Simple Homeschool!


If you are visiting from Simple Homeschool, welcome. The post I wrote over there is really a condensed version of what I affectionately call my homeschooling breakdown/breakthrough. If you would like to know the whole story, start here. If you like what you see, consider subscribing to my blog. You can expect posts about art journalling, poetry and trying to navigate this thing called life with a contemplative heart and a sense of humor. Thanks for stopping by and Happy Friday!! xoSheila

Full Corn/Blood/Harvest Total Eclipse of the Heart Moon



I caught only the slightest and cloudiest glimpse of this Super Moon and had no answer to her question: What dreams do you wish to bring to fruition? Actually, that is not true. I have a list of dreams I long to bring to fruition, however I am feeling intensely unsettled in so many of these areas that the tension between the question’s impulse of completion and my inability to act in any concrete way about brought me to my knees this past week. I do love these two dream boards though, and have abandoned the companion written journaling that I used to do with them. I’m letting the images alone speak for me and to me, and I’m not worrying about words. I also love the fact that I am continuing with the journal form I started last month. Thank you to Jamie Ridler for introducing me to this practice – it’s so, so good.


I’m off to see Brene Brown with my mom today. It’s her birthday – my mom’s, not Brene’s. Have you seen her new book? Wow! I still remember walking along the beach listening to this podcast and thinking “This changes everything.” A year and a half later, I have read everything she has written, taken her “O” course and listened to a huge chunk of what she has recorded and I can say the same thing about her current book: This changes everything. If you haven’t heard her interview with Elizabeth Gilbert, take 30 minutes today and listen. It might just change everything.

Big love from the soggy mountains of western North Carolina. xoS

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Sunday Selections


All night
the dark buds of dreams

In the center
of every petal
is a letter,
and you imagine

if you could only remember
and string them all together
they would spell the answer.
It is a long night,

and not an easy one –
you have so many branches,
and there are diversions –
birds that come and go,

the black fox that lies down
to sleep beneath you,
the moon staring
with her bone-white eye.

Finally you have spent
all the energy you can
and you drag from the ground
the muddy skirt of your roots

and leap awake
with two or three syllables
like water in your mouth
and a sense

of loss – a memory
not yet of a word,
certainly not yet the answer –
only how it feels

when deep in the tree
all the locks click open,
and the fire surges through the wood,
and the blossoms blossom.

– Mary Oliver, “Dreams”

More Art Journaling

I read somewhere that Mercury is currently in retrograde and maybe that explains the craziness of late. Not sure, but the only place I am finding a shred of inner quiet these past couple of days is with paint and chalk and glue. Wishing you the holy stillness of first light. xoS


The Holy Well


The Holy Well (detail)

Angel of Doubt (full text below)

Angel of Doubt 

There is always that edge of doubt.
Trust it, that’s where the new things come from.
If you can’t live with it, get out,
Because when it’s gone, you’re on Automatic,
Repeating something you’ve learned.
Let your prayer be:
Save me from that tempting certainty that
Leads me back from the Edge,
That dark edge where the first light breaks.

– Alfred Huffstickler, “The Edge of Doubt”

Sunday Selections


I have fallen through and worked into
a deeper way—one step at a time, one pain
at a time, one grief at a time, one amends at
a time—until the long, slow arm of all that matters
has bowed my estimation of heaven. Now, like a
heron waiting for the waters to clear, I look for
heaven on earth and wait for the turbulence to
settle. And I confess, for all the ways we stir things
up, I can see that though we can stop, life never
stops: the lonely bird crashes into the window
just as the sun disperses my favorite doubt, a
sudden wind closes your willing heart as the
moment of truth passes between us, and the
damn phone rings as my father is dying. All
these intrusions, majestically unfair, and not
of our timing. So we spin and drop and catch
and land. And sometimes, we fall onto these
little islands of stillness, like now, from which
we are renewed by our kinship with all and that
irrepressible feeling resurrects our want to be here,
to push off again into the untamable stream.

– Mark Nepo, “The Slow Art of All That Matters”