I’ve been reading a book called “Journey Through Trauma” by Gretchen L. Schmelzer, PHD.
I’ve often said my songs heal me. I’ve said my songs are my teachers, they are from my wiser self, my omniscient connection, they are beyond me and yet of me. My songs have not only buoyed me, they’ve shot me through life. My songs have rescued me, they challenge and console me.
But I’m not sure they’ve healed me,Read More
“I’m looking through rough drafts of my next project and I wanted to share this with my friends”
Before that propitious Spring would begin to stir inside the wintery bones of Manhattan, and I would stride through the puddling park toward east fifty seventh street to meet you, there was a girl heedless of destiny. Before I would stand still across the street from your studio beneath the black,Read More
Good Evening, people of the light and shadows, contrast, layers, mass and fine lines. I’ve been wanting so much to share an experience of reading a book with you, and I’ve been thinking, as I fall asleep working on something, I must tell my friends about this book, because the only time I put it down is to cry.
This was a funny day, humorous in its assault of cold winds and dim atmosphere,Read More
I couldn’t wait to get to my son’s school at 10 am to stand with the students and faculty in silence. I cut fast on my scooter through the abrasive cold, Pooh weather, I call it. Blustery March, full of light and promise and surprises.
There they were, heads bowed, in the right, belonging to the world of people who want children to be protected even from their own confusing impulses. Here I come,Read More
Last night, Memorial Day night, I was lying between my son and daughter, whispering with them as if a grown up were going to come in and yell at us. We were laughing about a girl who had terrorized the playground all weekend, scandalized the mothers by refusing to get off the “spinner” and let their children have a turn. Dashiell called her the “Sassy Grump” and followed his imagination through scenarios of the Sassy Grump taking over playgrounds all over the city,Read More
By Sophie B. Hawkins
When you are about to lose something, someone valuable, that’s when you sacrifice your time, your way of life to hold onto them, that’s when you become really present. When you are about to lose something you love is when you get on your knees and beg.
Maybe that’s the silver lining of Trump becoming president. We are not willing to lose what we love about this country and we are willing to get on our knees for Miss Liberty not to go away.Read More
Dear friends, I was walking Esther down the street on a hot yesterday and kept stepping into the shade. I’m looking for the shade in every moment, I thought. I’m not drawn to the fiery hot aspect of ideas, people, attractions or emotions. I’m leaning into the cooler, quieter perimeters of observation. Especially in my creative work right now, where there is plenty of heat in the content of what I’m writing, I keep edging into the shady spots.Read More
There are people who bring up the question of who are we and why do we matter. When I heard David Bowie for the first time, the sun was pouring onto the living room floor like batter, and you were sitting next to the victrola, looking at an album cover, “Changes One”. I was nine. I was drawn into the room by his voice. The purity of that moment is astounding to me now. I was over whelmed with curiosity and also aversion because his music was a little strange.Read More
By: Sophie B. Hawkins
This evening, Dashiell and I walked onto the beach with dry branches and matches, kindle from the 7/11, a blanket and some water. The sky was as bright as laughing children, the sand warm, and the ocean waves as relaxed as horses turned out in the field, swishing their tails, snorting, and hanging their heads in the long grass.
We found a hidden spot near the dunes and dug a deep,Read More
Hello people of the light, how are you? I am fine. I shake my head, how does one blog totally honestly, intimately; knowing intimacy has no integrity on the Internet. It’s a form of thought promotion. And yet in writing books, stories, novels, songs there is no false idea or hiding of the truth, because, speaking for myself, art is an honest search for the truth. Art could be an abstract audit of the balancing act between one’s heart,Read More