Becoming the Hydrant

Periphery started as an orchid seed (the tiniest seed in the world, supposedly), part curiosity, part refusal to believe that occupied and distracted has to be our default setting, no matter modernity’s lure. Over the past months, it’s grown into a small, steady practice: one weekly prompt, an action meant to tug us just far enough out of habit that we see (and hear, and smell) the world differently.

Last week’s prompt landed me on the rim of Cully Boulevard, a place known for its rubbery roar. Once, this stretch was a trail through a Chinook village. Now it’s a gauntlet of semis, drag racing, and sirens.

The invitation was simple: pause. No pacing, no shimmying, no pretending to wait for someone. Just standing for thirty minutes. Stoney as a fire hydrant.

Here’s what happened: cars passed, people stared, someone spat, and a wasp nibbled my thumb. The world didn’t get quieter, but I did. Stillness opened up a pocket, enough to notice how time and space expand when you stop trying to fill them.

You can see the action sped up here, but the better way to experience it is to try it yourself. Find a place where stillness feels impossible, and hold ground until it gives.

Summer Musings & Nervous System Reboots

Hello!

It’s mid-summer. It’s steamy. The blueberries are racing to ripen. I hope you’re finding small moments of pause amidst the swirl.

Since my last post, I’ve reached the one-year mark in both my Clinical Mental Health Counseling program at Prescott College and my somatic therapy certification at SIH. What once felt like a nosedive into the shallows now feels more like a steady backstroke across a placid lake, somewhere in the middle of six craggy mountains. Things are unfolding: messy, meaningful, and more layered than I could have imagined.

I’m also in the home stretch of my manuscript, Consider The Sun, thanks in large part to a few generous writing workshops and their teachers. Writing solo can be brutal and community has made all the difference. 

Last month, as part of my ongoing studies in Buddhism, I took refuge with Khenchen Lodro Rinpoche and formally took the Bodhisattva Vow (Pic below). I chose a non-binary refuge name—Gyalse Nyime Ozer—which translates to “Bodhisattva Rays of the Sun.” Over the past couple of years, I’ve grown more at ease naming the non-binary piece of myself. Portland offers a relatively safe container for that kind of clarity. I still feel connected to the female spirit, but she/they fits best these days. Mostly, I just feel like a human mammal trying to make sense of things…

If you’re in Portland and need of a nervous system tune-up, I’m offering free practice somatic sessions. I’ve a small setup at home (I can also do online sessions if you're not in PDX), and there may still be a few blueberries left to pick afterward. If that suits your fancy, shoot me an email.

Some Thoughts On Tulips

They raise their heads to the sky, standing straight and green on their bottoms. The breeze waves them alongside others. Perennial herbaceous bulbiferous geophytes. Part of the Tulipa genus. A crew of showy blooms originally from Persia, hoarded by the Netherlands. Clogs and bonnets. Hot air balloons. I look for their smell. It’s faint and dusty and unripe. Not too yellow. Not too red or white. All magenta. I want to crawl inside and feel what it’s like to coat my limbs in their pollen. But I won’t. Not just yet. Spring only started three weeks ago.