I cam e here with the intention of being good and getting much studying done, but instead brought my computer so I could be distracted by other things like facebook and headaches.  

It is the second week of school and fall has swept in and opened our drawers holding long pants and sweaters.  Things are back again, structure and obligation and readings and papers and painting and deadlines and work and children.  And I've been taking more naps lately.  And I've been feeling calmer, finding it easier to let go of a thing or two and actually remembering to take time for myself.  Doing things that are actually fun that make my heart feel ohsofull.  

I hope this semester will renew my love for the creative things that really make my heart sing.  My heart hasn't been singing about these things for a while and I feel little by little I'm getting the tune back.  Learning to remember that sometimes I just love creating for the simple act of creating rather than doing what certain "big people" tell me creating should really be about and what makes someone a legitimate creative person.  

I'm halfway done with my first little vessel in pottery class and am finding so much peace and joy in the quiet molding that goes on under the hands.  No shouting.  No arguing.  No crying.  Just making.  And it's refreshing.  It's renewing to find some relief from the struggle and find joy in the normal joyful things.  Maybe.  The relief from some pressure.

I feel like my writing here (and in other places) has become more sporadic and that which I do write is seldom meaningful or profound-- it is simply my life.  I am learning to love small people, finding myself thinking about little kids who struggle with reading while molding clay. I think perhaps I have begun to find myself in places other than the private space of writing-- I am growing into a world of activity where my life meets the lives of others.  I find the strength I need in the interactions, in the conversations, in the conflicts, in the hugs of those who surround me these days.  I feel less alone that I remember feeling in other times, other years.  The black and white heart that I had a few years ago has been softened by the heat and touch of hands.  I am different, but I think that parts of the other me are still imbedded like soil somewhere too.

"Everything you do expresses something about you."  Last night during, "Art Education Studio," my instructor made this statement in regards to the idea of "originality."  We were talking about how everything that a person makes is in some capacity originial because it came out of their unique ability.  I like this statement though, because it is a reminder that no matter how much posturing we try to do, the stuff that comes out the most is an overflow of who we are at the most profound levels.  No matter how hard I try to be the thing I think I ought to be, the thing s that I do still come from the heart of the matter.  Those little pieces of myself, those little shards at the center still determine the most about how I manifest me.  I don't have to try.