Chelsisms...
Poems. Pictures. Prose. Bits of found inspiration. That's what you'll find here. An inner world projected out...
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Did I mention I'm underemployed?
I'm an occasional freelance journalist. A one-time nonprofit PR flack. Do you need a letter written? I like doing that. I've cleaned up, organized and expedited strangers' lives. And from time to time I professionally alphabetize.
It's not above my pay grade to craft love notes, poems, and letters to the editor when asked. When the light is right, and I get lucky, I take artsy photographs. I used to squeeze cash out of social media. Then broke up with Facebook and started using paperback encyclopedias.
I practice yoga seven days a week. Om Shanti - I chant and meditate. I almost have an Ayurvedic life coach certificate. But what's more, I'm an advocate of the hands on approach. I do. I learn. I contribute. There’s no subject we can’t broach. Call me laborer, confidant, or crazy neighbor. I am a fantastic enabler.
Should you fancy working with me, simply speak into the can on your end of the string. If communicating by smoke signals be sure to wave them my way.
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“Never give children a chance of imagining that anything exists in isolation. Make it plain from the very beginning that all living is relationship. Show them relationships in the woods, in the fields, in the ponds and streams, in the village and in the country around it. Rub it in.” - Aldous Huxley, Island
What is an organic connection anyway?
Perhaps it is the entirely effortless progression of interaction between human beings — where each exists in the other’s world without forcing development in their own interest. Instead the common practice is to naturally influence the trajectory of life by being present. Each moment of intentional existence is defined by a genuine desire to be invested totally in living creatively.
I love you for the woman who rides the train barefoot. For the laughing child who inspires stoic passengers to smile. For the spontaneous, multigenerational jams that breakout between strangers sharing heavy beats over headphones. For the sequined bike riding transvestite who keeps men guessing. For the Tuesday accordion player who makes the train his stage. For his wife, and the baby in her arms, who carry a cup to collect quarters in his wake. For the unexpected eye contact and the shy smiles that, for a short time anyway, turn strangers into neighbors.
Disillusionment is difficult
But truth is harder still
And anger turns up so often
In our search for love
Dysfunction is natural
As a reaction to deceit
Leaving us to wonder
What normalcy might be
Now, facts may be formidable
But intimacy takes the cake
The challenge:
Baring all your parts
Hoping you won’t break
So naked, we plead for compassion
And partners whose peculiarities
Harmonize in our sighs
Given we’re in tune with
What rests between our thighs
Before we’re entangled
In what amity might imply
Realize, apropos of nothing,
Spiritual intercourse will
Forever catch our eye
And the cycle just keeps going
As we struggle for faith
Clinging to the hope
That in time our
Consciousness will wake
“The creative writer does the same as the child at play. He creates a world of phantasy which he takes very seriously—that is, which he invests with large amounts of emotion—while separating it sharply from reality.”
Tell me…
Why are we together?
What do you like about me?
What would you be most willing to give up in your life, right now?
What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?
If we only had one more night together what would we do?
What do you dislike most about me?
What makes me bearable despite that?
What can I do to be a better friend?
How can I be a more sensitive lover?
What is your greatest fear?
What holds you back?
How do you explain inequality?
When are you the most selfish?
What’s the last secret you couldn’t keep?
“If your everyday life seems poor to you, do not accuse it; accuse yourself, tell yourself you are not poet enough to summon up its riches; since for the creator there is no poverty and no poor or unimportant place.”
Rainer Maria Rilke
“There’s no clear boundary between experience and imagination. Who knows what glimpses of reality we pick up unconsciously, telepathically.”
- Norman Mailer
Let’s face it, rewriting your resume is no fun. Unless of course, you turn it into a poem…So let the shameless self-promotion begin. I need work. I clearly have too much time on my hands.
I dream of a simple life. A way of being that is not fraught with financial angst nor endless striving for success or fame. An existence where collective discourse is not centered around invisible hubs of social media but rather tangible tribal gatherings of flesh and blood.
I aspire to be self-sufficient. To know the basic necessities of life. To grow my own food, build my own home and make my own clothes. To live with respect for the natural cycles of life. To connect with the sources that sustain us. To know where the goods I consume come from. To understand the direct energetic and ethical cost of my choices.
I hope to grow a family. One that has at its core not only love but friendship and a shared ethos. A tribe whose purpose is greater than the physical safety of its members. A community that provides a spiritual, emotional, and psychological foundation that encourages and makes possible brave exploration and enduring loyalty.
I will strive to create something beautiful. To channel the genius of the collective mind for the purposes of expanding consciousness. To bring into being some art that is exquisite for reasons greater than its pleasurable interpretation by the senses.
I wish for a glimpse of the path. To know my Self truly. To accept the mistakes and embrace the imperfections. To be more the woman I spy dancing across the inside of my eyelids as I fall asleep.
But above all else, I must to learn to be truly present. To no longer dream, aspire, hope, strive, or wish. But instead to be.
“Eat, Pray, Love” Author Elizabeth Gilbert muses on the impossible things we expect from artists — and shares the radical idea that, instead of the rare person “being” a genius, all of us “have” a genius…
This is where I am. Stuck. In a rut. Staring at the blank screen, brain screaming, creativity silent. So I will I turn to those more talented and wise for advice…
“Serenity comes not alone by removing the outward causes and occasions of fear, but by the discovery of inward reservoirs to draw upon.” - Rufus M. Jones
Time to fill up those reservoirs.
“It wants to open itself, like the door of a little temple, so that you might step inside and be cooled and refreshed, and less yourself than a part of everything.”
Mary Oliver re: poems - “The Leaf and the Cloud”
