Storytelling...

(silent retreat, where I filled this journal)

Healing
that is what writing was for me
a way to process things I did not have the skill to process
A place to put thoughts when I had no where to put them...
a place of my own
a world of my own
a voice of my own

(silent retreat)

Stacks of journals...all sorts
have filled up my life
always there waiting for me
to pour in the latest heart ache or the most recent victory
offering a place of quiet perspective
and reflection


...the following is taken from a journal...1997

I wish I could draw

but

I cannot

so I draw with words

and 

the words I write

paint a picture and

bring to life the stories

I tell 

The stories are not fiction

but of the true story 

of love

loss

and hope.

These are the things I speak of

These are the pictures I paint

Beautiful...

and alive.

I've been in a place

a place where Sean

lives.

It's been beautiful

chaotic 

and confusing

It's been addicting

passionate 

and moving

It's been real 

and 

true

 ~CB

(this years birthday present)

The girl with the camera
That is who I have always been...
Some seasons more than others
But definitely part of my identity


There is something about a moment
and capturing it
holding in forever in a image
and that image evoking the senses
bringing you back to that place in time
seemingly forgotten

(early morning on my back deck)

These two forms of expression have become more and more intentional as I grow into myself
(a nice way of saying growing older)
Both have become like children I am nurturing into adulthood
Both becoming more public...

(silent retreat)

And like any form of expression
it can leave me feeling vulnerable and exposed
as I write out my heart
but yet
the fulfilment
the excitement
the connection I feel
far surpasses the feeling
of nakedness and exposure.

Poems From The Bar Stool 1996

May 1-96

Music pumping-vibrations moving thru the air lifting the laughter higher. Voices overlapping in the back ground making the sense of things dim if not non-existent.

The bodies flow in and out faceless bodies I know nothing of yet they resemble me in more ways then I care to admit. the sound and smell of them lingers even after they leave.

It it goes on past the point I will reach back and know I am sane. i will pull my head above the mire and breath the fresh air once again. Sweet to taste ~ Sweet to smell.

I am all that exists between the world of reality and external uncertainty ~ I choose reality ~ I choose the way of the rich ~ Rich in life for that is my destiny.

Through the smoke filled room I see this. Beyond the music I hear it. A sound like that of an angels voice beckoning me to walk ~ walk down the road which is real an be ever true to what and who I am.

CB

joining Sadee here

Love and Light

side note: my plan was to photograph all my journals, but that proved to be a little more of a time consumer than I was able to give so instead I pulled two random journals from which I shared...