about how we are drawn to specific styles. examples: i like art that reminds me of sculpture; she likes seascapes. (as an aside, this is why i firmly believe that you can always buy what you love without worrying whether it goes with the things you already have. if you always buy what you love, your home will reflect you.)

the thing we decided is that we both know what we like. if i see something and it’s for me, i know. there is an internal pull, a drawing toward, a yes. i don’t always buy it, of course, but i absolutely know what i like. same with her.

i suspect this is not the case for everyone.

somehow, this reminded me of a story.

there was a year or two in little school where we had an art class. in one class, we chose three shapes and three colors and used them to make a piece of art. i chose red, black, and blue, and a triangle, music note, and square.

i loved the resulting piece. it was geometric and abstract and colorful. (you can tell how much i loved it by the fact that i still remember what i did a million years later. i can almost see it if i close my eyes and concentrate.)

my mother decided to frame something of ours and hang it on the wall. the only trouble was that she framed a watercolor i had done of a landscape. oh, how i hated that painting. i could not get watercolor paints to do what i wanted them to do. the sun dripped. i had to paint things that were supposed to look like actual things with a thin brush. it was everything i liked least about art, and i was embarrassed by the result.

the watercolor hung over my bed. every day, it was the first thing i saw when i woke up. every day, i would walk past it and into the next room, where amy’s piece was framed – an amazing scratch art piece of a loon. i spent years thinking that amy was an artist and i wasn’t, all because of that dripping watercolor. i thought artists could draw things that looked like the things – and i couldn’t.

of course, this is a story about many things.

it is a story about a girl who thought she had to be perfect. the watercolor wasn’t perfect, therefore it wasn’t acceptable. now, the watercolor hangs in my parents’ entryway. i find it sweet. the dripping sunset doesn’t bother me.

it is also a story about the stories we tell ourself. one of my stories was that because other people didn’t appreciate the piece i loved and was proud of as much as i did, i didn’t have good taste and it wasn’t worth anything and i wasn’t an artist. in hindsight, of course, none of that was true.

it is also a story about personal preference, which is why i thought of it. in my family, i think amy and i (and maybe helen) are the only ones who enjoy abstract art. the choice of painting didn’t mean anything about me; my mother loves landscapes and watercolors and she loved that watercolor.

it reminds me that when we are little, we know what we like. i wonder if sometimes it’s hard to hold onto that knowing as we grow older. i couldn’t hold onto it in many areas of my life, but i did manage to hold onto it when it comes to decorating my home, for which i am grateful.

here, it is friday night.

the wind is howling around my home. the rain drops are rattling against my window pane. it is a wild sort of beauty, one that i only notice now that i am inside, safe & warm & dry.

i find myself strangely uninterested in my photos right now. instead of worrying about it, i decided to embrace it. everything ebbs and flows in life. why should my interests be any different.

this morning, i asked myself, “what would bring me the most joy right now?” the answer involved christmas shopping. as a result, atlas and i went on a little adventure. atlas now has a bag of dog treats and a new collar. i found some christmas presents. i feel a million times better. (i think we both had cabin fever.)

if you were here, i’d make you a mug of tea and ask you how you are. not out of politeness, but because i have time to listen and i care. i do care and i am interested, if you would like to share, whether it’s here or in my email.

may your weekend include moments of peace and joy.

on saturday, we took our guests to the ocean. you would not believe how happy atlas was to be out and about on an adventure. (never mind that we had gone on an adventure right before we left for the ocean – to the recycle bin. hahaha.) he had the biggest smile on his face as he dragged me all around.

unfortunately for atlas, i didn’t let him run. we also did a fair amount of sitting and waiting while amy and katherine went on without us. but he was still happy. and we were so happy for him.

the good news is that his splint earned him lots of extra attention and sympathy and scratches and a giant dog treat.

i must say, atlas really hasn’t slowed down at all. we went to the vet today to get his splint rewrapped and one of the girls there commented that she had never seen a dog move quite so fast with a splint on. he is as speedy as ever. i guess it is a lovely testament to adaptability, even if i wish he would move more slowly.

it looks like the splint might stay on for two more weeks and then he can do the rest of his healing without it. here’s hoping.

“Trees are the earth’s endless effort to speak to the listening heaven.”

– Rabindranath Tagore, Fireflies

i think this is one of my favorite quotes about trees. i found it a long time ago but neglected to write it down at the time. the memory of a beloved quote about trees and heaven pops into my mind occasionally, so i am finally writing it down somewhere in order to always remember it.

here, it is quiet.

the rain is falling. there is a game of scrabble paused on the floor. i am sitting on the couch, typing this on my phone. atlas is sleeping next to me, exhausted from the excitement of yesterday, when a turkey was cooked in his oven.

i have family in town for the long weekend. they are exploring portland for a few hours while i stay with atlas and make them cinnamon rolls.

here, all is well.

i wish you love and warmth, wherever you are, whoever you’re with, whatever you’re doing.