Growing up in a musical family, I practiced the flute daily. I worked hard to stay true to what I saw on the page, translating lines and spaces into something I could hear in my mind’s eye.

These days, a different kind of practice holds me to account. Writing in the early 20th century, philosopher Simone Weil described attention as a rare and pure form of generosity. Attention, Weil contended, is something like prayer. More recently, author-activist adrienne maree brown characterized attention as one of our most valuable resources. Attending deeply is the foundation of learning and liberation. It is also the foundation of my practice.

To be present – to our surroundings and stories, to the systems that shape our worlds, to our full selves, and to one another – is what Wendell Berry calls our “real work.” Mine unfolds here, in a melody of my own making, born of harmonies gifted generations ago. Practicing presence, I return to the page and listen. These transcriptions capture moments when breath and music and word become life.

Growing up in a musical family, I practiced the flute daily. I worked hard to stay true to what I saw on the page, translating lines and spaces into something I could hear in my mind’s eye. These days, a different kind of practice holds me to account. Writing in the early 20th century, philosopher Simone Weil described attention as a rare and pure form of generosity. Attention, Weil contended, is something like prayer. More recently, author-activist adrienne maree brown characterized attention as one of our most valuable resources. Attending deeply is the foundation of learning and liberation. It is also the foundation of my practice. To be present – to our surroundings and stories, to the systems that shape our worlds, to our full selves, and to one another – is what Wendell Berry calls our “real work.” Mine unfolds here, in a melody of my own making, born of harmonies gifted generations ago. Practicing presence, I return to the page and listen. These transcriptions capture moments when breath and music and word become life.

mamaw’s masons

Late last week, I made it through the last box of my grandmother’s mason jars. My grandmother was many things,...

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LET’s

Dear Twite, May I call you by your first name or is there another you might prefer? Please forgive the...

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music man

He was many things to many people. To me, he was sometimes synonymous with the dance community that changed how...

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Labor(s) of Love

Among other things, I journey with a group of folks moving through a two-year fellowship program that I shape and...

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skipping stones

i believe in you and me– and a we that leads from here to there and back again.i believe in...

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working girl

I come from women who carry the load and pretend that the weight doesn’t bear. They came from women who...

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Yours, Mine, Ours

I once spent the greater part of a long weekend on a mountainside with a group of strangers. Our gathering...

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enough is enough

My morning routine starts with coffee. So much so that the ritual begins the night before, when my husband gets...

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in the beginning

In the beginning was word and it mattered.In the beginning was question and it wondered.In the beginning was chaos, and...

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mai-mai more than

I saw you online recently. You were one of five women participating on a panel tackling complex questions on a...

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the perfect cut

I like to measure my words carefully and often take my time with phrases that turn on so many things....

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