“silence that voice.” By Julia at her desk

Wednesday October 3, 2018
9:41pm
5 minutes
Sitting in the Fire
Pema Chodron

She doesn’t whisper anymore
she begs
she wants me to be loud
that’s my goddamn mantra anyway
Yell Woman, Yell As Loud As The Moon
But the pull of this river is telling me something different
That I should quiet the voice quaking
that I should walk in silence and observe the wind moving
I am being tested every second and there are so many seconds
which mountains I’ve made and which I’ve climbed
I am fairly certain there have been no molehills worth dying on
I know that is what the pull is saying
the one that doesn’t whisper anymore
The one that doesn’t say anything at all
Wisdom is knowing you are right and not beating a love
over the skull with how right you are
and how wrong they have been
It is about knowing deep within and underneath bone
that sometimes saying less is saying more
and saying nothing is saying nothing

But what about the Yell Woman.
The Women of Yell that I have built all my bridges on
They rumble sometimes
and still
I must sit

“I knew that sitting like that would bring me happiness.” By Sasha at the Intercontinental Yorkville

Friday January 12, 2018
11:02pm
5 minutes
How To Sit
Thich Nhat Hanh

I know that sitting would bring me something new, but I never let myself do it. Maybe it’s because I was taught to move, that moving equals productivity or something? Maybe it’s because when I sit, I feel. When I’m still, I have the space to know what I know, to trust my gut. So, I go from bed to the gym to the office to choir to drinks to bed. Bed to gym to office to yoga to bed. Bed to office to drinks to dinner to dancing to bed. You get the picture. And then, on a Sunday afternoon when my best friends cancels a hike, I sit. I sit. I sit. I close my eyes, just like the book says, and I pay attention to my breath going in and out. In and out.

“I knew that sitting like that would bring me happiness.”by Julia on her couch

Friday January 12, 2018
9:07pm
5 minutes
How To Sit
Thich Nhat Hanh

I sat there, sitting, and a bird came and perched itself on my shoulder. Isn’t that incredible? I invited the bird with my stillness. I sat there, sitting, and a bird sat there, sitting on me. How fascinating. I am the inviter. The invitation. The inventor. I invent still moments for my body to sit sweetly. I give choice to my bones, I say “loud or quiet?” I say “moving or moved?” I like this new sitting style. I like knowing how much I used to avoid it. How much it used to fill the room with loud even when I did not say. I do not say loud if I can help it. I like hearing every part of my legs and every part of my stomach and they will speak if they don’t have to yell. And it is helping more than just the room. It is helping every house inside my skin.

“When your music ends” by Julia on her patio


Sunday August 6, 2017
5:07pm
5 minutes
Spotify

That feeling when your guts are in your throat
when you want to breathe deeply but nobody will let you
the empty swallow that burns your chest
that makes you wish for more time or a disguise

The last song has to be a good one. Maeve and Alexis lay on the floor touching skulls, feet outstretched in opposite directions. Maeve has been planning for a long time and Alexis knows patience. She goes along hand in hand with everything. She is not a pushover. She just never gets tired. Maeve is close to tears. She doesn’t know which one to choose and everyone is putting their two cents in. Alexis has stopped suggesting options. Instead she lays there without thinking about the clock and lets her friend quietly cry.

“The morning, happy thing” by Julia on her couch


Saturday August 5, 2017
12:59am
5 minutes
The Complete Poems of Emily Dickenson

In the morning, I stood up, naked and sweaty. I walked to the fridge with weight. I felt a stillness. This house has been quiet since you left.

When you were gone I slept on your side of the bed and didn’t wke up once. There could be two reasons.
1)Because your side is better than mine or 2)Because I sleep better when you are gone.

I missed you most in the afternoon when the daylight no longer knew which colour it wanted to be. I watched a video of you singing that made me smile out loud.

“filled with feeling but generally paralyzed.” By Sasha at her desk


Thursday February 2, 2017
2:09pm
5 minutes
From an interview with Miranda July in LENNY letter

always
filled with feeling
but generally unsure
where to place it

so it lands
in a throat
hides behind
a shoulder blade
cuts through the
softness below
the belly
button

unsure where to
categorize
alphabetize
energize
feeling lands
where we least
expect

in the space
between this
and that
on the coffee
table below
the book
of salvador
dali

so much
is accomplished
in stillness

“A failure to be my best self” by Julia on her bed


Sunday January 15, 2017
12:32pm
5 minutes
Becoming Wise
Krista Tippett


Since waking I have been making all sorts of lists
Things to do
What to eat
When to do them
How to eat it
All the tiny boxes either checked or unchecked
Waiting or finished
Day’s beginning turning into day’s middle then day’s end before the joints become lubricated enough to sustain it all
Since waking I have been making all sorts of lists
Who to write to
What my dreams were
What my dreams meant
Who I want to be today
Who I plan to be today
Who I end up being today
I have not scheduled in silence
Or stillness
Or sunshine
I have expected all to come when necessary
When called
When unavoidable
I have not promised to love myself in case I can’t quite get to it
I meant to reduce tasks and expectations and heartbreak and time travel of any kind
But I keep adding to the list without breathing first info what it feels like to be alive on a perfect day of perfect opportunity to give thanks

“where the water is still” by Sasha at the kitchen counter


Thursday July 7, 2016
11:39pm
5 minutes
Cranes and Egrets
Marlene Cookshaw


“When you swim far out, way out past the break, past where the waves are tall as houses, the water is still…” Granny eats a piece of honeydew, the juice dripping down her chin. She wipes it with the back of her hand. “You have to be very brave to swim out that far, you have to be bigger than you are… Fifteen or sixteen. It takes strength of mind an’ body, you see, an’ something else, too…” At this time of night her accent gets thick. “You need the determination, the power that comes along with really believing in yourself.” She swats at a mosquito. “I used to spend hours and hours out there, in the still water, thinking up what might happen. I’m more of a future person than a past person. Past people, they’re more apt to get all depressive. Future people? Like me? Anxiety… But on the still water, floating on my back an’ my front an’ treading water – just calm.”

“where the water is still” by Julia at Starbucks


Thursday July 7, 2016 at Starbucks
6:59am
5 minutes
Cranes and Egrets
Marlene Cookshaw


I will meet you there at our favourite spot
the one where we feel like we’re in our own little world
early in the morning before the rest of the ones who need the sun
even see it
where the water is still
where the sail boats line up so perfectly
camping on the ocean
When you need to remember why we chose each other
when you need to feel big in your smallness
I will
I will always.
I will meet you there
at our favourite spot
where the moments feel full
and little ducks rest on rocks
the one where we’re one
with each other
and with the sky

“the days are not to slip emptily by” by Julia at her dining table


Tuesday, January 19, 2016
4:57pm
5 minutes
from a quote by Vita Sackville-West

In the early morning when the sky is still dark and only the sounds of faint garbage trucks can be heard from my window, I am viewing the world with eyes made of satin and lace. It’s easy but distant, honest but soft. I love these moments where my mind speaks very little and my soul shifts between asleep and awake, alert and dreaming, alive and hopeful. I lay there in my silent body, noticing the still and focused mystery of dawn, the quiet whisper of newness and readiness joining hands to fuse energies from past and present. My heart is moved by the warmth of limbs thick on perfect fiber, like baby in blanket; like chocolate on tongue.

“what he learned about fire” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Monday, October 19, 2015
9:49pm
5 minutes
Dramaturgical notes on My Ocean

What he learned about fire
standing beside his Papa in the thick of the birch and maple
fingers almost frozen from building up the kindling and scrunching the newspaper
what he learned is that it’s heat comes from the centre of the earth
it’s not the flint of the match striking against the small book
a bit of lint from Papa’s pocket
It’s the heat that inside all of us
waiting to escape
the kettle that sings on the stovetop
despite being empty
singing and singing and singing
until somebody listens
Standing beside his Papa in the stillness of the near naked trees
The brush starting to burn
reaching the kindling and the dried driftwood
always moving up up
Up
he is safe
He is the hand in his Papa’s hand
A spark jumps close to his left foot
A running shoe that once belonged to his cousin

“can’t go a day without” by Julia on her bed


Monday March 9, 2015
9:27pm
5 minutes
from a comment on YouTube

thinking about bread
wishing i was better
praying to a god i no longer believe in
touching my hair
remembering
examining my fingernails
snagging my ring on the inside of my jacket
sighing deep and audibly
dreaming about chocolate
playing with my earrings
singing to myself
communicating with my love
apologizing for something
tricking myself into stillness
cracking my back
touching my face
biting my lower lip
smiling
holding space for pain

“mostly tiny sungrazing comets” by Julia on her couch


Wednesday, July 16, 2014
11:46pm
5 minutes
from the Sun Wikipedia page


And we lay there in the grass, picking bushels of it out of the earth to sniff them, or to play them like flutes in the middle of the night. We waited for the sun to pop up again. We were waiting on its predictable rotation. The way we wait for a mother’s call, a friend’s best wishes when we’re near the death of someone close. We wait in the stillness gazing up at the sky, wishing for the night to retire gracefully to its bed so we could watch the warming of the sky take over. And we lay there in the grass, picking moments to kiss each others’ hands and necks and lips. We played those moments over and over again in our heads, recognizing the opportune times to touch one another not out of obligation but out of necessity. The orange was peeking up from beneath a distant hill as we wished.

“Would you trust a mouse” by Julia at her kitchen table


Sunday November 10, 2013
5:30pm
5 minutes
alive magazine October 2013

My lover and I used to have a regular visitor. He was tiny and he was fast, but we learned to love him because he was ours. Something we both shared and something we both knew to be true. I had seen him first, out of the corner of my eye, and I was accepting of his presence because he stared at me the first day with such confidence and unapologetic stillness. It was amazing. And so I didn’t scream, or jump, or chase him. I welcomed him into our home, and I knew my lover would be equally as accepting. When I filled with the finest cheese, peanut butter, and cookies. We didn’t want him to think we were the greedy type. My lover lined the basket with a gingham fabric that once used to line our picnic baskets, and on occasion, the inside of our coat pockets so we’d match. Oh how we forget the beautiful days that bonded us, even in clothing. We took care of our new housemate as if he were a cat, or a puppy. Lots of love and lots of witty banter.