i write to believe.

The past few weeks have been really busy.  I cannot even begin to describe how busy it has been.  But I am also glad that even though it has been really busy I feel that I've been making some kind of progress.  Things feel like they are moving forward at work.  I was also able to get a some kind of breather and tapped into my creative side during Adi's visit.   Now that one was a pleasant surprise.  It was only then that I felt things managed to put themselves back into order.  It's funny how people in my life become guideposts and become like anchors that bring me back to my center especially when a lot of things are in disarray.   Adi's become like that anchor.  She reminds me of my deepest desires.  To live a life filled with creativity and authenticity.  One that always seeks beauty in all things.  One that breathes all moments in.  One that savors all good conversations.  One that cradles every meaningful m...

Yesterday I spent most of the morning writing in my journal.  It was quite a release.  Introspection in longhand is almost like an art that's lost in this internet age.  So in the middle of the rain and sparks of thunder and lightning while the internet got cut I took the opportunity to do it the old way.  I realized that there are some things I can say on a piece of paper and not be able to say online.  The honesty that gets drawn out of me as I hold my pen and scratch the surface of my journal with words is an intimate act of making sacred reveries. Yesterday I was restless for creativity.  Two hours of writing about it and figuring out the creative urge led me trying to paint with my fingers and sing old songs from the faded sheet music of my favorite grandaunt Filomena.  I listened to my voice and how comfortable it was singing the warm melodies of 1950s music.  Finally my camera, which I have not used in a long time beckoned and I found myse...

from adi's album: traces in spaces I just find myself reflecting on this photo this morning.  It's from one of Adi's albums .  One of my favorites I'd say.  I've been staring at it and looking at the misty windows.  The notes posted on the walls with hand torn masking tapes.  The ball of yarn forgotten in the corner.  The collecting dust on the sill.  She easily notices things like that and oftentimes draws her into a quiet place of her own.  Something I never really quite understood but have slowly begun to appreciate.  During the past 3 years of her stay in London we've been keeping in touch and I've learned about her life through these photographs and occasionally her handwritten journals scanned for posterity on this pag e.   I've often wondered why I have gravitated so much to her way of life and behind closed doors I always realize that it is because there's not much of this kind of rhythm in mine. I don't know what this ...