Wonder Waves is my space where I geek out a little on the intellectually inspired life, interesting books, and the pain and beauty of becoming. Reading widely is one of my greatest pleasures, and I love to pay attention to the ideas that speak to me–whether that’s from philosophy, fiction, nonfiction, or spiritual teachings–and connect them to other things I know or come across.
I am fascinated by the creative act and how to use it as a lens and practice to notice, (re)discover and celebrate the vigor and meaning of life before it risks to slip away again into diffusion or confusion. With creativity and serendipity ever-evolving, it’s hard to pin down a set list of topics I write about, but I tend to be interested in: all things books; psychological patterning; consciousness evolution; awareness and attention; aesthetics and artistic rituals; (second) language(s); memory and meaning. Wonder Waves is also my online container for handwritten quotes and fragments of notes that I like to mix with beautiful photography or art.
For a more specific selection of my writing, I’d like to point you to these essays:
*How can our consciousness evolve to enter into higher resonance with the world?
*How can I best describe the creative art form of connecting morphing and meaningful ideas in my head?
*How do I describe my reading tastes by analyzing my own bookshelves?
*What do old tethers to home mean to me today, and is there an art to memory?
As I practice to stretch toward the right words and into greater presence, I know that this space grows richer with company. If some of the themes of my writing feel familiar or alive for you, I hope you’ll consider subscribing. All posts are free, as the heart of Wonder Waves is connection: a circle of readers and thinkers wandering the world together, aiming to arrive (or return?) at what Louise Glück captured as “the glittering knob” in her poem The Garden:
Because it is the nature of garden paths
to be circular, each night, after my wanderings,
I would find myself at my front door, staring at it,
barely able to make out, in darkness, the glittering knob.
Thank you for being here.
-Brigitte
