And then a Woman / July 30, 2017 by Rebecca Tillett

And then a woman appeared on the barren land, with seeds in her teeth, and each limb a root in search of earth to plant themselves. And then a woman appeared on the barren land, and not from the rib of any man, and not for his pleasure or to come to his aid, for without woman, there is no life, and there is no man.

Moon and Mars / July 9, 2017 by Rebecca Tillett

I saw you on the moon, dancing in between the rocks, floating in the light. You were something, some remnant from a story my great great grandmother had shared with her husband the night he said he loved her, the night they each realized how much they had to lose. So many beautiful and honest secrets dissembled as fable. I think it was celtic or norse or slavic.

Our Bodies Are Stars / July 2, 2017 by Rebecca Tillett

Even on the sides of the steepest slopes and the tallest mountains, even on quests for air and warmth, and even with the sun so close our skin tingles and simmers, our bodies will expand and stretch and pine and settle, comfortably into the trees, comfortably into the grasses, comfortably.

Entre Cielo y Tierra / June 24, 2017 by Rebecca Tillett

Did you drink the whiskey? Did you call a truce with time? She won't stop searching because she loves you, because she can't imagine her soul disentangled from yours, space forever multiplying between you. Will there be music? There must be music. Could the universe be so cruel?

Yearning for Permanence / June 18, 2017 by Rebecca Tillett

This all just stops. You know that, of course, but do you really truly know that?

I ache, perpetually, at the realization.

You are my container of happiness, my vessel, my iron safe. How could I ever handle more? I fear for the power of whatever could be loved more by me, even if it is our zenith, our culmination of desire and passion and wanting and patience. In truth, I don’t need more keeping me here, begging me to stay, and I would love such a creation so much it would gut me.

The Idaho Springs Cabin / June 13, 2017 by Rebecca Tillett

Do you ever have one of those moments, or events, that are so amazingly ridiculous that you just know it'll be something you never truly forget? Like, in the midst of it happening you can already appreciate its value, or memorability, in hindsight?

Botanical Moments in Time / May 16, 2017 by Rebecca Tillett

"This grand show is eternal. It is always sunrise somewhere; the dew is never all dried at once; a shower is forever falling; vapor is ever rising. Eternal sunrise, eternal sunset, eternal dawn and gloaming, on sea and continents and islands, each in its turn, as the round earth rolls.

Married Once More / May 7, 2017 by Rebecca Tillett

Two days ago on Friday (May 5th), I married my very best friend.

More Like Deer Than Human Being / March 3, 2017 by Rebecca Tillett

Dear Samantha—
Thank you for your passion, your grace, your confidence, your boldness, your femininity, your sense of humor, your courage and fearlessness, your dedication, and the blinding beauty radiating from you. I edited one photo for every pound you lost (and have posted my favorites here)! I hope you feel as beautiful as you look in these photos.

Be the man / February 16, 2017 by Rebecca Tillett

Be with a man that changes your assumptions about fate,
about destiny and probability.
Be with a man who gives you faith, or takes it,
So long as he affects it.

Urban Exploration on Christmas Eve / December 28, 2016 by Rebecca Tillett

So what is it about urban exploration that's called to me for so much of my life? I think I've always loved the questions that come packaged with each place, the stories concocted by the things left behind. I know that every home I've ever explored was once lived in and loved by somebody. I know that there are beautiful and ugly and tragic and very human stories inside every wall that I've yearned to hear.

Maeve and Dolores / December 25, 2016 by Rebecca Tillett

Mike and I's Christmas gifts to each other this year were guitars (and lessons!) because we have a 2017 goal (among too many others probably) of learning how to play. We've named them Maeve and Dolores.

So this one's for you, David Bowie, Glenn Frey, Prince, George Michael, and every other talented soul we lost to this shitty year.

2017, you have lot to make up for!

Grandparents, History, and Passions / December 18, 2016 by Rebecca Tillett

Have I ever told you that my grandmother was a bird and wildlife rehabilitator? That she eventually became known as the "bird lady" in Las Cruces? Have I ever told you that my grandfather joined NASA at the Manned Spacecraft Center in Houston in 1962, then in 1963 transferred to the White Sands Test Facility near Las Cruces, known then as the "Apollo Site?" That he served first as Chief of the Test Operations Branch, then as Chief of the Propulsion Test Office, where he oversaw the development and qualification testing of the rocket propulsion systems used on the Apollo Service Module and Lunar Module, leading to mankind's first steps on the Moon in 1969?

Her Graces / December 14, 2016 by Rebecca Tillett

I think every woman has a dear friend who can't appreciate her own beauty. In fact, I think nearly every woman is a woman who can't appreciate her own beauty. How many women do you personally know like that? Even more important, how long have you been looking in the mirror and cursing what you see?

We Came From Something / October 4, 2016 by Rebecca Tillett

We came from nothing, you know, from sand and mineral, from water and air, from the dying stars we grieved long before time ever was.I think I’m still in mourning. My body has always sensed the loss.

(Before I knew it I was) Home / September 19, 2016 by Rebecca Tillett

I could never forget this moment and I don't need this picture. I could never forget what coming home each day to this man felt like, how we could occupy such a small space and fill it with such passion; tears and rest and laughter and food, and deaths and rebirths, and smoking and drinking, and pasts and presents and futures all commingling in space and time, and friends and sex: loud and unapologetic, and love, oh my God, love.

Of Land and Roots and Belonging / August 19, 2016 by Rebecca Tillett

Sometimes I feel physically ill from the memory of what I left behind and the way that I left it. I am not capable of the acts I committed, the desperation I induced. I am that woman now, capable of such things. How long am I allowed to toil in heartache for the woman I can never again claim to be? Sometimes I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches. I wake up often that way. Feels like every unbearable tension, climbing every root of every molar battling for dominance.

Reminders, Defeats / August 8, 2016 by Rebecca Tillett

Why are each journey's impending ends so difficult to conquer?When you feel close enough to see it, but still too far to claim it? As if reaching and grasping at a too-distant destination is an agony worse than seeing nothing at all, nothing to tease or torment, just stumbling around in the dark and hoping for good news. I'm so tired. I know you are too. I'm so ready. I know you are too.

Spaces at Kasha-Katuwe / July 15, 2016 by Rebecca Tillett

I’ve been telling you how beautiful you are since we were little girls, but maybe a little too quietly or without enough faith. I never lost it in you. Maybe you didn’t believe me. Maybe you couldn’t. Maybe even you didn’t know how.

The Mooers the Merrier / July 6, 2016 by Rebecca Tillett

“But love is always new. Regardless of whether we love once, twice, or a dozen times in our life, we always face a brand-new situation. Love can consign us to hell or to paradise, but it always takes us somewhere. We simply have to accept it, because it is what nourishes our existence. If we reject it, we die of hunger, because we lack the courage to stretch out a hand and pluck the fruit from the branches of the tree of life. We have to take love where we find it, even if that means hours, days, weeks of disappointment and sadness. The moment we begin to seek love, love begins to seek us. And to save us.”