Posted in Rambings on August 4, 2009 by moragglimmerwitch


The color of waiting is white.  It shows no pity to those who succumb and it wraps itself around you saying:  “Now you are mine for awhile.”  It fills your head with its dense cotton batting and settles in your abdomen where its presence makes itself known with an ever-growing sense of anxiety. 

Waiting is a white cotton sheet tacked over the window, sequestering you in your home and holding you hostage to its demands.  It sits, wedged next to you in your chair, radiating its alabaster coldness while erasing the words in your book.  It whispers, “You are not important” and makes you forget your name.   White noise clogs your ears and makes time stand still.   Minutes will seem like hours and days will feel like centuries.  It etches wrinkles in your face and changes the part in your hair.   It is the grayness of nothingness and of everything.

The color of waiting is a ghostly white specter floating above your head and through your body.   Its tendrils weave a web across your eyes until you can only focus inward, where it sits patiently, always present, always reminding you of who’s really in charge.   It creeps into your bed at night and startles you awake – an icy cold finger rearranging a jumbled dreamscape into its own name.   Its white-hot ember will light up the blackness and you will not sleep again tonight. 

Instead, you will wait.

You will wait and you will think only of waiting and you won’t stop, won’t stop, won’t stop, while your eyes film over with milky white cataracts and your nose fills with the acrid smell of self-loathing and your mouth tastes only regret.  

“You will wait now” it whispers, its departure time unknown.


Who are you?

Posted in About Me with tags , on August 3, 2009 by moragglimmerwitch

How do you define your tribe?
I think my tribe reaches wide and far. Its boundaries are flexible, if there are any. It’s all encompassing.
Who is a part of your tribe?
You. Her. Him. Them. All of us. We’re like those raindrops on the car window— the ones we probably all watched as backseat passengers on rainy roadtrips— single, trailing, grouping, skipping, joining, racing, slowing, bumping, separating, meeting again. The fluid movement, the morphing shapes, all sparkling— I think that’s us. So, it’s like that. See? Beyond my nurturing family nucleus, I am one who welcomes everyone sharing the window, even for a moment, on our roadtrip through this life. Is that a tribe? I don’t really know. . .
What makes your heart sing?
Oh so many things. On the tip of my mind now: getting lost in the creative process— when the inspiration flows freely and time drops away— the surface builds or the fiber transforms to doll, and suddenly something lovely has been created where there was once just nothing. It’s happy, it’s magical, it’s heart-singing! As if that joyful feeling could be topped, sending those creations out into the world— putting them out there, sharing them, allowing them to be seen and having them be received by people who want to receive them— is a wonderful feeling, a heart-singing high. Lovely.
What do you care about?
Too much! It has been known to keep me up at night.  the trees, that car in the snowbank, the friend in trouble, the homeless at the shelter, the necessity to reduce, reuse and recycle, the economy . . . I am very caring and when I can, I do my best to act on it. If I can help you
— I will.

What nourishes you?
Lately, it’s literally been fresh local produce! We joined a Community Supported Agriculture program and it’s a season of yumminess complete with a new cookbook to help us out along the way. I am also nurtured by adventurous wanders, sticky-fingered hugs, the wind, my elephant memory and the snippets it feeds me at odd moments, little lost-my-tooth grins, good music, quiet early mornings, and thunderstorms at night.
What dream are you dreaming right now?
I dream now about how my artistic life will evolve as I gradually gain more time to pursue it. I dream now about what is around the corner, because I don’t really know. I’m picking up the clues, tuning in to the least static-y channel . . . bzzz, shhhhh, bzzzz . . . and hopefully soon I’ll be singing along.

How do you define joy?
Happiness so completely filling that it makes me want to burst wide, fly, run, spread my arms wide and hug the world! It’s so nice to know that joy is lurking everywhere . . .

Who are you?
I’m just a regular, everyday gal— a friend, a daughter, a sister, — you might feel like you’ve already met me when you meet me! I’m also an artist, a dreamer. I like to write. I am evolving, open, absorbing all I can in this wonderful life. . .



What is your motto for living? Or, what’s on the bumper sticker of your life?
Hmmm. I’d have to say it all boils down to The Golden Rule for me. Do unto others as you would like to have done unto you. How do I want to treat people and be treated?  I’m a thinker. Always considering. . .

L.M. Montgomery

Posted in Books, L M Montgomery (Lucy Maud), Literature, Words, Writings with tags on July 18, 2009 by moragglimmerwitch

L.M. Montgomery (known as Lucy Maude to fans) is the beloved author of Anne of Green Gables and other children’s books about quirky orphaned or semi-orphaned intelligent, imaginative girls. Lucy Maude herself lived with her mother until a late (for the time) marriage to a minister whose occupation required her to stifle her lively mind (at least outwardly) and to endure many boring teas as well as move out of her beloved PEI to Ontario. Adding insult to injury, her husband was mentally ill, something she covered up on his behalf, as well as her own bouts of depression.

Like all successful and well merchandised (through movies, dolls, tv spin-offs and much else) authors whose copyright has expired, there is always another buck to be extracted from her journals and notes. Penguin is set to release The Blythes Are Quoted in Oct/09, a collection of short stories derived from the archives at The University of Guelph. Die hard Lucy Maud fans will enjoy, I’m sure, with some surprises. Though Lucy Maud wrote that it’s as easy to write about the sky as it is the privy, these stories contain plenty of privy:

From Quill and Quire

[T]he stories don’t reflect the sunny tone readers might expect from Montgomery. Several themes in The Blythes Are Quoted are inescapably grown-up: adultery, illegitimacy, hatred, revenge, death.

In my experience, books put together from scraps unused by the author in the author’s lifetime are usually not very good, but I’ll probably read it just for the fun of seeing another side of Lucy Maud (who inspired me as a kid and many other  writers, too!). However, I recommend the journals, which I read in PEI while working on my first novel. Her journals make fascinating reading and reveal the range and depth of her mind.

At the end of her life she lived in a part of Toronto that overlooks Lake Ontario. It’s a lovely place, originally the Village of Swansea, so named because it looked so much like Wales, and was one of the last two villages to be absorbed by the city in 1967.

I stand before you now…

Posted in Uncategorized on May 31, 2009 by moragglimmerwitch

I stand before you now…

I am here to greet you…

for as long as this eternity is…

I have failed to meet you

You look old

You seem wise

your gaze is distant

Can you meet my eyes?

We stare at the reflections, blinded by the truth in our eyes… the mirrored walls capture the pairs, the countless futures hidden behind so many eternal ties… Oh mirror, oh mother, oh sister, oh lover… where have you taken my sight, my future, my plight… when will it all seem right?

Where does the gaze travel? So far art thou eyes

Where does the truth wander? Over countless horizons, over infinite skies…

So I beseech thee to answer… can you meet my eyes… can you look into your future and see where it is my future lies… for this is me as well as thee… for this sight is mine by any given rite… who are you to hold my life? Who are you, if not me by sight?

oh so naked

Posted in Uncategorized on May 29, 2009 by moragglimmerwitch

oh so naked

That’s the only word I can think of to describe me at this moment.

Naked. To me it means: vulnerable, empty, full, scared, joyful, alive, alone, serious, carefree. It is my word to encompass my paradox.

I spew words that indicate openess, strength and wisdom…and then I hide behind them.

I color canvas then hide behind my art.

I reveal my beauty and then hide behind my mask.

I work for myself and hide behind my suit.

Now, the trick is to embrace the paradox fully and keep working on not holding myself back. I’m afraid of being rejected because of my intensity, divinity. It happens often.

Me, the hardass: But, so what? It’s not like I haven’t rejected myself so many times. Why would it matter more when the rejection comes from others?
Me, the gentle lover: It doesn’t. It’s only my projection. The rejection comes from within. The without is my way of bringing it to my attention.

Well, I am paying attention now.


Posted in Uncategorized on May 28, 2009 by moragglimmerwitch

There are places we go and places we need to go. They are similar. They both fascinate us and thrill us and also terrify us. Spiny urchins with unforgettable foibles chuckle at our fear, or knock in the night. (play dramatic, clutching string chord, perhaps a nice healthy 13th cluster, with vigorous tremolo, diminuendoing to background) We fear the unknown, lurking, well… unknown, beneath the surface, beneath our physical lives and in our psychic lives. “Could you pass the pickles? I love those Kosher dills!” We are hard wired to ignore a lot.

Learning is doing and letting. When we face what we fear, we learn. To learn we must let. To let we must trust. To trust we must believe. And it goes on, until we get to experience. When we experience, we find change, it begins to carry more weight. When we see things as they are we admit they are absolutely new. Sure, there are patterns. Like spirals and swirls and hatcheted hounds tooth patterns looming over the surface. What I mean is the raw, visceral newness, like opening a new box of Cheerios. It’s not pretty. Accepting and opening to everything is daunting, terrifying. But it can happen. And it needs to be acknowledged, heightened, fleshed, lived, feared.

The Moment

Posted in Uncategorized on May 27, 2009 by moragglimmerwitch

“… the only time you ever have in which to learn anything or see anything or feel anything, or express any feeling or emotion, or respond to an event, or grow, or heal, is this moment, because this is the only moment any of us ever gets. You’re only here now; you’re only alive in this moment.”

— Jon Kabat-Zinn

Many people regularly squander their time. They live under the assumption that they’ll live forever. As a result, they don’t value the present as a precious opportunity that will never come again.

Others continually race against time, trying to cram too many activities into each hour, and suffering stress in the process.

In our view, we are more effective and most happy when we balance being and doing. We continually ask ourselves what’s most important to get done. And we’re learning to BE — fully present — when we do. We also regularly give ourselves permission to relax.

Make today really matter. It’s all you’ll ever have.

“Very few of us know how much we can put into life if we use it properly, wisely, and economically. Let us economize our time — lifetimes ebb away before we wake up, and that is why we do not realize the value of the immortal time God has given us.”

— Paramahansa Yogananda