All The Poets

All the poets and Real People (who can never be ugly) have left the social media building.

Instagram gets one-fifth of the attention and care I used to give it, back when I thought Poets and Real People were my friends there. Seriously - maybe I devote 20% of the concern I once gave it (and any other click-bait, heavily advertised platforms).

The other 80% has been re-upped into making physical things in the physical world, and to embodied friendships who are either right here in my Scruffy City, in my church, or who are a car drive away. And my soul and my bottom line are much healthier for it.

And if that ever changes, I will be one of the first to come back to those weird-ass squares, bringing more of who I am to each post.

I am one of those who believes I must take myself into every interaction. Ghosting is not beautiful to me. If I run across you, and I appreciate something about you, your image, or what you said…

…I let that thumb twitch. “heart”.

So simple. In fact, that is so utterly simple, that to purposely withhold that much to someone I used to call a dear friend, and with no explanation, is some kind of weirdness that absolutely does not feel beautiful to me. (Yes, I am speaking autobiographically…)

The only reason I bring it up, is this: as usual, I saw it coming. Now, seriously, all the poets are gone. Oh, they might post, but they’re not there.

I want to be a practitioner of beauty. Not just a consumer, or even a chaser. (But do go buy Tim Willard’s book called “The Beauty Chasers”.). If I can’t pass into it (beauty) and fellowship with it, and participate with it, I feel like a fraud.

I would be a fraud.

Listen to this quote from Freya India about Instagram, as to why she left:

“Oh well! We’re having fun, right? We’re entertained! We’re all more connected, apparently. But who said I want to be connected to people like this? I don’t even feel connected to myself when I behave this way. …I hate how these platforms convince humble, modest people that they are lacking—they should be sharing more; building a personal brand; playing the game. Take more photos! Tell us more about you! It’s all free! Just pay with your humility. Trade with the time you could be spending thinking about anyone else but yourself.”

That sits heavy and hearty with me. Truth.

As long as I have patrons and collectors on those squares, I will show up in some form. Because that is beautiful. It’s beautiful because I mostly pop in only to say hi to YOU. As for my square, it will usually be some easy stream-of-consciousness sharing, or dinking around with a reel as I have something urgent to say, or as I learn new video technique (for applications other than social media) or I am showing a new painting or class…or, and most often, in some pre-loaded scheduled post of something else I said years ago, back when IG was fun.

But the best of me goes to the rooms where I can see the faces - mostly physical, but even if they are virtual rooms, at least I know who is there, ghosts can’t emit their energies, and I can know that the faces that show up are, for the most part, for me.

As I am for them.

Beautiful.

Happy Mother’s Day

Y’all….

…I had my glory day in the hot sun.

And I am emphatically not still the mom, even though I am. I’ve graduated to best friend and mentor and sometimes even The Peanut Gallery.

I’m good with that. In fact, I rather love it.

Now, as Mother’s Day approaches, I want to (once again) jump on this here internet and encourage those of us in our 50’s and 60’s - those of us who are grandmothers and great-grandmothers - to celebrate your daughters this weekend, celebrate your granddaughters and daughters-in-law who are now the mamas.

Let’s not pressure them with unspoken expectation to give us props. Rather, may we speak life over them. They are the ones with the little ones, now. Let’s shower them with our approval.

Though I am certain my daughters will give me gifts (one already has), I don’t need them. I know I am loved. I’d rather them get themselves a mani-pedi, or an extra rose bush. “I” do not need to be celebrated this Sunday.

I want to shine the spotlight gently on the next generation. I want to celebrate both my “blood” daughters, and my “blood-bought” daughters (there are many, and all of them heavy-hitters in the Spirit).

I want, with allllll the “heart-eyes” to let them know that they are doing a heckuva job, and that I am obscenely proud of every single one.

I usually get my daughters small gifts on Mother’s Day. If I could, I would hire someone to do a fly-over, or sky-write my love for them. THEY are the ones deserving of honor on this special Sunday. Because they are the ones still in the beautiful trenches.

I want to tell them “hang in there”. I want to tell them that the best is yet to come, for them.

My amazing daughters Hannah and Sarah are doing it better than I did.

And isn’t that the whole idea of motherhood?

This literally was me…