Melinda Coppola

twenty four may | from the inside out

Melinda Coppola

twenty four may | from the inside out

About My Blog

I started this blog to quiet the voices in my head and heart that have been whispering and cajoling and sometimes yelling at me to write more.

This is a space where all the parts of me—mother, poet, wife, lover of beach stones and furry creatures and frequent toe-dipper in the river of song, Yoga practitioner, and teacher and she-who-cooks and she-who-makes-art and she-who-loves-silence, where all the parts of me can come out to play.

I started this blog to keep myself engaged in dialogue with my soul. If what I write interests you, educates you, moves you, …well, that’s a beautiful bonus.

Most Recent Blog Post

I Wish You Knew

In the Garden

 

Imagine if you will, dear one, dear one and all, that you are sent to manifest something unique and quite vital to the world.  You arrive as rich seeded earth, landing in just the right geographic location to support your eventual yield. The trees and the flowers and the shrubs in this area respond perfectly to your soil, the climate supports what your seeds will send forth. The birds who nest here and those that just pass through on their migratory flights need just what will rise from your depths.

Your mission here, then, is this: to allow what is inside you to come forth naturally and without concern for the pattern your greenery makes on the dirt or the or color of your fruit. Let judgment or comparison be themselves trespassers in your garden.   You will learn to recognize what is weed and what your true crop is to be. You’ll learn to pluck out the unwanted; tension and fear and all that which prevents your flowering and takes up space in your earth. You will learn to lift your leaves toward the sun, to soak in each precious rain, to sink your roots deep into the hot earth and allow the bounty of yourself to thrive. You will learn to surrender and watch your garden grow in healthy ways.

Let your gifts root well and blossom and send new seeds out into the world, but do not be concerned about where they travel. Do not try to follow them but rather release them to Mother Wind and let them find their own way.

Your landscape, your offerings will change, the nature of your soil will evolve in a dance with the seasons over years and you will learn to love the worms that do their deep work tirelessly, turning, turning creating more from enough and making space for all that must come forth. You will learn to let your heavier minerals and salts sink toward the core of this earth as your elements merge with her, become part of her so none can say where or when you were not here, or if there ever was a time or place that you did not belong to.

You will draw strength from these deep places, your evolving layers will grow the alchemy of all that is alive within you as roots feed shoots upward into stems, upward into leaves and wild flowers, branches, nesting spots for creatures of every glorious kind. And what lifts toward the sun, what drinks in the rain and sends glorious flowering plumes of scented energies up and out into the heavens, and what holds deep in the earth, what roots and sustains, will be the One continuum of Spirit, expressed through blooming unique you as a gift from God to the garden of all humankind.

 

Melinda Coppola

Read More Blog Posts

Look up! The world is out there.

Reckoning Inside, just shy of sunrise, all over the land people awakened, reached for their small screens, hungry for the tiny words and pictures, memes and videos designed to amuse, entrance, distract from stress and angst of bad news streaming 24/7. The people found ways to laugh, or groan, and

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Categorically Speaking

Dubbed One name for a collection of can’ts, of never wills and less-thans, a singular bucket into which they dump the myriad ways she comes up short. Autism. The rusty scuttle whose name expands to encompass the collected others— Obsessive Compulsive Disorder Severe anxiety disorder. Chronic polyuria. Lordosis, Kyphosis. Intellectual

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For some who left

STAY I want to dematerialize and put myself back together between his reedy young body and the gun he stole from his Uncle’s desk drawer the night they invited him for dinner. I want to land hard between her hands— the same hands that had just held an acceptance letter

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Accepting Autism

Ten years ago, April was designated Autism Awareness month. April 2 is World Autism Awareness day. There has been a movement towards renaming both of these, replacing awareness with acceptance . Robert Frost wrote,” Always fall in love with what you’re asked to accept. Take what is given, and make

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Literally

I suppose all parents have those first moments of recognition; the sudden realization that the world has pushed itself inside your child’s innocence, the bittersweet rush of comprehension that s/he will never be quite the same again. Having a child with disabilities creates a different trajectory. Timelines are unpredictable. Those

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A little more “Pub Cred”.

One of my goals as a creative person is to put more of my work out into the world. If writing and art-making gets short shrift in the bigger picture of my life as Bink’s mom and chief advocate—and it does—the amount of time I spend on submissions is barely

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Little Altars Everywhere

My home is host to little altars everywhere honoring lives lived, seasons arriving and leaving, the hundred sparks of grace and wonder, sorrow and understanding that pock and foliate hours and years squeezed into the dance of this body, my particular, grand, unbearably blessed and gratefully transient human experience. On

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Notes from a Parallel Universe

I’ve written a fair amount about life with my adult child. As I plod ever so slowly towards creating a book about the journey, it occurs to me that the pace at which I’m working on that is in sync with the overall pace and rhythm of our life together.

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Me and My Shadow Go to Market

It is May 2020, still early in The Covid Times. We take ourselves to the market, by which I mean our whole selves, me in my layers of self-consciousness— the run of the mill kind that most of us don without thought— she baring all, as usual: no pretense, nothing

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