wild-spun words

By Angela Dawson What to do in the darkness:remember you’re a native of the dark—that all living things are born of darkness  remember you used to live thereremember it’s not meant to swallow you— it’s meant to deliver you breathless on the crestof a wave arms aloft bearing the treasure you foundburied in its deep muddy waters  […]

by Angela Dawson It all comes down to this: my life will never be what I want it to be unless I stitch myself back together. Gather up those loose, tangled threads and weave myself whole. Those dark, knotty threads— — — stitch them. They are part of the whole, no matter how they sadden […]

By Angela Dawson you’re a woman of a certain stagerediscovering yourself after years ofpeople-raising or projects once immersed in the intensity of tending  othersyou sense a new season approaching you lift your head    wipe the mist from your eyesyou take a look around  the landscape has changedyou realise the world needs less of you  […]

by Angela Dawson 1. Because when we were small cells multiplying in the dark salt cave, we could hear muffled voices through the pounds of flesh and muscle (though we didn’t know what hearing was). Because we start life in the dark and burrow under the arch of the hips and tunnel out into a […]

by Angela Dawson You do not have to be good, Mary says. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.  And what does this soft animal body love? Today, it seemed to love walking. Bundled boy in pushchair—off to the library. The body remembers countless Saturday afternoons at my […]

by Angela Dawson the secret is to the secret is to draw yourself a steaming hot bathso hot it prickles your skin add in the Epsom salts and the pink Himalayanswirl in some frankincense oil fire up the tea lights open the skylight a crackthen shut your eyes and let the hot water take you […]