Please visit me at Wild Women Wisdom!

Thursday, February 21

My Last Post on The Impulse!


Well, no doubt a wondrous, if not overwhelming, several weeks.

Last Wednesday in the morning tulips arrived from my dad for Valentine's.  Tulips, which bloom back east around my birthday which is also the first days of Spring.  Wednesday was also my year anniversary arriving to Orange County.  I started as the ninth member of a long-held writing critique group led by the fabulous Barbara Demarco-Demeritt on Thursday, Happy Love Day to me!  And it couldn't have been more timely, or more eloquent, a celebration.

On Friday I talked with my bff Katie for three hours...she was snowed-in in New Haven, CT.  Me, I hung up with her, got out of bed (it was noon!) put on my bathing suit and went to one of the secret coves here in Laguna.  I luxuriated in the sun until it went behind a far west cliff.  Then I drove to Huntington for tacos from my favorite, Normita's.  The following day I cleaned my house, moved in quietude and touched all day long by that fabulous stillness of reflection that seems to strike from a magic place time to time.

I saw my first butterflies on Friday, a monarch and ladybug in the same moments on Saturday.  In this rapidly changing time here on earth, mother nature let it be known.  In Southern California, spring is here!

And for me, too.  This blog has been my fateful reflection for five years come April.  I am proud of it as it is a mark of discipline and self-reflection I can always look back upon.  It helped me grow.  Today, in continued celebration--I offer thanks to the Impulse, Itself, for always being there within and guiding me along.  I also am happy to announce that today is the last post here at this site.

My focus has always been self-honesty and creative-process here.  It has been a means in which I could establish, knowingly, my own creative tides, and eventually know how to mark them.  In 2008 when this began I lived on a 400-acre soybean farm on Maryland's Eastern Shore.  Through allllll the changes that led me eventually here, those inner rhythms have never faltered, and this space here on the web became my stability.

It taught me a lot, and I want now to combine my gifts of teaching and writing to help others understand the same.  The rhythms of their own soul impulse, within.

So starting today, you can visit me at Wild Women Wisdom (www.wildwomenwisdom.net)   Expect weekly (two to three times) updates about the soul life, how to learn our rhythms  and how to let them connect us to the larger life tides.

THANKS FOR ALL THE SUPPORT OVER THE YEARS!!  And may this greeting find you happy and open, alive and full of wonder...and may it remind you to begin within... and share with one another, too.

See ya at Wild Women Wisdom!  Keep smiling.


Tuesday, January 29

I would give all my time

This dreary exhaustion is like a dream.  Maybe I will open the journal I have started for my Carl Jung class as school.  I will look on the pages where I track my nighttime dreams and the cycles of my month and the moon.  I will see my day written out in funny scrawl.  It will be illustrated here and there in colored pencils and on the side in magnetic yellow: highlights of the theme.  I will think this is my day?  My day to day living or this was last night's image on my mindscreen?

Maybe I will not know the difference.

This is numinousness.  The seeds of the new life the momentum of their growth to come vibrating around them in a visceral humm.  You can feel it but not see it yet, the pulse of energy stronger than anything yet seen.  On the sundeck eating a ridiculous burrito reading about Jack Kerouac.  He skipped classes in school to read forbidden plays and books bc college in NY brought him closer to such contraband.  I feel better about myself.  Clear my phlegmy throat pull my sunglasses down. Put off the four papers that I put off until today.  Dyad in the morning go introduce yourself to the director at the site where you hope to get your supervised internship before noon.  I work for myself get that in, too. Grateful that the need for money is met by something that stimulates my mind and spirit in the way Kerouac and burritos do, and the sun.  Off to Starbucks to write for my submission to Erika also due.  Nicci writes the girl from GRO lets start a girl's surf reskill.  I would give all my time to that and the words and sacred dreams...O wait, that's just what I'm learning to do:  Climb the rock stairs up to Serena's in the canyon chill and dark.  Snuggle on her couch in our pj's discuss business plans.  The lady in Corona about the writing critique-group emails.  They are giving me the last spot, spot number 9.  I'm in.  It's all happening.  Funny dream.

Write a blog not to procrastinate more but to download it all out.  Make room by getting it all down.  This time last year I slept on a couch in Sonoma.  My belongings all in my car.  Red woods trees in the fog dripped through offerings.  I sat stunned over what next in life at Goats Rock.  Never imagined the sea could pound waking out of a life partly asleep. Watched the full moon rise flat disc, white.  Lived on homemade toffee, eggs and Indian food.  Chopped wood and built fires in a woodstove it took an hour to light.

Go write your papers Kelly.  I'm trying, I want to get it all down.

Sunday, January 20

Your heart in the game

So the first thing that happened is this morning I woke up to a text from Brian.  He is my brother from another mother.  His momma Ms. Louise raised Sean and I up on bologna and cheese and snacks after school.  All those afternoons and tense mornings me and him were living with a single mom.

The picture was of a Ravens crab outside ESPN zone.  At Baltimore's Inner Harbor, downtown.  It marked my heart.  Sean my brother texted right after that: 'At the beach to watch the game with dad.'  I cried a little then but didn't let on when I called to talk with our father.  It is January, time of the soul that our wounds release.  Last night watching Seeking A Friend For The End Of The World I cried these hard and deep sudden tears when Kiera Knightly finally talks to her mom and dad, and then her new niece.  I thought I was crying because of the ritual with Sepi up in Topanga Canyon yesterday and what that brought up.

And I guess I was. Because the magic brought up yesterday weaved me back and forth across the soul map of me.  Made me look at what I have tried to avoid. Christmas was so, so hard that I put up a little wall.  A little boulder there to get through the whirlwind time.  Four days home and that was all.  I knew if I allowed my true emotions in I couldn't do it, so I had to go forth, soldier marching.  I am contented with where I live, of that there is no doubt. I love California and my life here with a realness that shines from my skin. I am settled with the choices I have made and wish to go forward.  But it's time I take part in my own wisdom, too.  Move aside the little rock.  

I miss my dad.  He taught me football in 2002.  It became our thing, and in many ways it's what taught us to love one another as adults.  That's what we did in January together the past five years.  When mom would go to Mexico.  Football was our thing, me and him.  My dad, the eldest of five boys, two girls.  My dad who storytells so richly that I can feel his legs peddling at eleven years old to deliver those papers.  Can feel the hair on my neck stand the way his did when he used that paper money to go with his dad, the Colonel, to his first game with the Baltimore Colts.  Him, the Colonol, and my godfather Uncle Tim.  In this way, football, I have gotten to heal my connection to dad, to home, to that part of my heart, to my own maleness, to men.

His birthday is Tuesday.  My brother is there with him today, my sister-in-law Jamie and niece, too.  Sean is taking Jamie goose hunting tomorrow for the first time and I am so proud of her.  Talk about experiencing maleness and the land of home.  My dad will stay home all day with the babe.

So life goes...as does the heart.  I am thankful they are with him this weekend.  I am thankful, so thankful for my life and all its funny ways.  I am thankful for change and being brave.  And I am stoked for my hometeam to fight hard.  That's got nothing to do with getting the win.

It's all about having your heart in the game.

Thursday, January 10

Widen widen enlarge your world

It's a Jigsaw Falling into Place morning.

This is what I'm thinking climbing down the painted wood ladder from my loft onto the cold tile floor.  It is a Radiohead morning.  It is still California grey outside which in the canyon is a whole other earthy grey world, and I wanna hear Jigsaw.  Followed by the rest of those incongruent congruencies of In Rainbows.  And here's the thing Spotify you can suck my foot.  I have less luck with you than good, that's for sure.

Instead I'm on Last FM.  Strictly because of spite.  Not that they had the whole album either.  I freak out a minute: the Amazon ad in the top box is showing the surf racks I looked at last night.  Holy Internet.  Live breathing mechanically-armed system.  Watch us.  Circle us in. All connected the watching watching us while we create and watch it.  Brave new little hyper world circled around each happy little autobot.  Angry agro me circled in by the luxuries I compensate by.  Lemme get on the phone and order breakfast to my front door or get on Amazon and have In Rainbows delivered to my computer single click of a button and done.

Circle back out circle out circle out.  Circle out Kelly Mac your only job.

Two nights ago I went stand up paddling from Doheny.  It's a state beach south of here. Out to the edge of the ocean right at that sunset time of light blue sheen.  Like the water is one big silk ripple peddled by a fan.  The sun was down and water black by the time we got to the edge where the rocks hold the harbor back. Right at that point the ocean comes at you in the most gentle big whale-back swells.  Like you have to take them all at once because the swell is the water, is the uprise and fall is all of it all at once.  It's a total threshold.  I kept taking these big chunky breaths like when it is windy and you struggle for your share of oxygen.  Except this was a different kind of fight, a fight to make my lungs and body, my spirit big enough to take the enormity in.

Widen widen enlarge your world.  Poetry is about the expansion, then compression.  Not the other way around.  So much fixed everywhere.  So many dying, these fixed ways so fixed we always can't even see that we don't see.  To create first need flux of increase.  This blog is becoming inaccessible to people it's like In Rainbows or something you need to craft more out of yourself for then an application on your phone. So its poetry made it's way to me today. Poetry that's taking me back as I bend forward and thrust open more more more too.  Been stuck in Costa Rica in 1996 when I write at night this week.  I need to expand and keep looking at tickets to Hawaii for two weeks when I turn 36.  Mo put on FB that she is going to Equador and Panama in February.  Dream trip just the kind of wind to shake things up.  To keep the soul on increase.

There are huge big changes right around the corner.  Ha uuuge.  So much happens at school, so much that happens outside of class.  So Much. Soul.  Good god how that land rings.  I can't even speak right the first two days I'm back in OC.

This is good circle out circle out circle out.  Draw in draw in draw in, breathe.  The expansion compression dance.   What will come next out of me?

hashtag wake up people hashtag hashtags suck
hashtag wtfs a hashtag 
#enlargeyourworld

Monday, December 31

Love and thank yous

As soon as I saw on Facebook that Igor was sick I knew I was going to make him soup.   But it didn't occur to me that I was doing for him what my wise women teachers taught me to do by doing it for me over all these years until later, standing in Derynne's kitchen tonight.  Her friend, who I've never met til tonight, said 'that's really the best medicine, the vitamins and minerals cooked in from the whole foods.'  Then she took a sip from a plastic red cup of wine that already had her lips joker purple. And she grinned and added 'and all that bright white light~'

It made me raise my brow with my own little grin because indeed as she said that I was adding the last little dash of flavor and also putting blessings of so much love and thank you all over that soup.  This was the first thing she'd said to me directly all night.  I don't know if she saw my smile.  We'd been packing D's house for their move on January 2.  They are going back to the dessert where Cam's tattoo shop is.  Packing laundry boxing taping labeling drinking wine drinking wine making chicken soup.  And dumplings. This gal's either got drunk second-sight or is wild-intuitive.  Either one totally natural.  One homemade pot was macaroni noodles with broth just like Judy taught me to make way back even before I lived on the farm.  To that pot I also added kale and chard-pot like Teena used to make to heal me, when I lived in sabbatical with her those many long days at Chop.  Also tons of oregano because Igor's sinus' are sick and for sick sinus', well that's one of the first things I ever learned working with herbs.  Also back in the days that I used to salvage Judy's herb garden out on the side of her river house.  And cloves and cloves of garlic.  And other secret dashes and smiles.  The other pot was homemade chicken dumplings, the way grandma taught me all those different times standing behind or beside her or out of her sight but her not out of mine.  I didn't make hand-pressed noodles Pennsylvania-Dutch style though, but, with Grandma's recipe and a combo nod to Judy again, little butter dumplings that turned in the broth and before the roux to the warmest, fluffiest balls.  That pot I made for Laura another student of mine, or rather as I don't teach them now, for Laura a woman I know who's far away from her mom's countryside home in Romania.  My students, I mean my friends, so far away from family, during the holidays.

It is cold and clear the night before the last day of the year.  Pon Pon walked me to where I was parked on Adams.  He lives with Igor and Gustavo.  And Bob, who I've met several times through them, and Leo too.  Igor was in bed sniffling and laughing his wonderful Igor laugh.  I made all of them take emergenC's and zincs the way Maria did back when I was first learning to teach and got so sick right after Christmas that year.  Back when Judy first made me homemade chicken soup and showed me how.  And her, and Maria my mentor teacher, how both those good women took turns stopping by to give me care.  Pon Pon handed me a bag of Brazilian chocolates at my car and gave me a million kisses on my head.  We could see our breath.  I live in Southern California, it was almost midnight, I have a sweet artist's studio in the canyon that was calling me home.  All these darling Brazilians.  My sister D and her dear kids, moving away.   I made soup or dumplings for everyone who took care of me this year, for all this precious family here who helped me find my way.  My cherished friends.  I am eating a bowl now.  Thinking about the year that just passed.  Sending cosmic soup with thanks to Mike, my dear friend, on vacay in the BVI.  Remembering how in February in a panic I called him, then drove the Sonoma coast not sure what would be around the bend. Readying myself to leave and come here, all the way South.  The hand-cut life I've glistened up down here since then.  Crafted on nothing but pure love.  Love and lots of help.

Love and thank yous.  Which always work whenever you remember to cook them in.