hawaii

Whew. I feel all dusted and dirted and faded away.

The trip home from Kona was long and tedious. I cannot figure out, for the life of me, why airplanes oversell their seats. It brings me great displeasure to sit, at each and every connection, for a spare hour or more, listening to airlines demand that a handful of us give up our seats and take a later flight. I usually enjoy the leisure time between connections what with the bag of books I usually carry with me and the overindulgence in expensive espresso beverages I imbibe between flights. But this, this flight home from Hawaii drained me severely and I find myself not quite ready to face the world. Humbug.

I’ve been curled up with my baking tins, sewing machine and quilts recovering from the trauma of air travel and taking a quick holiday from my holiday before school beings and the

Plume-hits-the-fan!

In terms of new resolves for the year 2010 I don’t have many. Just one in particular, because I think it can be the root to general well being and smooth sailing. I plan to take one day of every month in the year 2010 to sit down by myself and actually evaluate my life. I want to consciously take a peek at my living, my play, my work and decide if I’m finding fulfillment in all I do. If the evaluation turns out to be poor, I want to be able to readjust the way I’m living in the hopes of avoiding stress and maximizing joi de vivre. I suppose this is all to say that I’m going to take it a month at a time. I’m going to chew everything slowly before I swallow it down and hopefully, I’ll get a full sense of the taste of life and whether or not it needs a little salt.

You’re welcome to join me, if you like.

Now-how-how for the holiday I’ve just returned from! Once I fell into restfulness on The Big Island (it took about a week or so to unwind) I found myself writing pages and pages in my journal/sketchbook — hardly able to lay my pen down when it was time to go to sleep. I wanted to record my experiences, inch by inch, wave by wave, color by color and the black ink of my pen was flowing swift and bright. But more than experiences in Hawaii, I felt a strong need to make note of life. Life here. Life there. The pulse in my fingertips and the sun on my face. The following photographs are accompanied by excerpts from my PERSONAL journal. They are ramblings. They build pieces of poems. They’re sacred and while I’m a bit nervous to give them to you, I know you’ll be gentle with them, as you always are:

December 27, 2009

For a while, I’m tempted to listen to the clatter of palm fronds and the flow of ocean on sand and stone but I plug music into my ears and turn on

quietly

Flume and it’s just Bon Iver and I swimming in grace together.

The sun is low now and sands and stone, like the galaxies, cast a universe of shadows that throw black towards the island, a slow march of the slopes of infinite crystal lattices towards night.

I march too.

Though the beat is younger in me.

Eyes and toes pointed West now.

Fingers and hearts pulling West now.

I imagine the beach and components therein are my body;

bone and weedy marrow wearing away beneath the swell of my pulse;

beneath the exchange of gasses, the conversion of DNA messages into something a reticulum can read and transport. I see. I feel the function of it all.

I understand the sway of systems.

The constant correction by steady hands at the helm.

I can see structure hovering on the horizon, perched on ancient beats, riding the swells to shore:

and then pushed back out to sea, riding currents in concentric circles,

the murmur of memorized phrases and song,

bowing down to wind and water.

A dove trails her way through the sand, she weaves her way close; the palest pink blush to her breast and always those kind eyes. I wonder how it is that I can find such ceremony in the ordinary.

December 24, 2009

There’s grace in the sea.

There’s Grace in me, and the sting of saltwater

on the soul.

December 30, 2009

Yesterday morning I looked in the mirror and realized that I haven’t done my hair in months. Aghast, I whipped out a fracas of bobby pins, teased out portions of my tresses and pinned everything up in a manner that would be pleasing to the eye of Imogen Heap. I put on a quirky outfit and proceeded to stroll around a volcano with RW. I felt, again, as though something had finally penetrated the busy and exhausting area I’ve been shut inside for the past few months…something slipped inside the door and dragged me into the light.

It sounds stupid when I read back over what I’ve written but the fact is that taking the time to do my hair and put on zany outfits are things that really make me happy. When did I stop doing it? I forgot about the mountains. I forgot about the joy of tea in the living room in the evening. The small things that make me really happy slipped right through my mind and fell right out of my heart.

I have fulfilled the wants, the desires of others but I’ve left myself out in the cold!

I’ve been failing myself as a:

woman

artist

individual

I’ve got to start somewhere, even if it’s with a hundred pack of bobby pins!

I’ve got to remember that life is meant to be lived as a whole, I don’t want to allow myself to be pushed and pulled out of balance.

Nothing will come crashing down if I take time for myself.

I say it, but do I believe it?

believe

it.

December 21, 2009

…I’m turning over stones in my neighborhood.

I follow the currents.

I sing to the tides.

December 28, 2009

I can see Robert in the distance. He is patiently casting out over rough waters. He fishes like an apostle, in faith, in faith that there’s something in the water, something to be caught. Consumed by hope.

Settled with patience.

I’m here in the sand, diving for pearls. The sun has settled in my mouth now. I’m flat on my back, evading the wind, gulping solar power down my throat in hot waves. I’m guilty.

I’m guilty of being greedy for the elements.

I want to plunge my face into that tropical fire and burn for something good and pure.

I want the ocean to quench the flames, the sand to rub the scars smooth and the wind to lick my tears away. It’s a lot to ask of this place but the palms, tall and stately, nod and clap to the possibility of it all. And still the slow sink of light over eternal glass rippled blue. And still the silhouette of Robert, waving on the rocks with the wind in his hair and a fish in his hand.

December 30, 2009

I tend to personify the sea.

I can’t decide if she’s wickedly strong, casting off bunches of coral

and shells in a moment of rage.

Or if it’s a gentle hand she uses to push coral crowns and ocean bones to shore.

Either way, I’m a tomb raider or a foster home for rejected but good bones…Robert has given me a 10 pound limit when it comes to transporting beach treasures home to Idaho. I’d better start whittling down the current collection.

January 1, 2010

when i open my mouth

kindness will flow forth

like the fuchsia flames

of bougainvillea vines

December 31, 2009

All I can think about, when collecting treasures on the beach, is how I’ll use these bits and pieces, how I’ll incorporate the soul of these things into some new and powerful talisman that rejoices in the genius behind creation; talismans that bear with them, softly and pungently, the essence and verve of the sea. This is all to say that there’s a very conscious movement of my hand and mind each time I pick up a piece of calcium carbonate detritus fro the sand and rocks and stow it away in my pocket. I’m not taking things from the shore of the sea as acts of possessiveness but because there’s a grand and luminous scheme on the tip of my mind when it comes to incorporating these beautiful bits of ocean trash into beautiful and whole things. I want to extend the lifespan of the things I collect, even though they are long dead.

I want to use these collected pieces of shell and stone to record my experiences on this trip and in life in general. Is this when making art becomes story telling? If so, gather round the fire, I have tales for you. I have something sacred for you. Will you promise to pass the story on?

I just imagine.

I just tell myself it’s the

doggone, glorious truth that a small,

sharp shard of coral has a destiny to fulfil

in Idaho and then I get a little

thrill.

January 2, 2010

Yesterday, a pilgrimage to the Captain Cook Monument! The reef life there is so beautiful and varied. The water is warm and gentle and the clarity, in my humble opinion, is quiet sufficient but best of all, the reef drops away deftly and swiftly into open, clear blue depths towards the center of the bay. I was inclined to hover there, over top of that topographical situation that leads the ocean away from the shore and into something much more serious. It was a fish spangled space and not unlike the sky with gold plated shafts of sunlight breaking through the fine chop and delicate swells above to illuminate the dark, predator shapes of larger fishes beyond my snorkeling abilities. I was content to hover there, on the brink, and take in the space; an unfolded and unfolding ocean in full dimension, dropping away beneath my bare and awkward human limbs into some unknown space of darkness I’ll most likely fail to explore in my lifetime. It’s a fascinating experience to be entirely out of one’s element. Literally. I am a land dweller. I’m perfectly experienced when it comes to the full force of gravity on my body, the power of the sun, and the push of the wind. Those are the elements I know. I was born into them and they uphold me.

But this ocean.

This ocean , which has been an acquaintance for so long, has become a surrogate element for me. A watery cradle. When I cry out for more, it is seemingly endless in flow. For this reason, I have engendered her, I call her SHE.

I have visited the ocean before.

I have dipped my body in the sea in Spain, France, The Netherlands, The United Kingdom, Canada, The Pacific Coast of the United States, New Zealand, Australia and Alaska. For the most part, until now, I’ve only ever known her as a dark and icy cold space. I have feared her weedy waters and dark eyes. The ocean of Hawaii has been a different experience and I liken her to the twin sister who was born with flaxen hair, gentle eyes and long graceful fingers. She is kind and patient and a wonderful teacher.

These thoughts are by no means scientific and relate only to my personal experiences. I know there are beautiful, warm seas to be found world wide but until I make my way to them, the water of Hawaii holds my heart.

_____________________________________________________

And that’s that!

My experiences were too great to ever fully record with paper and pen

but thankfully, my heart has a photographic memory and I

carry it all, one way or another and that which won’t make its way out in ink on paper will manifest itself in silver and stone. This I am sure of.

I love RW more than ever.

I love my home in Idaho more than ever.

I love you more than ever.

Happy New Year!

Enter in, enter in 2010.

We’re ready for you.

Let us begin!

With abiding affection,

The Noisy Plume

Stay Humble Live Righteous

A welcome home. A welcome to the new year.

Hippocampus My Heart Out

Dreamscape: