When Winter turns to Spring, I am reminded that Winter has its own brewing wisdom and power. As dark and as short as the days are in Winter, they make room for even more joy and more light to be seen when the timing is right. Spending the long weekend in Sedona, among the massive, almost otherworldly Canyon formations, I felt the Winter of my own life begin to awaken into a sort of Spring. I carved out space to listen, to be still, and to give whatever seeds were planted in the dark over to the light. I am excited for Spring, and the abundance it brings. But I am also so tapped into the sacredness and the lessons that Winter brings. The music that I am working on right now, was born out of my Winter, which inevitably turned to Spring. I can't wait to share.
I will be recording an EP with Jon Seale and Russell Durham at Mason Jar Music in Brooklyn <3
I began writing my first songs on a mandolin, after my father gave me one for Christmas on my 19th year. I think the mandolin is one of the most beautiful instruments. I remember when I was 17, I saw Nickel Creek perform in Sandpoint, Idaho at their yearly summer festival. There was an abundance of wine, picnic blankets and music under the stars. I was in awe of mandolin virtuoso Chris Thile, how he so effortlessly entertained and gracefully expressed. I had been singing for years, but didn't have a secondary instrument to write my music on. The mandolin seemed to fall into my lap at the most perfect time. Progressive folk music has catapulted me into a passion that I can never shake. I don't want to. It's here to stay. Years later, my dear friend and incredible songwriter/musician Anna Tivel, gave me this beauty here. The octave mandolin gave me more freedom to express and a wider range of tone. I now spend my weeks listening to Prairie Home Companion, nerding out over all things folk and bluegrass, and I'm deeply grateful for my mandolins. Both the big one and my original. 🎶
"The Heart Is Right to cry Even when the smallest drop of light, of love, is taken away
perhaps you may kick ,moan, scream in a dignified silence
but you are so right to do so in any fashion until God returns to you."_Hafiz
These last few months have presented me with a whirlwind of change. Most days, I feel as if the rug has been pulled out from underneath me and I am just praying to find my feet on the ground once again. But what I am continually fascinated by in this life, is that we continue to believe in our minds that we can have predictable stability, and that we are entitled to have our lives go in the way we imagine. It's almost humorous, if it weren't so painful. I hate to be cliche, but the only thing constant is change. Thank God for that.
But the heart will cry when we are amidst change. A friend and mentor told me that the soul doesn't care about our wants.... the soul merely wants to expand. And so we are asked to live in a world where we cast our desires out, and maybe even act on them, but we don't have any control. Because when a beautiful person or event or thing comes into your life, it is only natural to want to hang on for dear life, saying "Yes! This is it! I have finally found the missing piece of my puzzle".
The mastery of life, though, seems to me to be a gratitude and acceptance of all wonderful things, along with a total willingness to let it/ them go when the timing is right.
And the heart will break, and cry and scream and moan.
Fall is my favorite season. When the time comes for the Oak trees to let go of what no longer serves them, they do. And they stand naked, unknowing that new life will emerge from their divine branches.
I feel like an old Oak tree right now.
Change is uncomfortable, painful and scary. We cannot see what is ahead of us, and we have no idea what is going to happen. But if I can learn from the trees, than I know that spring is coming.
And new life is about to emerge from my branches.