As a child, I often felt sorry for the Sydney Opera House, as I stood beneath her. All sails, yet tethered. Poised for departure, but fixed to the shore. I used to imagine her shaking free one night—casting off her moorings, gliding into the harbour like a great, luminous ship. I suppose I sensed even then the weight of performance. How something built to hold beauty could also be burdened by it.
And now, while this precious Isolation Journal folds around me like a wool blanket on this southern side of the blue marble, your book is rising at last. Two more days until The Book of Alchemy is released here—& with any luck, my copy will arrive by week’s end. Just in time to keep me company until you return in September. Just as I hope your summer enters her last phase—ripe with cicada song, tomato vines, golden fatigue—I’ll be here in winter’s hush, letting the roots do their slow, unseen work.
You have captured summer here in all perfection: "ripe with cicada song, tomato vines golden fatigue." I am enamoured with "Poised for departure, but fixed to the shore." I have felt the same about myself and am working (and oh, it's work, filled with an anxiety that often renders me weighted in cement) to "cast off my moorings" as well. And I think that shall be my new mantra, "Cast off your moorings!"
Oh Mary, if you do take it as your mantra, I hope it’s in the form of a small stitched flag—tucked in a pocket, or tied to the mast of whatever vessel is waiting. “Cast off your moorings”—yes. But gently, yes? No need to tear away. Let the ropes loosen like old stories, dropped quietly into tide. I feel the cement too, some mornings. But still, I listen for the cicadas. They know something about the sun & its insistence.
This is such a beautiful image—the Opera House as a ship breaking free. Sending thanks from my summer cicadas to your winter hush, and loving the thought of the book keeping you company until we meet again in September.
Oh Carmen, your words have me grinning—“wings on” is exactly how I feel holding this book today. I’d been so eager to peel off the jacket & find that marbled surprise everyone’s been posting… only to discover our Australian edition keeps its secrets hidden. It’s a simple, beautiful shade of maroon. Still, she’s here, lovely in her own right, all primed for me to begin tonight—pages ready to carry me into the dark &, with luck, into my dreams. Please give my very best to dear Suleika. I hope she is wrapped in gentleness today, & that her hours are threaded with the kind of light that lingers.
I think I may just hitch a ride with her instead, Rachel—lest the bull sharks grow curious & take a bite of my toes, or the yellow dinghy itself. I’ll show her the platypus, my favourites, half-dream, half-puzzle, slipping through the reeds like a rumour. We’ll glide quiet, moonlit, salt-stung—no destination, just the calm between tides.
As always, you worded this so brilliantly (and painfully) true! In my 20’s I worked as a youth counsellor, and one late night of work my boss told me, “This work is not a project—it is never going to ‘end.’ So, you’re going to have to go home, even if you feel like the work’s not finished.” It took a long time to begin living that advice. Glad you’re pausing to savor and restore. Wishing you a wonderful August of rest!
That’s such a wise (and maddening!) piece of advice—and one I clearly still need tattooed on my forehead. Thank you for sharing it, and for the August well-wishes. I’m carrying your words into my own pause.
Put this on prescription pads and mail it to every artist burning out on their own dreams. Especially the ones who think ambition should be bulletproof. I know that hydra of ambition well, the one that shapeshifts into productivity, perfectionism, and praise-hunger. It wears your own face and speaks in your own voice. Mine once told me rest was laziness wearing a flower crown. Took me years, and health issues, to realise rest isn’t the opposite of work but the soil that gives the work its depth.
That Dickinson line feels like a drastic idea in this culture that wants invoices for every moment. Thank you, Suleika, for reminding us that silence, slowness, and stray thoughts aren’t signs of slacking but of life underground. Quiet doesn’t mean nothing’s happening. Sometimes it means the whole prairie is getting ready to bloom…..
Suleika, enjoy your August time for you. I love the poem about one gee. It’s so true. I have a meadow that I watch come more and more to life because if bees. It’s become a place of wonder and a refuge from the horrors in the world. It’s a compete ecosystem. The plants the pollinators love increase each year. This ugly piece of land has become beautiful with life. I always say goodnight to the bees when I take the dogs fur their last walk, the bees are joined by moths and butterflies and dragonflies. The dragonflies are wonders. So many colors and patterns. And they eat the mosquitos. I can sit outside and not use bug spray cause the mosquitos are gone. I love the sound of the humming beeps when I walk through my meadow. It’s calming. I talk to my meadow. It’s a collective of life.
In a very ironic way, I feel I have embraced the art of silence more solace this year...this year of so many changes, a heartache that broke me into little pieces. And those little pieces became something new, and yet something rediscovered. "Hey, I know you! And I like you, I like you even more than I did when I first knew you. Where have you been? Oh, you've been waiting...waiting for me to uncover you, to let you sing, blossom, and thrive. Thank you for waiting 'me.' I have not reached the point of "discovery' by the book world. And so, I must drive one (with 'me' of course). So, there is no "break" as I push on to get the right eyes to read my work and say, "Oh, yes!" and begin a word by mouth campaign of "notice." I admire your August Breathe, Suleika. And I...I will press on for notoriety, for only through notoriety will come the openings for my next offering. I will think of you with every clover and bee.
Mary, let’s meet under the moon—with something wild steeping in our cups, & ink smudges on our fingers—& speak of all that blooms in secret. We’ll talk of those who want the harvest without the winter, but we’ll know that everything that matters grows underground first. That stillness is a slow, unseen beginning. A seedbed. The quiet underworld where soft, stubborn things prepare their return. And we’ll smile because we’ll also make it through another season, together.
I accept! Yes, yes, "something wild steeping in our cups." Oh, this is sublime, and such a kindred soul are you. And we, the previously broken and fiercely, in the fire of self-discovery, come back together with that which has always been inside us. Here's to "another season, together."
Here’s to the kindreds who keep the kettle warm through all the seasons—the ones who know the language of small comforts, who measure care in teaspoons. Who stay through the rain & the riot of spring, through the thinning light of autumn & the stillness of deep winter. Who understand that presence, is what steadies us. They ask nothing other than a place at the table. A cup shared. A tenderness that simmers quietly, but never leaves the stove.
Mary & Kim I find your exchange a beautiful poetic response to those moments in life where we feel isolated and alone, yet know there exists connections of the soul. Where a space opens and a bee appears among the clover and we pause and weep knowing we are on the path of creative alchemy. 🙏🏼
Oh Karen… yes. That space you speak of—the one where a bee drifts in & something ancient stirs in us—I know it well. It’s the kind of knowing that bypasses reason, arriving instead through scent, light, or the slight weight of a teacup in hand. I’m so grateful you paused here with us. These soul-threads, however quiet, always find one another. The very art of alchemy, as our exquisite host, Suleika, has not only written into her book, but woven into this gathering—so that we might draw near, again & again.
This means so much—thank you for sharing what the prompts have opened for you. A newsletter, a novella, deeper time with loved ones…wow. I’m so moved to know the book is a companion on your journey. Sending gratitude and wishing you continued creative flow.
Hello All. I read this twice. And did a Oh Yes! to all you have written. As a clinician with a private practice I connect to all. The way to do holidays, pack the weeks before. And I loved the " one clover, one bee" And I just started Rebuilding and A Day in the Life in the book. That has me with new meaning in my journaling daily. And The Silence prompt for today is ready for my next journaling for this week. I am so grateful. May you rest and may revery alone do.
Last year I wanted to see how far I could go without ever leaving home, this quote from Bomba Estéro was the catalyst "And you don't have to travel so much to find the answer." But visiting new places is stimulating too. . . I'm still figuring out the balance. Be well.
I used to have a Lazy Girl recliner inside of my very small cabin. I had this idea for a project called:” a day in the life of a lazy girl! “which would have been a photo essay of all the images my eyes took in from a day sitting/laying in the Lazy Girl! Even though I no longer live in the cabin, nor have the Lazy Girl, I still have a deep appreciation for all that can be seen, heard, experienced, understood and/or felt by essentially being still….and attentive…..
Just as I thought I needed to busy myself this week before my 2 week holiday I find myself reading your wise words and remind myself to go slowly this week in order to fully connect on holiday. Perfectly timed (as always !) and beautifully shared. Thank you 💫
Suleika I wish you all the silence and rest in August and beyond - I recently saw a post by Dr Tara Swart from another artist bring the Theory of 7 different types of rest - it resonated so much and reminds me of your post here. This essay on silence is so powerful, I recall it in The Book of Alchemy, which I will re read (it’s a very special book !!!) thank you 🙏
Suleika continue to percolate without pushing. Creativity is always present but creativity needs to have space, time, silence, joy, and rest! I want to write more true stories from my life, but without “pushing”. So I take my own advice & percolate. Growing up in a culture that always wants productivity is not , for me, a path to creativity. Stepping away from creating & just being present in my day to day world is huge for me. It takes trust & wisdom that something dreamy is waiting for me. Goddess bless this entire community where I feel free & safe to share the depth of my being without being judged. Some who I love, in my family, judge me & when it happens I feel terrible, but I also realize they judge themselves & life must be very scary to them & so they judge. I’m not giving them a pass or maybe I am, but every once in awhile, when the judgements come at me I either duck, let go or speak up because compassion has also told me sometimes not to be an idiot.
Thank you for this - it speaks so clearly to my own inner voice that pushes me so hard all the time. So hard that I forget all the great things I HAVE created and achieved! When we're constantly on the hamster wheel we forget to appreciate all we are bringing to the world, as well as the power of rest and doing nothing for a while. My August is going to be like that too 😊
As a child, I often felt sorry for the Sydney Opera House, as I stood beneath her. All sails, yet tethered. Poised for departure, but fixed to the shore. I used to imagine her shaking free one night—casting off her moorings, gliding into the harbour like a great, luminous ship. I suppose I sensed even then the weight of performance. How something built to hold beauty could also be burdened by it.
And now, while this precious Isolation Journal folds around me like a wool blanket on this southern side of the blue marble, your book is rising at last. Two more days until The Book of Alchemy is released here—& with any luck, my copy will arrive by week’s end. Just in time to keep me company until you return in September. Just as I hope your summer enters her last phase—ripe with cicada song, tomato vines, golden fatigue—I’ll be here in winter’s hush, letting the roots do their slow, unseen work.
Rest well, dear Suleika.
You have captured summer here in all perfection: "ripe with cicada song, tomato vines golden fatigue." I am enamoured with "Poised for departure, but fixed to the shore." I have felt the same about myself and am working (and oh, it's work, filled with an anxiety that often renders me weighted in cement) to "cast off my moorings" as well. And I think that shall be my new mantra, "Cast off your moorings!"
Oh Mary, if you do take it as your mantra, I hope it’s in the form of a small stitched flag—tucked in a pocket, or tied to the mast of whatever vessel is waiting. “Cast off your moorings”—yes. But gently, yes? No need to tear away. Let the ropes loosen like old stories, dropped quietly into tide. I feel the cement too, some mornings. But still, I listen for the cicadas. They know something about the sun & its insistence.
This is such a beautiful image—the Opera House as a ship breaking free. Sending thanks from my summer cicadas to your winter hush, and loving the thought of the book keeping you company until we meet again in September.
What joy to imagine the book making it's way around the world with such perfect timing! May the essays and prompts take you somewhere deep and good.
Oh Carmen, your words have me grinning—“wings on” is exactly how I feel holding this book today. I’d been so eager to peel off the jacket & find that marbled surprise everyone’s been posting… only to discover our Australian edition keeps its secrets hidden. It’s a simple, beautiful shade of maroon. Still, she’s here, lovely in her own right, all primed for me to begin tonight—pages ready to carry me into the dark &, with luck, into my dreams. Please give my very best to dear Suleika. I hope she is wrapped in gentleness today, & that her hours are threaded with the kind of light that lingers.
When the Sydney opera house is untethered Inseebyou gliding along along on a yellow dingy, feet dangling in the water with a smile.
I think I may just hitch a ride with her instead, Rachel—lest the bull sharks grow curious & take a bite of my toes, or the yellow dinghy itself. I’ll show her the platypus, my favourites, half-dream, half-puzzle, slipping through the reeds like a rumour. We’ll glide quiet, moonlit, salt-stung—no destination, just the calm between tides.
She’s been tethered too long. So have I.
As always, you worded this so brilliantly (and painfully) true! In my 20’s I worked as a youth counsellor, and one late night of work my boss told me, “This work is not a project—it is never going to ‘end.’ So, you’re going to have to go home, even if you feel like the work’s not finished.” It took a long time to begin living that advice. Glad you’re pausing to savor and restore. Wishing you a wonderful August of rest!
That’s such a wise (and maddening!) piece of advice—and one I clearly still need tattooed on my forehead. Thank you for sharing it, and for the August well-wishes. I’m carrying your words into my own pause.
And a rare one!
Indeed, I did! I now teach on rest, and still deeply thank that boss for his wisdom and example. (He’s playful too…I wager they’re connected!)
This singular essay is worth an entire year of essays. It could be its own illustrated book. Take all the time you need. You have given so much.
Put this on prescription pads and mail it to every artist burning out on their own dreams. Especially the ones who think ambition should be bulletproof. I know that hydra of ambition well, the one that shapeshifts into productivity, perfectionism, and praise-hunger. It wears your own face and speaks in your own voice. Mine once told me rest was laziness wearing a flower crown. Took me years, and health issues, to realise rest isn’t the opposite of work but the soil that gives the work its depth.
That Dickinson line feels like a drastic idea in this culture that wants invoices for every moment. Thank you, Suleika, for reminding us that silence, slowness, and stray thoughts aren’t signs of slacking but of life underground. Quiet doesn’t mean nothing’s happening. Sometimes it means the whole prairie is getting ready to bloom…..
Have a wonderful holiday!
I agree that artists feel the pulse of creation and forget to forgive themselves as rest is reqyfor new growth.
Perfectly & beautifully said
Thank you so much, Susan!
Suleika, enjoy your August time for you. I love the poem about one gee. It’s so true. I have a meadow that I watch come more and more to life because if bees. It’s become a place of wonder and a refuge from the horrors in the world. It’s a compete ecosystem. The plants the pollinators love increase each year. This ugly piece of land has become beautiful with life. I always say goodnight to the bees when I take the dogs fur their last walk, the bees are joined by moths and butterflies and dragonflies. The dragonflies are wonders. So many colors and patterns. And they eat the mosquitos. I can sit outside and not use bug spray cause the mosquitos are gone. I love the sound of the humming beeps when I walk through my meadow. It’s calming. I talk to my meadow. It’s a collective of life.
In a very ironic way, I feel I have embraced the art of silence more solace this year...this year of so many changes, a heartache that broke me into little pieces. And those little pieces became something new, and yet something rediscovered. "Hey, I know you! And I like you, I like you even more than I did when I first knew you. Where have you been? Oh, you've been waiting...waiting for me to uncover you, to let you sing, blossom, and thrive. Thank you for waiting 'me.' I have not reached the point of "discovery' by the book world. And so, I must drive one (with 'me' of course). So, there is no "break" as I push on to get the right eyes to read my work and say, "Oh, yes!" and begin a word by mouth campaign of "notice." I admire your August Breathe, Suleika. And I...I will press on for notoriety, for only through notoriety will come the openings for my next offering. I will think of you with every clover and bee.
Mary, let’s meet under the moon—with something wild steeping in our cups, & ink smudges on our fingers—& speak of all that blooms in secret. We’ll talk of those who want the harvest without the winter, but we’ll know that everything that matters grows underground first. That stillness is a slow, unseen beginning. A seedbed. The quiet underworld where soft, stubborn things prepare their return. And we’ll smile because we’ll also make it through another season, together.
I accept! Yes, yes, "something wild steeping in our cups." Oh, this is sublime, and such a kindred soul are you. And we, the previously broken and fiercely, in the fire of self-discovery, come back together with that which has always been inside us. Here's to "another season, together."
Here’s to the kindreds who keep the kettle warm through all the seasons—the ones who know the language of small comforts, who measure care in teaspoons. Who stay through the rain & the riot of spring, through the thinning light of autumn & the stillness of deep winter. Who understand that presence, is what steadies us. They ask nothing other than a place at the table. A cup shared. A tenderness that simmers quietly, but never leaves the stove.
To The Kindreds!
Just beautiful ❤️
Mary & Kim I find your exchange a beautiful poetic response to those moments in life where we feel isolated and alone, yet know there exists connections of the soul. Where a space opens and a bee appears among the clover and we pause and weep knowing we are on the path of creative alchemy. 🙏🏼
Oh Karen… yes. That space you speak of—the one where a bee drifts in & something ancient stirs in us—I know it well. It’s the kind of knowing that bypasses reason, arriving instead through scent, light, or the slight weight of a teacup in hand. I’m so grateful you paused here with us. These soul-threads, however quiet, always find one another. The very art of alchemy, as our exquisite host, Suleika, has not only written into her book, but woven into this gathering—so that we might draw near, again & again.
I did prompt 100 earlier this week. What a joy it's been to wake up every morning, read the essay and the write to the prompt.
Many had me sobbing brokenly. Some made me laugh. I dug deep. My life changed for the better.
And, almost as an aside, I found I'd launched my newsletter (after three years of saying 'I have to get going on that') and wrote a novella.
I'm also spending richer time with my husband, with family and friends.
Thank you for this jewel of a book. You are changing lives for the better. Enjoy your August. Rest deeply. We'll all be here when you get back.
This means so much—thank you for sharing what the prompts have opened for you. A newsletter, a novella, deeper time with loved ones…wow. I’m so moved to know the book is a companion on your journey. Sending gratitude and wishing you continued creative flow.
I will quote Rev. Dr. Martin L. KING, JR. “Life is hard!” The question is how do u learn to live with that realization. 🥴🥂🍾🦋❤️🌹😇
You practice ‘soft’.
Hello All. I read this twice. And did a Oh Yes! to all you have written. As a clinician with a private practice I connect to all. The way to do holidays, pack the weeks before. And I loved the " one clover, one bee" And I just started Rebuilding and A Day in the Life in the book. That has me with new meaning in my journaling daily. And The Silence prompt for today is ready for my next journaling for this week. I am so grateful. May you rest and may revery alone do.
"revery"... what a beautiful word that's not heard much anymore. thanks for reviving it!
Last year I wanted to see how far I could go without ever leaving home, this quote from Bomba Estéro was the catalyst "And you don't have to travel so much to find the answer." But visiting new places is stimulating too. . . I'm still figuring out the balance. Be well.
I used to have a Lazy Girl recliner inside of my very small cabin. I had this idea for a project called:” a day in the life of a lazy girl! “which would have been a photo essay of all the images my eyes took in from a day sitting/laying in the Lazy Girl! Even though I no longer live in the cabin, nor have the Lazy Girl, I still have a deep appreciation for all that can be seen, heard, experienced, understood and/or felt by essentially being still….and attentive…..
Susan, I too have ME/CFS & appreciate your honesty & words: thank you
Revery alone. That’ll do.
❤️
Oh, so wise, beautiful, and dreamy.
Just as I thought I needed to busy myself this week before my 2 week holiday I find myself reading your wise words and remind myself to go slowly this week in order to fully connect on holiday. Perfectly timed (as always !) and beautifully shared. Thank you 💫
Suleika I wish you all the silence and rest in August and beyond - I recently saw a post by Dr Tara Swart from another artist bring the Theory of 7 different types of rest - it resonated so much and reminds me of your post here. This essay on silence is so powerful, I recall it in The Book of Alchemy, which I will re read (it’s a very special book !!!) thank you 🙏
Suleika continue to percolate without pushing. Creativity is always present but creativity needs to have space, time, silence, joy, and rest! I want to write more true stories from my life, but without “pushing”. So I take my own advice & percolate. Growing up in a culture that always wants productivity is not , for me, a path to creativity. Stepping away from creating & just being present in my day to day world is huge for me. It takes trust & wisdom that something dreamy is waiting for me. Goddess bless this entire community where I feel free & safe to share the depth of my being without being judged. Some who I love, in my family, judge me & when it happens I feel terrible, but I also realize they judge themselves & life must be very scary to them & so they judge. I’m not giving them a pass or maybe I am, but every once in awhile, when the judgements come at me I either duck, let go or speak up because compassion has also told me sometimes not to be an idiot.
Susan thank you & bless you. Sherri
Thank you for this - it speaks so clearly to my own inner voice that pushes me so hard all the time. So hard that I forget all the great things I HAVE created and achieved! When we're constantly on the hamster wheel we forget to appreciate all we are bringing to the world, as well as the power of rest and doing nothing for a while. My August is going to be like that too 😊