tudo azul
august newsletter
it’s been a bit since i’ve written.
for the past six weeks, i have been mothered and i have been becoming a mother.
to a cat.
i have been fed, held, driven places, given beds to sleep in, reminded that my body is still a body worth tending to. i have let other people do for me what i could not always do for myself. there is a specific kind of humility in being cared for when you have built so much of your identity around being the one who cares.
and then there is joanie.
joan didion, technically.
a small white cat with blue eyes who arrived in my life and gave me something outside of myself to keep alive. she needs breakfast whether or not i believe in the morning. she needs clean water whether or not i have washed my own face. she does not care if i have connected back to my purpose. she needs me to get out of bed.
perhaps this is one of the ways we return to ourselves: first by letting ourselves be mothered, then by discovering there is still something in us capable of mothering.
i named my cat joan didion because i have always loved women who could look directly at loss.
joan didion spent much of her life writing about what disappears. daughters. husbands. california. the stories we tell ourselves in order to live. in blue nights, she writes toward the impossible task of keeping someone alive through language. the book is named for those long summer evenings when the light refuses to leave, even though you know it must. the blue deepens. the day begins disappearing while still appearing endless.
grief is cruel like that.
it lets you believe there is still time.
sometimes my cat looks at me with those blue eyes as if she knows something about survival that i don’t. she is still young enough to be startled by her own reflection. still young enough to believe every closed door will eventually open for her. she follows me from room to room, watching me become a person again in small, unremarkable increments.
get out of bed.
fill her bowl.
open the curtains.
stay.
maybe this is what pets do for us. they make staying less philosophical. they return us to the ordinary rituals that keep a life intact.
maggie nelson begins bluets with a confession: “suppose i were to begin by saying that i had fallen in love with a color.”
i understand how that happens.
blue is the color of distance. mountains become bluer the farther away they are. the sky is blue because light is scattered before it reaches us. the ocean keeps almost none of the blue we give it. what appears to be color is often only what survives the journey.
this is why blue belongs so easily to longing.
it is the color of what can be seen but not reached.
joni mitchell called an album blue and then made herself nearly transparent inside it. she sang without the usual protective layer between the artist and the wound. listening to it feels less like hearing someone perform heartbreak and more like overhearing someone tell the truth before they have decided whether telling it is wise.
there is a courage in making something before you have recovered from it.
maybe even a particular danger.
i used to believe art came after survival. that first you lived through the thing, then you found the language for it. lately, i am less certain. sometimes the language is the thin blue thread that leads you through. sometimes the poem does not document your survival. sometimes the poem is part of how you survive.
but not everything painful needs to become beautiful in order to deserve having happened. not every wound owes us wisdom. sometimes blue is just blue. sometimes grief is not a teacher. sometimes depression is not a portal. sometimes suffering does not reveal a better version of you ~ it simply hurts.
i no longer want to romanticize the nights that nearly took me from myself.
but i also cannot pretend they left me empty-handed.
in portuguese, we say tudo azul.
everything blue.
it means everything is good. everything is fine. all is well.
i love the contradiction of it. in english, blue is sorrow. in portuguese, blue is reassurance. the same color can mean i am drowning and the water is beautiful. it can mean the worst has happened. it can mean we are okay.
language has always known that no feeling belongs to only one story.
the blue of mourning and the blue of morning.
joan didion wrote about grief because there was no way to write around it. maggie nelson collected fragments of blue because obsession rarely arrives in a straight line. joni mitchell sang herself bare because sometimes a voice can hold what a body cannot.
and i named my cat joan didion because i wanted something alive to carry the name of someone who taught me how to look at loss.
perhaps that is sentimental. perhaps all naming is.
still, my joanie does not care about literary inheritance. she knocks books from the shelf. she sleeps on the open pages. she places her small white body directly over whatever sentence i am trying to understand. she interrupts my attempts to make meaning and asks, instead, to be touched.
i am learning that blue does not have to mean one thing. neither do i.
i can be the person who disappeared and the person who returned. the woman inside the blue night and the woman watching it lift. i can be the one who needs mothering and the one who knows how to mother. i can take responsibility for the harm i have caused without making a permanent home inside the belief that i am harmful. i can grieve what i have lost without turning my whole life into a monument to absence.
some evenings, the light where i've been spending time turns everything blue. the mountains, the ocean, the white fur of the cat beside me. for a few minutes, the world seems to belong entirely to that color.
then the blue passes, as all colors made of light must pass.
joan opens her eyes.
i am still here.
tudo azul, i tell her.
everything blue.
everything aching.
everything alive.
upcoming offerings
august 7-9 ~ omega institute retreat // rhinebeck, ny
august 24-28 ~ the inner atlas: mapping the self through somatic self-inquiry // esalen, big sur
summer retreats
join me on retreat !
retreats are an invitation to step out of the momentum of daily life and return to the deeper rhythm of your body, your breath, and the living world around you. they are spaces for slowing down, listening more closely, and remembering the parts of yourself that are often drowned out by noise.
august 7 - 9
(this weekend!)
omega institute // rhineback, ny
the self, reframed: exploration through somatic self inquiry
august 24 - 28
(1 spot left!)
esalen institute // big sur, ca
the inner atlas: mapping the self through somatic self-inquiry
august playlist // blue
songs for every shade of blue ~ the color, the feeling, the hour. for longing, becoming, remembering, and finding out that melancholy can still be beautiful.
i care about your body with stephanie zaletel
los angeles // august 28-30
my dear friend, stephanie zaletel is hosting their incredible immersive workshop at the end of the month in los angeles. it’s almost like a retreat, except you still get to go home at the end of each day.
i won’t be able to join this time, but i cannot recommend it enough. i attended a few years ago, and it’s where i discovered my love for rolling practice.
it is a space for building compassion in community ~ a reset, a return to the body, and an experience of care as a reciprocal action. if you’re in los angeles, go!
podcast feature: WeAreLATech with Espree Devora
in this heartfelt episode, i unpack what it means to truly be in a culture defined by output, i share the radical importance of rest and vulnerability (especially in the LA tech scene), and tell raw stories of heartbreak, transformation, and survival.
ways to work together
an embodied exploration of the self
for those called to dive deeper, i offer virtual private sessions as a space to listen inward ~ through breath, body, and inquiry. together we explore the layers of self that long to be seen, softened, or reclaimed.
there are a few pathways to work together one-on-one:
• teacher mentorship ~ guidance for facilitators, teachers, and space-holders wanting to refine their voice, presence, and somatic depth
• somatic self-inquiry ~ a space for honest reflection, dialogue, and integration through body-based awareness
• breathwork ~ personalized journeys to clear, regulate, and reconnect through the wisdom of the breath
• movement ~ intuitive movement and embodiment sessions to restore flow and relationship with the body
and other ways…
bring me into your workspace (virtually or in person) ~
to support your team in regulating, connecting, and remembering there is a body behind the role.facilitate a gathering ~
a birthday, a bachelorette party, a reunion, or simply a moment where people want to feel something real together.
each of these modalities can stand alone ~ or be woven together into a personalized process that meets you where you are.
the self, reframed
my published book of poems
the self, reframed is a short collection of poems designed to offer solace, insight, and a fresh perspective on life’s most challenging moments. these poems invite readers to explore their inner world, embrace vulnerability, and find strength in reframing struggles into opportunities for growth and connection. each poem serves as a mirror, reflecting the shared human experience and encouraging readers to see themselves and others with compassion, clarity, and resilience.
i’ve recently republished it with new poems and a new cover by reese shebel.
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I love this - and what a beautiful cat
Sending you so much love 💙
Woah. I feel like I could have written this, in a similar season of the grief spiral. Thank you 🌀