Last night I wove St. Brigid’s crosses from rushes at a kitchen table, surrounded by women. These bring good luck when laid on doors and windowsills. St. Brigid’s Day, or Imbolc (the 1st of February), is the traditional start of spring in Ireland. Goddess and saint, Brigid is the patron of poetry, women’s creativity, healing, and protection, among other things. Lá Fhéile Bride shona daoibh!

//

Reading Hellboy omnibuses, poems by Mahmoud Darwish, Isabella Hammad's The Parisian

Meeting friends in cafes or going on wood walks

Making collages, like puzzles composed of forms culled from magazines, botanical illustration books, and cigar boxes filled with old stamps, sugar packets from other countries, matchbooks, etc. It feels good to lay down things collected in my past lives, place them in new quarters, and post them to friends. Like letting go of old desires and dreams, and welcoming new energy into my life.

Gathering materials, notes, stray thoughts, and modest goals, as if to create a force field around me

Wondering if learning Irish or making collages is just me procrastinating on, you know, writing

Thinking I have to do this for now: choose dissatisfaction for a while.

<<