#collecting bones

Cole shared some pics of his very unique decor. Yikes!

He has some collection of oddities. It’s very extensive, isn’t it?

I have never seen such a large collection, unless it was in a museum.

Yikes, again! This is some piece. Look at those fangs!

Girls on the page are offering to cook and clean for him. Hmm- they may wind up in the collection. (I know, I have an overactive imagination.)

Look at the fetus. Geesh!

This is crazy.

“What I love about writing is...”

Writing has changed my life completely. It has been my catalyst for self-discovery. There is power and potency within writing that many, sadly, never tap into. I feel school has affected written expression and hopefully the masses pick up a pen just to pick it up. Not in hopes of some prophetic writing which will alter their reality. I love writing for its ability to center in on what’s plaguing the mind. If there are feelings and cyclical thoughts that won't shut up, I promise writing it all out will release you of that incessant chatter, even if just momentarily. I love writing for its ability to ground me and connect me with my truth. It centers me and allows me to release the excess. The excess fear, the excess joy, the excess doubts. Taking pen to paper has changed my relationship with myself and the world. It has deepened my connection with spirit and gives me a lens into the intangible, the untouchable. Writing has a magic to it that is similar to spoken word. 

“What’s hard about writing is...”

What’s hard about writing is tapping into that thought juice and turning it into a solid fruit. There is such depth and complexity to thought and trying to pull those words, feelings, ideas to the surface is like fishing at night. You are peering into the dark sea, waiting for a glimmer to grab onto and pull to the surface. Sometimes you get a big fish, a juicy thought articulated so well you think, “Damn, this should get published,” and sometimes you get a little bit of seaweed that is nutritious, but very common. I’d say my biggest struggle with writing is doubt in myself. I struggle with really loving what I write but the fear others will judge or shame it overshadows that love. It’s hard because we all want to be accepted and heard but self-doubt seems to knock me down a peg and I don’t share what I’ve written. It’s hard articulating heaviness, constriction, tension, release, light-heartedness into words. Yes, I put it on the page but, do you feel those things? Have I stimulated a physical feeling, related to what I’m trying to express? That is what I find hard about writing, stimulating empathy.

“I would do more writing if...”

I would do more writing if my basic needs were met. If I had my own space, that I am comfortable and free to pursue my hobbies, I would write multiple times a day. This past winter I barely wrote, I had a series of heartbreaking losses in August 2021 and it created a disconnect between me and my feelings leading to me not being able to write. I had to survive this winter and keep my head above water and I wasn’t able to connect with myself like I usually do. This winter showed me how much not writing affects me and how when I’m forced into survival, I step into a scarcity mindset. “Not having enough,” is the energy of this mindset. So, I didn’t have enough time for myself. I am writing regularly again and the biggest influence of this is New moon in Aries and losing my job. The universe knew I couldn’t quit what was killing me so it cut the cord for me. I have time to write again and I am starting the journey back to myself, to my heart center. There is a story called La Loba that Clarissa Pinkola Estes shares in women who run with wolves. It’s a story about the woman in the desert who collects wolf bones and at night sings over them bringing them to life. When they wake and run toward the horizon, they laugh into women. The bones represent what makes us, us. I am collecting bones.

They look alot better now that they've dried out 😁