Loon Loving And Mudflats

Summer’s End

The temperatures have dropped and I swim now in the lake. I suppose there will be some singular days remaining for that perfect ocean dip. But that is a private love affair. Swimming for any length, thirty minutes or longer will be reserved for Biscay Pond, which, thankfully, is not far from my house. I grant you, it lacks the majesty of the ocean, and there is no salt, drawing out the toxins, but it is far from lacking in beauty and healing qualities. Fresh water caresses your skin like silk. And as for beauty, well, this was the summer I swam amongst geese, over forty of them, who apparently  had converged for a conference before hitting the skies. What an honor to be almost invisible while they held their meeting,  honking about various concerns. Eventually they split into two groups, with several sub groups.  I wondered if they were arguing or simply establishing who  had seniority.Though no physical fights ensued, their squawky squabbling did reach a level reminiscent of the Jets and the Sharks in  West Side Story( for those of you too young to remember  ) I suppose there are geese specialists who could clue me in, but for now, I just love wondering. It is, after all, summer, the romantic season for falling in love and expansive daydreams.

Second Entry:  With the forecast predicting a four day stretch of rain, I was determined to catch a late afternoon swim. Lucky for me, I have a special swimming buddy, who understands completely the value and necessity of prioritizing, which in our language means swimming comes first. And today was no different. The clouds were on the horizon as the sun, still out, made it possible to take on our water wanderings . And there, ahead of us was an elegant loon , which I would have missed, as I was making more splashes doing the crawl.Generally we go for the gentle breast stroke allowing us to converse, catch up and philosophize on almost everything. Well, back to the loon, and my gratitude for Lyn’s keen eyes.  I so wanted to get a bit closer, but in one blink, lady loon ducked beneath the waters reemerging on the other side of me just out of arms reach. As I took one breath of this blessing, I was a bit sad knowing that my summer season was closing it’s doors. And I was also aware how all that we may grieve is a reminder of all that we love.

Third Entry: There are no such things as accidents. People come in and out of our lives precisely at the right  time for us to   enjoy, learn and discover more about ourselves and this complex human experience. My swimming buddy, Lyn is a perfect example of one of those blessings. Suffice it to say, that I had a rocky and painful childhood. Lyn, I believe was placed in my life to breathe objectivity and joy into my inner child’s world.  But as she is a skier and I am not, there will be times apart this coming winter. Having said that, she has left me with so much to be thankful for.This was a summer of firsts. I swam with the loons and the geese. It was also the summer I harvested a few oysters for dinner. I swam to Hog Island and back again in the Damariscotta River. Also swam to the wee island in Biscay Pond and back again, safely, without getting  plowed over by some over enthusiastic boater. The latter is, thankfully, due to Lyn’s white blonde hair and her quick reflexes in splashing, making our presence known. Another first- I have never been too fond of mud flats as they suction one down, turning a gentle walk into an athletic accomplishment. But then there’s the mud flats that one experiences while buoyant in the water. My naiveté and squeamishness to  all sorts of things always makes Lyn laugh. So when I first touched bottom, I squealed. But after returning my foot, (with an encouraging word from the still giggling Lyn), I found it so soothing, silky, yet alive and vibrant. Last, and hardly least, is my new and stealthy ability to change out of my cold wet suit in my car. So, should you be driving by and see my car rocking or notice I have a towel covering my window, I am neither having an epileptic attack nor am I necking with some hot sexy dude,(though I can still dream), I am merely returning my body’s core temp to a workable status. So as I may be readying  to say good bye to summer, I give three cheers to one of the best teachers I could have encountered.





Remaining Balanced Requires Loose Hips

Balancing The Waves Of Life

Or… finding my blogging legs

As you might be aware, I have been navigating the ins and outs of developing my website. I suppose I could have chosen an easier platform, but
seems to be at the top of the list by many. It offers the widest selection of possibilities, which I need not go in to. Suffice it to say, one can get utterly lost down a rabbit hole of technological mazes. And, believe me, I am one of those gals who can easily be lured into side roads and dark alleys. Maybe I shouldn’t be admitting that here, so openly, but never you mind, I have my secret ways of getting un-lost, even if it’s waiting patiently to be found.

Anyway, back to the dilemma at hand. I have spent hours of days scanning over  the how -to’s of setting up my blog. Yes, I know, you may be saying, it’s set up already! Oh but the intricacies behind the scenes. And, of course, I could pay a higher price to have WordPress specialists at my fingertips. But I never trow away a challenge so easily, not, at least after gnawing on it for some time.

So here’s my apology…I’m sorry….WAIT!  You say ” NEVER APOLOGIZE FOR YOUR ART!


O.k. then. here’s the deal. I just got my “Subscribe” thing-a ma- jig to work,(or at least I believe so) I’ll only know if you guys start subscribing. What this will get you is my post sent to you in your email. My posts will be once or twice a week. No more…I promise.

I’m working on my first chapbook  of poetry to be printed as an e-book. It will be free to the first 100 subscribers.

Now I must take up the challenge of  learning more leaving enough time to actually do my writing.

So it is with wobbly blogging legs that I bid you adieu….. and, yes, this fish in the wind  will be taking those same legs to the ocean later today, despite the chilly temps (water temps, in my stretch of Maine coast is 56 degrees! That ought to enliven my mental acuity. And if not, then it’s sure to burn a few calories.

Much of my poetry is written in the early morning after meditation, here’s yesterday’s

Who Might You Be

who is this that breathes me through the night
when I am no longer aware of the choice
and who makes the decision to call my last breath
claiming me back home to my hazy origins
what force is so beyond my perceptions,
yet leaves visual remnants in the changing of the seasons
metronomically from the beginning of time and before,
I stagger at one more opportunity given me
as I make a list of things to be done
and the thousands of spaces in between
and when I breathe no longer as I,
would I, if given the choice
surrender to never having an ego again
pulsating forever with ONE
or would I cling to the tides of joy and sorrow
to experience, once more, the string of glorious sacred moments
where longing and language trap me in the confines of humanity
unable to communicate precisely what my heart-mind has revealed
oh this grand mystery that beckons me
to dance in my own curiosity amid sages, and scientists
dreamers and doubters, lovers and slumberers
delirious as I am given one more breath

Alexsondra Tomasulo

Decluttering takes Courage

A lot is being said and written about the importance of decluttering our homes. Magazines are full of sleek minimal photos creating zen like atmospheres. And,  yes, they may appear refreshingly calm, but what lies behind the scenes is always more important.

Minimalistic surroundings, while attractive to some, have little to do with inner peace. Yet that is the subliminal marketing ploy. While I am in full support of not being attached to things, simply disposing of them does not solve the problem. And how can we hope to solve a problem we are unwilling to look at, deeply, with curious minds.
Mindfulness means with a full mind, not a well marketed mind.
So where do we go from here?
Is looking good more important than being good?
We might be losing the value of substance. How much easier is it to purchase a lifestyle, compared to creating a lifestyle? I know there are those of you reading this, thinking you are immune to marketing pressures. But I assure you, this is not true, unless, of course you live in a vacuum,  never looking at a commercial, magazine or any social media.
Let’s face it, we are all looking for comfort, and lasting comfort blossoms from inner peace.It’s the space that provides us with the realization that, regardless of our outer environment or physical conditions, we can experience a profound sense of calm. This inner comfort requires a sense of authenticity that comes, I believe, from introspection, patience, perseverance, and a willingness to accept our own foolishness.
So what good does it do to reduce your possessions, creating an austere dwelling, if in your mind, cluttered thoughts swirl about offering little, if any inner peace.
Putting a two thousand dollar Armani suit on an ill mannered boor will not create a gentleman, not that it’s impossible to be transformed from the outside in, but it might just make for a rockier road. On the other hand, a gentleman can be appreciated by those who know, regardless of his garments or lack thereof.
Living mindfully is not defined by the number of possessions we own, but by our relationship to those possessions.

It’s been about a month since I sat at this small table, introducing myself to watercolors. Yes, it is cluttered. Never the less, I like it that way. It has a quiet memory of my last project, and it’s randomness serves to invite me again into the colorful dance. Of course, I will be organizing the space prior to the next painting. It will be serene, for new daydreams to emerge. For me, though decluttering is necessary, it is more about when and what to declutter.

A Pause In Creativity

Usually I declutter my art space when I have completed a body of work, or shortly thereafter. Bu, as in the case of watercolor, I have left it as a reminder. Because I am new at tis medium, if I clean it all up too soon, I may recoil back into uncertainty. so, for now it serves as a reminder that I do love learning new avenues for expressing my creativity. More importantly, I am now seasoned enough to chase the ghosts of the past who might whisper notes of discouragement. After all, life is a game, a party, even though we get stuck in the mud flats of endurance from time to time.

So, what, you ask, does this have to do with minimalistic surrounds?  Everything! I challenge you to reacquaint yourself  with your possessions , carefully, singularly. There is no judgement, nor shame in holding onto those that provide you with inspiration, memories of a life well lived, and give you pause for thought. Great understanding can come from sitting with a knick knack bought once in joy, that now brings possible embarrassment. When we grow, discovering we no longer need the same things, there is no need to rewrite your history.

Rule #1 only let go after full examination…which may take a second or last for a few more years.

Rule #2 In letting go, consider who or where new life can be found for this object

Rule#3…and this is of utmost importance~ for everything tangible you let go of, consider letting go of one belief  you still cling to, that no longer serves you.

Rule #4 remember that you are part of a flow, your outer and inner space will forever be cluttered and decluttered  and,  recluttered  anew.

so do it as a dance of discovery rather than a goal t be achieved never to look at again

I leave you with this.  Whether you are rich, poor, black, white, regardless of which religion, or non religion, there is an ALL

A great Spirit that encircles all.

May we all coexist in PPP-

Participating In The Process Of Peace



A Bowl Full Of Blessings

My piece on The Perfect Imperfection,  has given me pause to remember  the events of my story with a new objectivity.

It is a miracle to behold how an inanimate object can be infused with an abundance of life and purpose. The  humble , yet elegant bowl, having been formed  by loving hands years ago ,first graced it’s  beauty upon a hopeful couple on their wedding day. I believe a bowl is the symbol of both giving and receiving. But I cannot help but sense the bowl’s maker, infused this vessel with a powerful blessing, one that was to have it’s own life force. The blessing was that the love of one, when true to it’s source, cannot be  contained solely within any one object nor person. It must flow freely into the the universe. This wedding bowl, I believe, burst open that one day, as a reminder that all things true and wondrous cannot be caged as a static possession, but must yield to the ultimate breath, the breath that creates all things. And so, the bowl gave forth a breath so large her heart walls opened, leaving that gaping hole. I could not even bare to look at it. So I filled it with an assortment of objects, loose mail, fruit, books I intended to read, scarves I intended to wear, but never did I take a quiet moment to examine her hole. The sight of that wound was overwhelming, like a long lost grief that I could not touch.

Did this bowl possess a wisdom, a magic premonition in which it was trying to prepare me for my husband’s passing? Or was it hounding at me to stay with my original grief, which was the abandonment of my father at  a very early age?

Was grief  going to remain the primary path of my earthly existence?

I meditate more mornings than not, finding it the most effective and reliable activity for grounding, gratitude and moving gracefully through my days.

Once, while meditating shortly after Tom, my husband, passed, tears fell down upon my cheeks as if water faucets had burst. I knew this experience all too well. But then, a thought was placed in my mind. No, it is not as if I heard voices i my head, but I knew Tom was present, communicating the necessary wisdom for me to push forward. “It is not me who you are grieving for any more…go further”  And again, the all too familiar  pain of the serrated knife cut through my heart  revealing it’s longing to be healed. Then my father’s presence was made known. “How many time must I forgive you for this grief to subside?”, I asked.

The answer was immediate. “Just let go”. I believe my father and my husband were both there, gently desiring me to accept all the love being offered… and that the two of them were looking over me, always have been and always will be. And that’s when laughter began to commingle with  tears and a great peace filled the room.


Thou Shall Walk The Lonely Learning Curve

the lonely learning curve


I’m writing something in a new way, or should I say an unfamiliar landscape. Actually I believe the term is platform but can’t be certain. All these new terms are floating in the cloud with the rest of my thoughts and desires. It use to be so easy. You remember, pen ,paper, or typewriters and white out. But I’m divulging my age here as well as my nature to be a bit resistant to change. Electronics are here to stay, and by the time I learn how to catch up with the young and the sassy, we’ll probably be communicating telepathically. I can dream can’t I?
So after much research I purchased the “must have” app for any writer who has no desire to waste time organizing. That would be me. I have a plethora of poems, a menagerie of memoirs, ten hundred tidbits of this and that along with a collection of essential essays. 
The app is Ulysses. (Might as well give a plug ) so I plunked down my $50 bucks. Oops, no plunking down anymore, it was swiped from my account with a click and a swipe. That was easy enough. Now here comes the learning curve. First sync my laptop to my mac. Done! Of course, for me, it meant about twenty minutes of googling this and that, leaving several “windows” open so as not to loose my place. Voila!
Yes, Ulysses makes an app for my iPhone as well, but heck, do I really need to spend another 25 bucks?
And that brings us to google docs.
Perfect. Here I am writing the rest on Google Docs 
I will be attempting to send this( with ease, according to my son) to my mac and insert it into my Ulysses file where I can seamlessly continue on before publishing.
Hope to see you soon.
Well not that it was to difficult but it was far from seamless. Here I am back at my newly purchased Ulysses app for the iPhone. I’m loving it.
Maybe I have a future in writing reviews.
Nice to know that I can pick up my phone click the stylish Ulysses icon and begin typing leave it , go home, click on my mac and continue effortlessly. Head over to my cozy writing studio and continue on my laptop. Phew! Not a bad day’s lesson.
Off to being a writer again.

Hello and Welcome

               I  have been working in clay for approximately forty years. During this time, it has offered me insights and healing to a life worth living. I hope you enjoy reading my posts, which will follow a non linear construction of explorations on the importance of nurturing a creative space. You need not be an artist in the formal sense of the word to nurture your creativity. You only have to have a longing for self discovery, which will take you down the inner roads of forgiveness, patience and self love.