I don’t like to disappoint people. The positive regard of others matters to me, sometimes a bit more than I like to admit. Part of this comes from a natural human desire to be appreciated, a longing that isn’t necessarily bad in and of itself. Appreciation contributes to our sense of worthiness and fosters connection with others. As long as we don’t lose ourselves in the process. Not so surprisingly, when I loosen my concern about disappointing others I am better able to be my true self. And actually, the more I loosen my concern about disappointing myself the freer I am. Having the courage to disappoint lets me move more fully into my creative self.

Verse

The deepest principle in human nature is the craving to be appreciated. — William James

Vision

In his painting of an empty room bathed in moonlight, Vilhelm Hammershøi evokes the experience of inhabiting our own space and our own selves.

The Search

Thanks for being here. If you’d like to receive new posts of The Glimmer to your mailbox, you can join as a free or paid subscriber by hitting the button below. Readers and free subscribers receive most of the content in The Glimmer. As a small thank you for their support, paid subscribers receive a “bonus glimmer.”

Subscribe now

Share

Read more

Making things takes courage because to truly create we have to leave the familiar. We have to leave behind our certainty, our routine ways of doing things, the patterns of thought we are so accustomed to. And instead we enter into unknown territory. Not only can that be uncomfortable but it can also be frightening. It asks us to look at parts of ourselves and the world that we might not like or that might disrupt our equilibrium. Sure, opening is a risk. Who knows what we’ll find. Who knows who we’ll become in the process. But as Elizabeth Appell says, sometimes it’s more painful to remain closed than it is to blossom.

Verse

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom. ― Elizabeth Appell (often misattributed to Anaïs Nin)

Vision

In Katsushika Hokusai’s The Great Wave, the wave is enormous but not at the center. At center is Mount Fuji under the wave’s crest.

The Search

Thanks for being here. If you’d like to receive new posts of The Glimmer to your mailbox, you can join as a free or paid subscriber by hitting the button below. Readers and free subscribers receive most of the content in The Glimmer. As a small thank you for their support, paid subscribers receive a “bonus glimmer.”

Subscribe now

Share

Read more

If you are as directionally challenged as I am, then you have found yourself getting lost on more than one occasion. Even with GPS! When this happens to me, I like to know I can start over, or at least get back on track without too much fuss. I like to feel that it’s possible to make a fresh start.

The reality is that this isn’t so much about a completely new start. It’s more of a returning to myself again as if for the first time. The idea is to be able to see anew. We don’t ignore where we’ve been or forget it. We carry what we’ve learned and own any mistakes. Beginning again means opening to the adventures, freedom, and unknowns that await us.

Verse

I keep turning over new leaves, and spoiling them, as I used to spoil my copybooks; and I make so many beginnings there never will be an end. ― Jo March in Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women

Vision

This 3-minute video is a great reminder of what it means to embrace transience, willing to let go and begin anew, even when you’ve created something as stunningly beautiful as a mandala.

The Search

Thanks for being here. If you’d like to receive new posts of The Glimmer to your mailbox, you can join as a free or paid subscriber by hitting the button below. Readers and free subscribers receive most of the content in The Glimmer. As a small thank you for their support, paid subscribers receive a “bonus glimmer.”

Subscribe now

Share

Read more

I come to the blank page with a sense of anticipation and also, admittedly, sometimes a bit of fear. Anything can happen. Nothing can happen. I try to remind myself that greeting the page has to do with showing up - for myself and my creativity. This really has to do with befriending my own creative life.

There’s already lots of advice out there about how to do this and how not to. I want to offer you a few gentle, simple approaches to inspire and sustain you in your practice.

• Embrace “beginner’s mind,” the Zen Buddhist concept of engaging the familiar with fresh eyes, letting go of preconceived ideas.

• Get outside your comfort zone. Try a new form, use a new pen, mix painting and words. I recently started writing persona poems. I feel completely out of my element, and, reinvigorated. in my writing life.

• Find a new space. Go to a cafe, bookstore, park or elsewhere to switch up your perspective.

• Change the scale of things. If you write or draw small, go big. If you write or draw in a large format, go small.

• Be playful. This one’s hard for me, and my most important growing edge creatively. When I embrace the mess and joy of making something, the whole world opens up.

  Subscribe now

Verse

Creativity is always a leap of faith. You're faced with a blank page, blank easel, or an empty stage. ~ Julia Cameron, author of The Artist’s Way

Vision

In 1958, French artist Yves Klein created what’s considered the first public display of “invisible art.” It consisted of an empty room with white walls where people could experience the blank canvas. Klein said the space was filled with “immaterial pictorial sensibility.” You can see this conceptual artwork here.

The Search

What metaphor best expresses your own experience of approaching the blank page or canvas? Is it a leap of faith, an empty room, the open door, a quiet sanctuary, a sunrise, seedbed, or something else?

Thanks for being here. If you’d like to receive new posts of The Glimmer to your mailbox, you can join as a free or paid subscriber by hitting the button below. Readers and free subscribers receive most of the content in The Glimmer. As a small thank you for their support, paid subscribers receive a “bonus glimmer.”

Subscribe now

Share

Read more

As a creative person, I love to make things. The process is what excites me. But sometimes I get a little too eager and rush things. It takes a certain amount of trust, courage, and letting go to allow what wants to ripen to do so organically (and, of course, to know when to push a little harder).

In Chinese philosophy, there’s the concept of the Tao, which is the way or path. Aligning ourselves with the Tao means getting into the flow of life, becoming like water. Water is fluid yet has the strength to shape land and rock. Water reminds us that the nature of existence has a flow and ease that doesn’t require our striving.

The Glimmer will be taking the next two weeks off. I’ll see you back here September 13.

Verse

Vision

The Search

Thanks for being here. If you’d like to receive new posts of The Glimmer to your mailbox, you can join as a free or paid subscriber by hitting the button below. Readers and free subscribers receive most of the content in The Glimmer. As a small thank you for their support, paid subscribers receive a “bonus glimmer.”

Subscribe now

Share

Read more

The Glimmer

Leonardo da Vinci said, “Art is never finished, only abandoned.” James Baldwin said, “You know it’s finished when you can’t do anything more to it.” As someone with a tendency toward perfectionism, both of those approaches feel unsatisfying to me. Abandoning what I’m working on feeds into my sense of failure, and, on the other hand, there never seems to come a point when there’s nothing more to do.

What does help me is to focus on a sense of completeness rather than getting it right. For example, when I write a poem, develop a curriculum, or paint a room, I try to shift from perfection to wholeness, for that project in that moment. This may sound like semantics, but how we frame perfection vs. completeness matters. To emphasize an experience of wholeness can be a tremendous kindness we offer to ourselves and others, one that leaves us feeling peaceful and fulfilled.

Verse

Vision

The Search

Thanks for being here. If you’d like to receive new posts of The Glimmer to your mailbox, you can join as a free or paid subscriber by hitting the button below. Readers and free subscribers receive most of the content in The Glimmer. As a small thank you for their support, paid subscribers receive a “bonus glimmer.”

Subscribe now

Share

Read more

The Glimmer

There is nothing quite like waking up to a day filled with a sense of adventure, exuberance, beauty, and creativity. These are the days when we meet a friend, go to a museum, make art, pick flowers, or bird watch.

But I’ve learned that joy sometimes arises from what’s absent too—being free from malice or pain or embarrassment or noisiness or any of the things that disquiet my spirit. I just recently had a cortisone shot to relieve carpal tunnel discomfort in my right hand, wrist, and arm, and I’m aware that the absence of that pain, or any pain, is a joy, or at least a welcome relief. So is being free from my need to try to fit in, from self-doubt, and from jealousy of other people’s achievements. I’m grateful for those days.

Poet Czeslaw Milosz captures the gift of what’s absent as well as what’s present in a happy day in his poem, “Gift,” which is The Glimmer’s verse this week.

Verse

A day so happy.

Fog lifted early, I worked in the garden.

Hummingbirds were stopping over honeysuckle flowers.

There was no thing on earth I wanted to possess.

I knew no one worth my envying him. – “Gift,” by Czeslaw Milosz

(read the full poem and listen to poet Victoria Chang read it here)

Vision

The Search

Thanks for being here. If you’d like to receive new posts of The Glimmer to your mailbox, you can join as a free or paid subscriber by hitting the button below. Readers and free subscribers receive most of the content in The Glimmer. As a small thank you for their support, paid subscribers receive a “bonus glimmer.”

Subscribe now

Read more

The Glimmer

Ancient people celebrated the start of harvest season on August 1. This festival, known as Lammas (or Lughnasadh), was marked with rituals that included baking breads and cakes.

I can’t help but think that celebrating the harvest season on August 1 is just too early. I’m still immersed in summer. I haven’t even gotten to the beach yet. And I’m still savoring sunshine and summer produce and flower blossoms.

All the same, metaphorically and spiritually, this month invites reflection on what is ripening in us and the world. What is moving toward maturity?

For me, there are several projects that are beginning to take shape. This Fall, I’ll be offering three workshops—one on creativity, one on spiritual practices, and another on generative writing. I love the process of developing these and then getting started.

But even though I’m looking forward to what’s next, I don’t want to rush past what’s now, which includes a few more weeks of summer. And sunflowers and orchards.

Verse

Vision

The Search

Thanks for being here. If you’d like to receive new posts of The Glimmer to your mailbox, you can join as a free or paid subscriber by hitting the button below. Readers and free subscribers receive most of the content in The Glimmer. As a small thank you for their support, paid subscribers receive a “bonus glimmer.”

Subscribe now

Read more

The Glimmer

As someone who has periodic bouts of insomnia, I’ve spent my share of time on the quest for the perfect night’s sleep. I’ve done a ton of research to figure out how to improve my sleep and read all the dire warnings about how many years “bad sleep” is taking off my life. This has led me to test out different pillows, bedspreads and blankets, herbal remedies, breathwork practices, night-time snacking habits, and so on.

I’ve learned a few really interesting things along the way. For one, medieval people seldom slept through the night. Instead, theirs was a two-sleep cycle, also referred to as “two sleeps,” “segmented sleep,” and “biphasic sleep.” After a few hours’ sleep, families would get up, read, and/or engage in other restorative activites. This was sacred time for quiet and reflection, before returning to bed for their second installment. Yet another interesing discovery of mine is that stressing about not sleeping well can actually make things worse! And—ancient people came to believe their dream lives were evidence of an afterlife.

Plus, one more little tidbit, breathwork really makes a difference. On those tough nights when sleep is hard to catch, I practice box breathing. If that doesn’t work, I get up and make myself a cup of tea and read. And, I just chaulk that night up to one not-great night of sleep. Tomorrow night’s a fresh opportunity for a lovely dip into dreamland.

I wish for you a restorative sleep life where you might, as D.H. Lawrences writes, “sink in good oblivion, and in the morning wake like a new-opened flower.” And when sleep is a bit more elusive, I hope you’ll be gentle with yourself.

Verse

Vision

There are many examples of artists depicting sleep. Here are two that examine those soulful moments when humans succomb to and are embraced by stillness and rest.

The Search

Thanks for being here. If you’d like to receive new posts of The Glimmer to your mailbox, you can join as a free or paid subscriber by hitting the button below. I share most of The Glimmer freely with readers and free subscribers. There is an additional bonus glimmer I include for paid subscribers as a glimmer of thanks for their support.

Subscribe now

Read more

The Glimmer

My local library is hosting an Adult Summer Reading program from mid-June to end-of-August. For each book I read, I get to enter a raffle and also get a free book from their used bookshelf. I’ve already read three books! Last year, my name was drawn from the raffle, and I got a gift certificate to a local restaurant.

Just think about this for a moment. I’m getting rewarded for reading books that I want to read. How often, if ever, does that happen!?

The truth is that my mind needs the kind of refreshment that reading invites. I read, usually a novel, for an hour most afternoons and also before bed. This is in addition to any poetry, journals, or other materials I read. In the summer, I have a bit more leisure time so I read even more.

Novels offer me characters to love and also who challenge me. There are stories that change how I see the world, that change how I am in the world. Some books delight. Some irritate. Mostly I look for the kind of novel that is beautifully written, with attention not only to an interesting story and characters but to evocative language and gorgeous imagery.

Some people say that books are an escape from the world, and sometimes we all need an escape. I know I do. But mostly books deepen my engagement with myself and the world. They are places where I can have a little glimmer of experiences outside and beyond my own. They spark my own creativity. They let me explore what it means to be alive.

I can’t begin to imagine who I would be without books.

I’m currently reading Megha Majumdar’s Burning, which exceeds all my literary requirements. (In fact, I’m heading off to read in just a few minutes.) Next on my list is Flesh by David Szalay, which won the 2025 Booker Prize. At the end of the summer, I’ll give you my full reading list.

Verse

A book is a garden, an orchard, a storehouse, a party, a company by the way, a counselor, a multitude of counselors. – Charles Baudelaire

Vision

My sister Sue made me this beautiful “junk journal” as a gift. The cover features Carl Adolf Senff’s painting, “Portrait of Charlotte Latue,” who has a book poised in her lap.

Inside the journal, my sister used pages from a book she found. They are paintings of women reading. Here are a few of the journal’s interior pages.

And here’s a spread of the interior, just so you can see how beautiful and intricate this piece is. It’s not a novel, but it’s definitely a book in whose pages I relish spending time.

The Search

If you were going to describe a book using a metaphor, what would your metaphor be? A garden, a counselor, a party, or something else?

Thanks for being here. I hope you enjoyed this week’s reflection and accompanying verse, vision, and searching question. If you’d like to receive new posts of The Glimmer to your mailbox, you can join as a free or paid subscriber by hitting the button below.

Subscribe now

Read more

The Glimmer

There’s a common assumption that rest means less—less doing, less technology, less stimulation. And sometimes that’s exactly what’s called for. But sometimes my senses need to be nourished.

It’s late June as I write this, and what is especially restorative for me in this season is the fresh produce from the local Mennonite farm stand. Especially the strawberries! And the red potatoes. Holding a red potato in my hands connects me to something earthy and sturdy.

There’s also zucchini, leaf lettuce, tomatoes, and wax beans. And so much more!

These fruits and vegetables are balm for my body and spirit. I’m enthralled by the rich colors and shapes, by the flavors and aromas, and their unique textures.

As I settle into summer, I’m finding rest for my senses not by withdrawing or refusing things but by relishing nature’s bounty.

And soon there will be peaches. (But sadly, a severe frost decimated Pennyslvania’s peach crop this year so they will have to come from out-of-state.)

Verse

In her poem “O Taste and See,” Denise Levertov, who is among my favorite poets, writes of savoring. For Levertov, taking in the world is transformative and sacred. Her poem begins, “the world is not with us enough. / O taste and see” and concludes with these lines:

plum, quince,
living in the orchard and being

hungry, and plucking
the fruit.

(The poem is not in the public domain, but you can read the full text here)

Vision

Jan Brueghel the Elder and Peter Paul Rubens collaborated on a series of allegorical paintings entitled, The Five Senses. They are shown below in order from left to right, top to bottom: hearing, sight, smell, taste, and touch.

The Search

Which of your five senses is in need of more nourishment? Consider writing a letter to that sense.

Thanks for being here. If you’d like to receive new posts of The Glimmer to your mailbox, you can join as a free or paid subscriber by hitting the button below.

Subscribe now

Read more

The Glimmer

I write and speak a lot about the importance of doing nothing. It isn’t that I’m an expert at it. In fact, I’m a perpetual beginner. I grew up in a family where my parents worked multiple jobs to make ends meet. We kept a large garden, which my father tilled, and my mother, sister, and I planted. My mother canned tomatoes, beans, zucchini relish, pickles, beets, and more. My parents did their own home and property repairs. My mother was always doing handwork in the evenings, often sewing, which was one of her jobs. My father had his own storm door and awning business, and often spent evenings at appointments with prospective customers after working all day.

There was also what I call “porch time”—fun times and evenings when we played Parcheesi or hit softballs in the yard. But staying busy and being productive was the norm. It’s baked into me. Even when I’m doing nothing, I’m often dreaming up project ideas or making a mental to-do list. It’s no wonder a friend once gave me a book titled, The Art of Doing Nothing.

Meditation, breathwork, and hatha yoga help me rest my busy mind so that a truer idleness can emerge. Those moments of doing nothing are like floating. I rest my whole self. For a little while, I trust that I’m enough as I am without needing to keep proving myself, striving endlessly, or producing something.

Verse

It is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes makes its way to the surface. ― Virginia Woolf

Vision

A hammock is a great place to idle away the hours. In response to Tissot’s hammock paintings (there were several), a critic of the time wrote: “these ladies in hammocks, showing a very unnecessary amount of petticoat and stocking, and remarkable for little save luxurious indolence and insolence, are hardly fit subjects for such elaborate painting.” You can read more about Tissot and this painting here. There is an important social critique to be made of self-indulgent and hedonistic indolence. But for the creative, sensitive, and kindred spirits I encounter most often in my life, the hammock serves as an inspiring and meaningful reminder of the need for idle hours to heal overwork, burnout, and stress.

The Search

Is there a special place you go to do nothing? Consider taking some “idle hours” to write about that place.

Thanks for being here. If you’d like to receive new posts of The Glimmer to your mailbox, you can join as a free or paid subscriber by hitting the button below.

Subscribe now

Read more

The Glimmer

I write and speak a lot about the importance of doing nothing. It isn’t that I’m an expert at it. In fact, I’m a perpetual beginner. I grew up in a family where my parents worked multiple jobs to make ends meet. We kept a large garden, which my father tilled, and my mother, sister, and I planted. My mother canned tomatoes, beans, zucchini relish, pickles, beets, and more. My parents did their own home and property repairs. My mother was always doing handwork in the evenings, often sewing, which was one of her jobs. My father had his own storm door and awning business, and often spent evenings at appointments with prospective customers after working all day.

There was also what I call “porch time”—fun times and evenings when we played Parcheesi or hit softballs in the yard. But staying busy and being productive was the norm. It’s baked into me. Even when I’m doing nothing, I’m often dreaming up project ideas or making a mental to-do list. It’s no wonder a friend once gave me a book titled, The Art of Doing Nothing.

Meditation, breathwork, and hatha yoga help me rest my busy mind so that a truer idleness can emerge. Those moments of doing nothing are like floating. I rest my whole self. For a little while, I trust that I’m enough as I am without needing to keep proving myself, striving endlessly, or producing something.

Verse

It is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes makes its way to the surface. ― Virginia Woolf

Vision

A hammock is a great place to idle away the hours. In response to Tissot’s hammock paintings (there were several), a critic of the time wrote: "these ladies in hammocks, showing a very unnecessary amount of petticoat and stocking, and remarkable for little save luxurious indolence and insolence, are hardly fit subjects for such elaborate painting." You can read more about Tissot and this painting here. There is an important social critique to be made of self-indulgent and hedonistic indolence. But for the creative, sensitive, and kindred spirits I encounter most often in my life, the hammock serves as an inspiring and meaningful reminder of the need for idle hours to heal overwork, burnout, and stress.

The Search

Is there a special place you go to do nothing? Consider taking some “idle hours” to write about that place.

Thanks for being here. If you’d like to receive new posts of The Glimmer to your mailbox, you can join as a free or paid subscriber by hitting the button below.

Subscribe now

Read more

The Glimmer

Beauty stops us in our tracks. It arrests our attention. It stirs the imagination. And the heart. Any of us who have ever pulled the car over to the side of the road to watch the sun set or stood mesmerized before a piece of artwork in a museum knows what it is to be caught up by the beauty of a thing.

I remember coming into the presence of Andrew Wyeth’s “Evening at Kuerners.” (It was painted in 1970 and therefore not in the public domain, but you can see it here.). What caught my eye was the haunting winter landscape in a country setting. I instantly felt nostalgic for home, the home I grew up in. This was only a few weeks after my mother died.

While we may mostly think of beauty as a feel-good thing, what’s beautiful can also be desolate. It can capture our complex emotions of grief and memory as well as happiness. And that’s what happened for me.

Beauty asks us—asked me—to we see more deeply and feel more fully. I was moved to experience not only pleasure but also vulnerability and transience. Beauty overwhelms us, taking us beyond where we expected or believed we could go.

Verse

This week’s verse recognizes that beauty can be difficult to gaze upon because it overwhelms with the magnitude of life and the transience of our existence

Beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror which we are still just able to bear. — Rainer Maria Rilke, from Duino Elegies

Vision

It’s nearly impossible not to think of Vincent van Gogh when considering the complicated emotions that a beautiful piece of art can evoke. Despite, or perhaps because, van Gogh suffered from mental illness, chronic loneliness, romantic heartbreak, and other losses, he produced some of the most cherished and well-known paintings.

The Search

When has beauty asked you to be more vulnerable?

When has it revealed some deeper, perhaps even painful, truth?

Thanks for being here. I’d love to hear your reflections on beauty and where your searching took you. And if you’d like to receive new posts of The Glimmer to your mailbox, you can join as a free or paid subscriber by hitting the button below.

Subscribe now

Read more

The Glimmer

Summer Solstice is also called Midsummer, which may seem odd since to most of us the Summer Solstice marks the official first day of summer. But in much of Europe this day falls in the middle of the growing season. It represents a midpoint, and to embody that midpoint, we are invited to stand in two places.

Here, we find ourselves looking backward over the past season and forward toward what’s to come. The backward glance reminds us of our responsibilities. The look ahead frees us from routine. So while the Summer Solstice is a time for fun, joy and leisure, it’s also a time to take stock of our lives and get a fresh perspective.

For me, looking back, I see how I have said “yes” more often than I wanted to because of fear. I took on too much paid work because I was afraid I wouldn’t have enough money. I also said “yes” to too many volunteer opportunities because I was afraid of disappointing other people. The Summer Solstice is offering me some much needed wisdom as I make this solstice transition. The sun seems to be beaming at me as if to say, let go of what you’ve been clinging to and move forward freely.

I look forward to offering myself a little more ease, a little less clinging, and a little more freedom to say “no.”

Verse

This is the solstice, the still point
of the sun, its cusp and midnight,
the year’s threshold
and unlocking, where the past
lets go of and becomes the future;
the place of caught breath, the door
of a vanished house left ajar. — Margaret Atwood, from her poem “Shapechangers In Winter”

Vision

Ancient Celtic, Germanic, and Slavic cultures celebrated Midsummer with bonfires to invoke the sun’s power and protection. Here’s a striking depiction by Norwegian painter Nikolai Astrup.

The Search

What might you begin to let go of as the days grow shorter?

…. If you enjoy The Glimmer, considering joining to receive your copy directly to your mailbox. You can join as a free or paid subscriber.

Subscribe now

Read more

The Glimmer weaves together gentle reflections and thoughtful questions on these topics with evocative images from nature, inspiring works by visual artists, and quotes from well-known poets and writers.

If you are looking to …

• Explore the quiet moments of life

• Find deeper, sustained meaning

• Experience beauty and awe in your daily encounters

• Read beautiful quotes by poets and writers

• Savor inspiring artwork that evokes beauty

… then this newsletter is for you.

As a free subscriber, you’ll get a reflection a few times a month that includes:

1. The Glimmer - a personal reflection on a topic, such as “Leaning into Beauty,” “What the Itch to Know Reveals,” or “Restorative Reverie.”

2. Verse - an inspiring quote from a poet, writer, or artist that speaks to that week’s focus.

3. Vision - a beautiful image from a visual artist or photographer also relevant to the weekly theme.

4. The Search - one or two thought questions for your own reflection that can be used for journaling, writing your own poem, or musing as you wander in the woods or move through your day.

5. Plus, Opportunities to Go Deeper - links throughout the newsletter that offer you the chance to explore more deeply, if you want to, so that you can learn more about the ideas, writers, and artists included and discover other meaningful inspirations.

A little bit about me …

I'm a poet, writer, teacher, healer, and creative. I’m also an avid reader of literary fiction, a yoga practitioner, wife, cat lover, environmentalist, art enthusiast, and fiber artist. I describe my spirituality as naturalistic, mystical, Eastern-leaning, and rooted in wonder, beauty, and mystery.

I regularly lead small groups on the topics of creativity and healing practices, and write curricula in these areas as well. My education and training as a writer and spiritual teacher include a Master’s Degree in English from Syracuse University where I studied Creative Writing/Poetry and a Doctor of Divinity Degree from Lancaster Theological Seminary. I’m an ordained Unitarian Universalist minister.

At the intersection of my various passions is a search for deeper meaning and a life infused with quiet beauty. I bring that quest to The Glimmer and the reflections I share here.

To receive the Glimmer . . .

. . . you can subscribe here by hitting the subscribe button. You can choose the free or a paid option.

If you decide you want to go even deeper in your exploration, you can choose to be a paid supporter or upgrade at any time. As a paid subscriber, you’ll receive an extra "glimmer” in each newsletter to deepen your exploration of the featured topic. This might be a link to a video, a list of “how to” suggestions, or a deep-dive into the work of a creative person.

I’d love for you to join me.

“The only thing that can give us true refuge is the awareness and love that is intrinsic to who we are. Ultimately, it’s our own true nature.” ~ Tara Brach

For the past few weeks, I’ve been snapping pictures of moments of beauty on my daily walk around the neighborhood. I don’t typically carry my phone with me on these walks. Taking photos can so easily distract me from being in the moment. But somehow, this practice has helped me lean into beauty in a renewed way. It’s helped me move closer - to bark, leaves, buds, petals, bugs, clouds, roots. For me, this noticing is an embrace of the poetry of life. And don’t we all need a little more poetry in our lives? Don’t we need more depth, more meaning? For many of us who have gentle spirits and are pursuing a contemplative path, leaning into beauty isn’t an escape but an elixir that brings healing, for us and our world.

• verse:

In a meadow full of flowers, you cannot walk through and breathe those smells and see all those colors and remain angry. We have to support the beauty, the poetry, of life. ~ Jonas Mekas

Photo by Emiel Maters on Unsplash

• vision:

  Navajo painter Emmi Whitehorse embraces beauty in her artwork. She says, “What I see is beauty and that’s what I see around me. And that’s what I hope people see in the paintings.” This 1-minute video shows her in her studio, speaking about her process and beauty. And you can see her artwork here.

• search:

  • Where are you noticing beauty in the world in this moment?

  • Through which of your senses do you experience beauty most profoundly?

Leave a comment

Refer a friend

Read more

The Glimmer

This morning I spent over an hour on my porch listening to the birds, drinking coffee and watching the squirrels play. It was such a restorative deep breath in, deep breath out. I just allowed my mind to wander wherever it wanted to, unconcerned about goals and uninterested in achievements.

So often, instead, I find myself quickly filling up the day with projects and tasks. And even though many of these endeavors are creative and meaningful, they don’t necessarily allow me the spaciousness of unstructured time and the introspection that comes with meandering mentally.

I’m looking forward to more porch reverie, especially now that the weather here in Pennsylvania is welcoming me outside. I hope you’ll find some ways to idle away some hours too.

p.s. Last year I wrote some “porch musings” and you can check that out here.

• verse:

  “Sit in reverie and watch the changing color of the waves that break upon the idle seashore of the mind.” — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

• vision: Here’s a selection of artistic depictions of reverie:

  • Reverie, Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot, 1857 or later (upper left)

  • Reverie, John William Godward, 1904 (upper right)

  • Reverie, Henry Wolf and Cecilia Beaux, 1894 (lower left)

  • The Spanish Girl in Reverie, Washington Allston, 1831 (lower right)

• search:

  When is that last time you gave yourself the gift of reverie?

  Where do you go to make space for the “waves [to] break upon the idle seashore of [your] mind”?

Subscribe now

Read more

The Glimmer

Writer Brené Brown asks the question, “Who are we to be joyful?” I think about this question a lot. Because so often it’s easy to feel that being joyful when there is so much suffering in the world is selfish. And that joy is just setting us up for disappointment.

The thing is, joy is a gift from the universe, and it’s a gift that we have the capacity to give in return. How cool is that! Rather than being something fleeting or scarce, joy is deep and foundational to existence. This is the reason that even during the most difficult of times, joy is resonant in our very beings. If we tune in to it, joy enlivens us, heals us and enables us to live meaningfully.

• verse:

Do we deserve our joy, given our inadequacies and imperfections? What about the starving children and the war-ravaged world? Who are we to be joyful? — Brené Brown, from Daring Greatly

• vision: This week’s “vision” is a music video—Pharrell Williams’ “Happy.” It’s hard not to experience joy while watching and listening to this video. And nearly as impossible not to clap, dance and/or sing along. Enjoy!

• search: Where are you spotting joy in yourself, others and nature at this time in your life? Who are you sharing your joy with?

Leave a comment

Read more

The Glimmer

I enjoy sharing my creativity through teaching and publishing. Sometimes, though, I get a little derailed and find myself scavenging for recognition rather than focusing on what I have to offer. Getting a poem published starts to be more important than writing the poem. Being perceived as wise becomes more important than listening. When this happens, I find myself unmoored. No amount of approval by others ends up being enough. If anything, the more approval I get, the more I want. At these times, I find that what I most need is to loosen my attachment to external validation. I need to turn inward, grounding myself in my own intrinsic worth and rediscovering refuge in my true nature.

• verse: “The only thing that can give us true refuge is the awareness and love that is intrinsic to who we are. Ultimately, it’s our own true nature.” Tara Brach

• vision: In Caspar David Friedrich’s Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog, a figure pauses in nature for a moment of quiet realignment with the inner self and its interconnection with the natural world. “Art historian Joseph Koerner, a professor at Harvard University, notes that the midpoint of the painting rests at the man’s chest. ‘The heart is the center of the universe,’ he says.”

  (Unraveling the Mysteries behind Caspar David Friedrich’s “Wanderer”)

• search: What feels nourishing even when no one else notices? What am I seeking from others that I might quietly offer to myself?

An Additional Glimmer:

This week I’m offering an additional glimmer. It’s a short video of Tara Brach reflecting on “what would be enough.”

Subscribe now

Share

Leave a comment

Read more