• About
  • My Writing

Deborah J. Brasket

~ Living on the Edge of the Wild

Deborah J. Brasket

Tag Archives: humanity

Will Salmon Swim Upstream Through City Streets?

07 Sunday Feb 2021

Posted by deborahbrasket in Art, Culture, My Writing, Nature, Poetry, Writing

≈ 13 Comments

Tags

apocalypse, art, climate change, culture, Deborah J. Brasket, future, humanity, Nature, poem, poetry, Survival, Trumpism, United States

Once Upon a Time, A Poem

In an eon, will Trumpism portend another Troy, a Trojan horse whose armies eviscerated a City of light?

Will we be the stuff of legends, our tropes and memes edging pages of ancient texts on crumbling shelves?

Will waves gently lap against the skirts of Liberty and docile doves nestle in her hair?

Will salmon swim upstream through city streets, and coral reefs grow in our gardens?

Will the long roots of forests thrum with our stories etched in rings around their trunks?

Will the mocking bird remember our voices? Or the songbirds our songs?

Will crickets by moonlight rub their feet together filling the night with memories of our violins?

Will tiny children perched in trees suckle strange fruit, while the bent backs of their elders forage below?

Will the skies with bows of beauty still bend round us? Will the stars cast spears of light upon our heads?

Will the Eagle with its soaring eye see us? Will we see it? And remember how

The long, slow, widening arcs of its wings drew round us, once up a time, so long ago.

Deborah J. Brasket, 2021

Illustration by Jessie Wilcox Smith from the fairy tale Water Babies by Charles Kingsley, 1862

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Tumblr
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Pinterest
  • Print
  • LinkedIn

Like this:

Like Loading...

Still Waiting to Land . . . .

16 Sunday Aug 2020

Posted by deborahbrasket in Culture, Nature

≈ 18 Comments

Tags

change, humanity, interesting times, life, pandemic, personal, Politics, uncertainty

Last summer brought an abundance of roses, so many I did not have enough vases to hold them all. And I only picked those hidden from view!

This year the roses are few and those poorly formed, although our watering and fertilizing and spraying have all been the same. But the baby quail, and deer, and turkey! We’ve never seen so many baby critters trailing through all our yards, hunkering under the bushes, and flying up into the treetops!

This week a heatwave has been forecast, with temperature over 100 for ten days straight and up to 112 degrees. Clear skies, zero precipitation.

But twice this week, instead of heat, we got warm rain. One time lasting all day, and today our house shook with thunder. The rain fell so hard and thick it looked like hail. And they say it never rains in California in the summertime!

A sign of the times, this unexpected mixture of drought and abundance. And not limited to nature. So much seems surreal.

Mailboxes ripped up and sorting machines thrown into dumpsters right before an election!

Walls of moms, and dads with leaf blowers, being tear-gassed by storm troopers!

The first Black woman chosen as VP on a major political ticket!

A diplomatic treaty signed between the UAE and Israel!

Open warfare between teachers and governors over whether to open schools or resort to distant learning again!

Hoards of unmasked worshipers swamping the beaches in Orange County, despite a pandemic that is killing hundreds of thousands of Americans!

What does it all mean? How will it all end?

We are lost within the grey fog of war.

Clearly we live in interesting times. A curse? Possibly. A cleansing? Hopefully.

No wonder we feel as if the rug has been pulled out from under our feet. And we haven’t quite landed yet.

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Tumblr
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Pinterest
  • Print
  • LinkedIn

Like this:

Like Loading...

Toni Morrison: Diving Into Darkness on Wings of Light

27 Monday Jul 2020

Posted by deborahbrasket in books, Culture, Literary Criticism, Love, Recommended Authors, Recommended Books, Writing

≈ 17 Comments

Tags

authors, Beloved, books, humanity, inspiration, racism, slavery, Song of Soloman, Toni Morrison, writing

"You wanna fly, you got to give up the shit that weighs you down." -Toni Morrison

Last in my series “Brushes With Blackness” on how Black lives and Black Culture colored my Whiteness.

I’d always wanted to be a writer, but I didn’t really know how I wanted to write or what I wanted to write until I read Toni Morrison’s Song of Soloman.

What I mean by how and what is this: Sentences so carefully crafted they grab and bite. Images  so sharp and powerful they cleave you to the bone. That lift you up and tear you apart with one clean stoke. Characters that are utterly human and yet larger than life. Story-telling that is a kind of myth-making. Themes that capture the heartbreaking beauty and gut-wrenching brutality of an oppressed people.

Song of Solomon is the coming of age tale of a Black man in the 1930’s, Macon Dead, III, otherwise know as Milkman, because his mother nursed him until his his legs were dangling toward the floor. It’s about his strange aloof family, a wealthy bitter father and a secretive, passive mother, a bootlegger Aunt born with no novel, a beautiful cousin he lusts after and abandons. It’s about his best friend Guitar who joins other angry young men bent on revenge killings, and his own quest to escape that violence and a dead-end life and learn to fly, as his own  great-grandfather, Soloman, is reported to have done. All the way back to Africa.

It’s tale that reminds us about the possibility and need of transcendence, to find something within ourselves that lifts us beyond where we ever thought we could go.

Morrison’s novel Beloved, which won a Pulitzer Prize, struck me in similar ways. So much so that I taught the book in my freshman literature and composition courses for many years. Reading that book was an experience that I believed my students must not miss out on. “A book like an axe,” as Kafka recommended, “to break the seas frozen inside our souls.”

Beloved tells the story of slavery, its escape, and its aftermath. It’s based on the true story a a woman who would rather kill her own than to see that child return to the horrors they’d just escaped. And it’s the tale of how the horrors of the past, in this case a dead child, can come back to haunt us.

In the end though, it’s about love. About loving others, being loved, and learning to love ourselves, despite all that would argue against it or try to stop us. This is the great theme that runs through all her books.

In one moving scene, Baby Suggs, Holy, a backwoods preacher in a sunlit meadow, offers up to those who come to hear, her great big heart:

Here in this place, we flesh; flesh that weeps, laughs; flesh that dances on bare feet in the grass. Love it. Love it hard. Yonder they do not love your flesh. They despise it. They don’t love your eyes; they’d just as soon pick em out. No more do they love the skin on your back. Yonder, they flay it. And O my people they do not love your hands. Those they only use, tie, bind, chop off and leave empty. Love your hands! Love them. Raise them up and kiss them. Touch others with them, pat them together, stroke them on your face ’cause they don’t love that either. You got to love it, You!

Morrison’s writing is a kind of “diving into darkness on wings of light.” She does not flinch away from the darkness, but at the same time shows us how it’s pierced with light.

She has inspired me as a writer on not only how and what to write, but also why. To write large, and write deep, in language that sears and soars. To write stories that matter, that make a difference, that must be heard. To write in nuanced and meaningful ways about both the beauty and brutality of the human experience. Stories that inspire us to rise above our smaller selves.

You want to fly, you got to give up the shit that weighs you down. –Toni Morrison

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Tumblr
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Pinterest
  • Print
  • LinkedIn

Like this:

Like Loading...

Brushes with Blackness – Feminist or Womanist?

12 Sunday Jul 2020

Posted by deborahbrasket in Culture, Memoir

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

equality, Feminism, freedom, humanity, inspiration, personal, social justice, social movements, Womanism

Alice Walker Quote Art Womanist Is To Feminist As Purple Is | Etsy

Third in series in how Black lives and Black culture colored my Whiteness.

I came of age during the Second Wave of the Feminist Movement in the 60’s and 70’s.  Women were reading the works of Betty Friedan and Gloria Steinem, and holding consciousness-raising sessions in their living rooms. They were celebrating the arrival of oral contraception, marching for the Equal Rights Amendment, and advocating for Woe vs Wade.

While I supported the movement and considered myself a feminist, I was not particularly political then and spent most of the time at the fringes. Intellectually and ideologically, I was in sync with the movement’s goals, but I didn’t feel the same kind of urgency or passion that I saw in others who were actively engaged.

I grew up with a strong mother and aunts, women who did not take a back seat to anyone, least of all the men in their lives. I never saw myself or other females as lessor than the males I knew. I loved being a woman and, if anything, felt sorry for men, the inability to carry life in their bodies or give birth to humankind.

In college I read widely about the movement, including its critics. I learned that many Black women felt uncomfortable within the narrow scope of feminism, which did not represent their personal experience and broader goals. A new social movement called Womanism emerged.

Alice Walker coined the term and “defined womanists as black feminists or feminists of color who are committed to the wholeness and survival of the entire people (both men and women).” She went on to describe a womanist as:

A woman who loves other women, sexually and/or nonsexually. Appreciates and prefers women’s culture, women’s emotional flexibility … and women’s strength. … Committed to survival and wholeness of entire people, male and female. Not a separatist, except periodically, for health … Loves music. Loves dance. Loves the moon. Loves the Spirit … Loves struggle. Loves the folk. Loves herself. Regardless. Womanist is to feminist as purple is to lavender.

I was inspired by this new movement. It seemed to me that while Feminism derived from sense of deprivation and distrust to address issues of social justice and equality, Womanism rose from a sense of wholeness and faith to address the same issues. It was broader, more inclusive, and contained a spiritual element.

According to scholar Layli Maparyan, a womanist seeks to “restore the balance between people and the environment/nature and reconcil[e] human life with the spiritual dimension”.

Womanism spoke closer to my own experience and aspirations. I wanted to be part of a liberation movement that freed all of us, even those who oppressed women. To truly be free, we all needed to be free, oppressed and oppressor alike. We needed to lift the consciousness of the entire race, male and female.

Though not a woman of color, I was excited about this new kind of feminism and began to identify myself more as womanist than a feminist, without repudiating the latter. Like Walker, I saw feminism as part of a broader ideological movement that womanism embraced.

A Third and Fourth Wave of Feminism eventually arose that speaks closer to the intersections between race, class, gender, and geopolitical divides, with a diversity of experience as keynote. The whole thing gets very complicated and confusing.

But for me, the maxim that none of us is free until all of us are free prevails. Movements that divide of us by gender, race, sexuality, class, nationality, etc, will never secure the freedom and equality we all desire and deserve. But respecting our differences, celebrating our diversity, and embracing our common humanity just might.

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Tumblr
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Pinterest
  • Print
  • LinkedIn

Like this:

Like Loading...

Brushes with Blackness, 1

12 Friday Jun 2020

Posted by deborahbrasket in Creative Nonfiction, Culture, Family, Memoir

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

America, Black Lives Matter, humanity, racism

Jerry Holt / AP

All of us who are white in America were born into a country steeped in racism. Even for those of us who were taught that racism is wrong, that we are all equal, all God’s beloved children, regardless of the color of our skin, racism was something dark and deeply troubling we had to contend with, something that colored our whiteness.

It shaped our sense of self, our sense of justice, fair play, and compassion for others. It fostered a sense of collective guilt and shame for white ancestors who enslaved others or looked askance at those who did. For those today who persist in holding racist views. Even for beloved grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins who ought to know better, and yet through the occasional disparaging remark and negative attitude revealed a meanness of spirit toward a whole race of people simply because of the color of their skin.

I learned at an early age that good-hearted people, people I loved and admired and thought I could trust, held racists views. That they could be, God-forbid, racists themselves. Who held views that filled me with shame and sadness.

I was fortunate to be raised by a mother who was not prejudiced, who spoke out against those who were, and who taught me through her words and actions to understand how wrong racism is.

I have been fortunate in that all of my brushes with “blackness,” black people and black culture, have been positive, enriching experiences, and have colored my view of blackness with a deep admiration and respect. My one negative experience was no exception.

Today, when the whole world is rising up to reject racism, to protest against its continued brutality, is a time for all of us to reflect upon our own “Brushes with Blackness,” as I call it here, the experiences that have colored our view of what black lives and black culture mean to us, to examine if we in any way contribute to those negative connotations implicit in racists views.

Do we merely look askance at the racist views and systems embedded in our society? Or do we do what we can in our small corner of the world to not only oppose those views, but to celebrate the beauty and braveness and wisdom found in black communities and black culture?

That’s what I’m hoping to do on these pages in a short series examining my “Brushes with Blackness.” This is the first. Three more follow.

Brushes with Blackness: Best Friends and Bullies

Brushes with Blackness – Feminist or Womanist?

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Tumblr
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Pinterest
  • Print
  • LinkedIn

Like this:

Like Loading...

When the Sea Rises and the Light Fails

21 Friday Sep 2018

Posted by deborahbrasket in Human Consciousness, Spirituality

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

Advice, humanity, inspiration, James Baldwin, life, personal, quotations, troubled times

J. M. W. Turner

J.M.W. Turner

“For nothing is fixed, forever and forever and forever, it is not fixed; the earth is always shifting, the light is always changing, the sea does not cease to grind down rock. Generations do not cease to be born, and we are responsible to them because we are the only witnesses they have. The sea rises, the light fails, lovers cling to each other, and children cling to us. The moment we cease to hold each other, the sea engulfs us and the light goes out.” ~ James Baldwin

My world has shifted in the last few weeks in a way that has left me reeling, looking for something to hold onto, to keep from sinking into darkness.

The remarkable thing is I’ve managed to pull myself back from that edge, to realize that no matter what seems to be happening “out there,” what really matters is what’s happening “in here,” in our own consciousness. Will we let an overwhelming sense of loss, grief, and rage pull us under? Or hold on tight to the ones we love, and the things that give us joy, a sense of buoyancy, and the ability to ride out this storm.

I am not alone. Those in the Carolinas experiencing the ravages of Florence have been been facing those rising seas, that failing light. We all experience these calamities, whether of our own or another’s making, or something completely out of our control. Nothing is fixed “out there.” But our minds are our own. We get to decide how we weather our storms, whether we hold on to each other and the things we love, or let the sea engulf us and our light go out.

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Tumblr
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Pinterest
  • Print
  • LinkedIn

Like this:

Like Loading...

The Poetics of Place: Redwood Speech,Watershed Prayers

02 Sunday Sep 2018

Posted by deborahbrasket in Creative Nonfiction, Deep Ecology, music, Nature, Writing

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

deep ecology, Francis Weller, humanity, inspiration, Language, music, Nature, quotations, The poetics of place, writing

“I want to see our words jump off the ground, erupt from a sensual earth, musty, humid, gritty. I want to taste words like honey, sweet and dripping with eternity. I want to hear words coming from my mouth and your mouth that are so beautiful that we wince with joy at their departure and arrival. I want to touch words that carry weight and substance, words that have shape and body, curve and tissue. I want to feel what we say as though the words were holy utterances surfacing from a pool where the gods drink. . . . .

My language must be redwood speech, watershed prayers, oak savannah, coupled in an erotic way with fog, heat, wind, rain and hills, sweetgrass and jackrabbits, wild iris and ocean current. My land is my language and only then can my longing for eloquence by granted. Until then I will fumble and fume and ache for a style of speaking that tells you who I am.”   – Francis Weller

One of my first blog posts in 2012 featured a speech by Francis Weller that captures so eloquently how the earth, our natural habitat, speaks to us and inspires us to speak. How it shapes our language and the way we express ourselves, not only in literature but in art and music and dance.

You can read his whole speech at his website Wisdom Bridge – Modern Pathways to our Indigenous Soul. The excerpt above, my quote of the week, hopefully will whet your appetite to do so.

As you read his speech, you might want to listen again to how nature inspires and shapes music, here in Max Richter’s reimagining of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, one of my favorite pieces.

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Tumblr
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Pinterest
  • Print
  • LinkedIn

Like this:

Like Loading...

Fascinating Faces, Tao & the Arts

23 Monday Apr 2018

Posted by deborahbrasket in Art, Culture, Photography, Spirituality

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

art, Asian Art Museum, humanity, Philosophy, sculpture, spirituality, Tao Te Ching, Zen

DSCN4141

Some works of art speak to you on a level that is hard to define. You gaze and are drawn inward. Something in you identifies with what you see there. It’s not outside, it’s in here. It was there before you saw it, and the seeing is just a reminder of its presence.

I felt that way when viewing some of the artwork at the Asian Art Museum in San Francisco. Especially in the faces that follow. The one above is my favorite. I cannot help smiling when I see it. I’ve paired the faces with a few favorite Tao verses and Zen anecdotes that capture a glimpse of what I see in each face.

THE MONK – OH SO DELICIOUS

DSCN4142

Once there was a monk fleeing for his life, a tiger at his heels, chasing him over the edge of a cliff where he grabs hold of a branch.  He dangles there just out of reach of the tiger’s snapping jaws, while below another tiger is snapping at his feet.  No escape.  Just then he notices a fat juicy strawberry dangling from a nearby vine. He plucks it loose and pops it into his mouth.  “Oh, so delicious!” he sighs.

THE SAGE – WHERE WONDER RISES

DSCN4145

DSCN4146

“From mystery to further mystery is the entrance to all wonders.”  -Tao Te Ching, (Ch. I)

THE SAVANT – RIDING THE WIND

DSCN4102

“My eye becomes my ear, my ear becomes my nose, my nose my mouth. My bone and my flesh melt away. I cannot tell by what my body is supported or what my feet walk upon. I am blowing away, east and west, as a dry leaf torn from a tree. I cannot even tell whether the wind is riding on me or I am riding on the wind.”  -Lieh Tzu

THE MYSTIC – WHO AM I?DSCN4140

“Once I dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering here and there. Suddenly I awoke and was surprised to be myself again. Now, how can I tell whether I am a man who dreamt he was a butterfly, or a butterfly who dreams she is a man?” Chuang Tzu

THE MOTHER – OBTAINING THE ONE

DSCN4139

Knowing the Male,
But staying with the Female,
One becomes the humble Valley of the World. – Tao Te Ching (Ch.XXVIII)

There was something complete and nebulous
Which existed before Heaven and Earth,
Silent, invisible,
Unchanging, standing as One
Unceasing, ever-evolving,
Able to be the Mother-of-the-World.  – (Ch. XXV)

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Tumblr
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Pinterest
  • Print
  • LinkedIn

Like this:

Like Loading...

Touching & Being Touched, Why We Blog

02 Monday Oct 2017

Posted by deborahbrasket in Art, Blogging, Culture, The Writing Process, Writing

≈ 15 Comments

Tags

art, Blogging, blogs, Creative Nonfiction, creativity, humanity, inspiration, life, sharing, touching, writing

 

Image result for images of Michelangelo the creation

“The function of language is not to inform but to evoke . . . responses.”  So writes Jacques Lacan, the French philosopher and linguist.

But perhaps the same could be said of art, or music, or dance. Any creative endeavor. Certainly it’s true of blogging. We create what we do with the explicit purpose of evoking responses from some largely unknown Other. It a very human thing. The desire to touch and to be touched. To share what we love, what evokes responses in us, with the hope of evoking similar responses from them.

I wrote about this some time ago in Blogging and the Accident of Touching.  But I wanted to revisit it, to reassess why I put so much time into blogging. What is its value, to me, to others? Why do I persist?

What I love about blogging is being able to share the things that are meaningful to me with others–art, music, poetry, literature, nature. But also discovering from others new art, new music, new ways of looking at and being in the world. That reciprocity. That sense of connection. What do they love that I may love too? How will it deepen and broaden and enrich my own experience of life? Every day is a new discovery, a new love, a new insight into what it means to be.

In that original post I likened blogging to “those conversations we have in the wee hours of the morning . . . ”

“. . . when the party is over and all have left except for those few lingering souls who find themselves opening up to each other in ways they could never do when meeting on the street or over dinner. Those 3 AM conversations, you know.

That’s how blogging often is done too, late at night when we can’t sleep, or after we’ve put our novel to bed, or when we wake early and are seeking the company of other early risers, or those living half-way round the world from us.

We can share our thoughts and evoke responses in our own time, and others can respond in the same way, with a quick “like” or a longer comment. And we can respond in return.

It’s a way of reaching out to others that for some feels more comfortable than the spoken word. I feel I may be getting “the best” of them in those wee hour revelations, as they are getting the best I have to offer, a side of myself I seldom share apart from the written page.

There’s another part to all this, why we write, why we blog, which a woman who would not be forgotten wrote about a thousand years ago:

“Again and again something in one’s own life, or in the life around one, will seem so important that one cannot bear to let it pass into oblivion. There must never come a time, the writer feels, when people do not know about this.” —Shikibu Murasaki, Tale of Genji (978 – 1014 AD)

Touching and being touched, yes. That’s part of why we blog. But also passing along to a larger world something of ourselves that seems too vital to pass into oblivion. In some small way, perhaps, this blogging about our lives, our loves, our insights, our art, is a way of passing on through the minds of others a part of our larger self. Letting it echo out there in the universe for a wider while.

 

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Tumblr
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Pinterest
  • Print
  • LinkedIn

Like this:

Like Loading...

Unwanted Solicitor, or Failing to See Humanity Behind the Hand

10 Tuesday Sep 2013

Posted by deborahbrasket in Art, Culture, Poetry

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

heart and hand, human nature, humanity, poetry, Unwanted solicitor

Ismael_Nery_-_Nu_no_Cabide,_c__1927 Wiki Commons
Unwanted Solicitor, or
Failing to see Humanity Behind the Hand

by Deborah J. Brasket

He stood there, a youth from poorer quarters,
Eyes wide and wary, flecked with glints uncertain.

His face was full and rich and filled my doorway;
Beyond–the grass, the street–they filled my eyes.

Words that stumbled forward fell to cement.
“I’m sorry, I can’t help,” I calmly lied.

I saw his eyes dull, his face turn narrow
I closed the door, my heart, my hand to him.

I watched him as he walked to other doorways,
To plead his practiced words to polished “no’s”.

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Tumblr
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Pinterest
  • Print
  • LinkedIn

Like this:

Like Loading...

Welcome Readers

This blog explores what it means to be living on the edge of the wild as a writer and an artist.

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 10,497 other followers

Recent Posts

  • Memoir of a Marriage, Part III – Disappointed Love
  • Memoir of a Marriage, Part II – Erotic Love
  • Memoir of a Marriage in Poetry, Part I – Innocent Love
  • the rapture is already right in front of you
  • Hilma af Klint: A Spiritual Perspective
  • Like Flowers Falling Everywhere: A Poem
  • Moving From Hope and Faith to Trust
  • Franz Wright: Like Touching a Bird’s Exposed Heart

Text and images are copyrighted by Deborah J. Brasket except where otherwise noted. Feel free to share giving credit and linking back to this site.

Protected by Copyscape Plagiarism Finder

Top Posts

  • Blogging and "The Accident of Touching"
  • Celebrating Lasting Love
  • On Herds, Husbands & Riffing on Writing
  • Poetry in the Time of Corona
  • Artists & Writers in Their Studios
  • The Art of Living, a Reminder
  • Pinch Me! Writers House Accepts My Novel
  • Pied Beauty, Poem & Paintings
  • The Insatiable Eye - Sontag on Photography
  • Immersed in One's Art

Follow Me on Facebook

Follow Me on Facebook

Follow me on Twitter

My Tweets

Monthly Archives

Topic Categories

Popular Topics

abstract art Addiction adventure art artists beauty Blog Blogging books children Consciousness Creative Nonfiction creative process creativity death Deborah J. Brasket deep ecology desire Entertainment Europe Family fiction Ghost Stories grandparenting Halloween healing human consciousness humanity inspiration Italy life lifestyle literature Love Lovers Marriage meditation memoir Mixed Media music National Poetry Month Nature Novel oak trees painting Paintings Parenting personal Philosophy photography Pinterest poem poems poetry Politics quotations Reading reality Romance sailing Sailing Around the World Science sculpture short story spirituality Supernatural the creative process travel universe vacation Wallace Stevens watercolor writing writing process Zen

Purpose of Blog

After sailing around the world in a small boat for six years, I came to appreciate how tiny and insignificant we humans appear in our natural and untamed surroundings, living always on the edge of the wild, into which we are embedded even while being that thing which sets us apart. Now living again on the edge of the wild in a home that borders a nature preserve, I am re-exploring what it means to be human in a more than human world.

Recent Posts

  • Memoir of a Marriage, Part III – Disappointed Love
  • Memoir of a Marriage, Part II – Erotic Love
  • Memoir of a Marriage in Poetry, Part I – Innocent Love
  • the rapture is already right in front of you
  • Hilma af Klint: A Spiritual Perspective

Tags

abstract art Addiction adventure art artists beauty Blog Blogging books children Consciousness Creative Nonfiction creative process creativity death Deborah J. Brasket deep ecology desire Entertainment Europe Family fiction Ghost Stories grandparenting Halloween healing human consciousness humanity inspiration Italy life lifestyle literature Love Lovers Marriage meditation memoir Mixed Media music National Poetry Month Nature Novel oak trees painting Paintings Parenting personal Philosophy photography Pinterest poem poems poetry Politics quotations Reading reality Romance sailing Sailing Around the World Science sculpture short story spirituality Supernatural the creative process travel universe vacation Wallace Stevens watercolor writing writing process Zen

Topics

Addiction Art Blogging books Creative Nonfiction Culture Deep Ecology Family Fiction Human Consciousness Life At Sea Love Memoir music My Artwork My Writing Nature Oak Trees Photography Poetry Recommended Authors Recommended Books Sailing Science Short Story Spirituality The Writing Process Uncategorized Universe Writing

Blog at WordPress.com.

loading Cancel
Post was not sent - check your email addresses!
Email check failed, please try again
Sorry, your blog cannot share posts by email.
Cancel

 
Loading Comments...
Comment
    ×
    Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use.
    To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy
    <span>%d</span> bloggers like this: