Daylight of the Soul
Making Sacred Space
What is this light? What is this terrible burning? I am really struggling with my words. A couple months ago I went through a profound spiritual awakening that has hijacked my life and left me not even wanting to pick up the pieces of all the former things that remain.
The Tenderness of Being Human
While it's important to have a source of income, my work as a designer has always felt temporary for me. Like a part-time job you take to pay the bills while you secretly work on what you really love.
From “What is my purpose?” to “What is the point?”
Didn't you say you were a believer? Didn't you ask for grace?
What are you trading your life for?
Purpose is really huge and transcendental. Knowing it is essential, but sometimes I'm crawling around the sea floor of my purpose and forgetting the whole point of light and air.
Some days are just like this.
As I share in my beloved Dear Artist class, I have an unshakeable sense of urgency about life. As time goes by and life happens, both the pretty parts and the grief parts, this only intensifies to a point where I feel wildly compelled, pulled, called by something outside myself. John O'Donohue, my favorite mystical poet-preacher, calls this the urgency of the Eternal. One night, in the midst of my tearful hours, I went to sleep with a burning question in my heart: What am I trading my health for? What am I trading my time for? What am I trading my life for?
Today is the dark moon and seven days ago me and mine were blinded with grief we are still reeling from.
The New Moon is the Artist's Moon
Choose with me. Choose vulnerable courage. Let's choose to reach for what we really want, and to be patient with the layers that often wrap our blushing wild hearts in tenderness, because what we long for is soft and alive and true.
Dear Artist: you are an alchemist of mystery. You are an alchemist of the dark.
It took years for me to call myself an artist. In my mind, to be an artist was to create gorgeous paintings and sketches and make life appear on canvas, and I could do none of those things. Instead I found great solace in claiming the title writer, which is making art with words.
And then I lost my words.
And for those who long for more, more anything, scarcity is the invitation of winter.