We don’t see it’s really sand beneath our feet. We draw noise and light and words over the untidy fear of our last sun. What will remain of the demands I have made, the accolade, the love I have given, the grief I have drunk, the hours I have written riven by loss, borne back… Read More A New Song
What do you worry about? Am sitting on the like button but feel free to confess what keeps you up at night. PS: Friends, I said I pulled the button. Means I don’t want your like, right? Please STOP it!! You got me woRRying this won’t turn out to be the rich, meaningful post I… Read More Oh, How We Worry
I’d face the ache of longing. Go deep into the back room, unearth the box to surrender and and open it to see my heart bleeding. I know in my head my God is more than able to comfort and to provide as He pleases. But I’m like my boy — terrified over the sight… Read More Why I Don’t Pray More
It still hurts to swallow, and I can feel I’m not quite drug-free. I managed to contain my thoughts this morning, not ramble into the thicket of fear or worry about bleeding and complications. Though it was cold—of course it was cold —I focused on the moment. Milked how nice the nurses were and asked… Read More Twilight
It happened after yoga one night. The April air was crisp as we hadn’t fully settled into spring. My family waited for me at home, dinner on the table. My eyes filled with tears of contentment. I had come through years of debilitating anxiety and was fortunate to be alive. Average Yogini So here are… Read More It’s Happy Hour
my boy i am the shade of his sun afraid he will burn, but i am more than the smell of the bosom he has learned, i am the album of regrets and and deficiency and forgiving the roots that climb deep down parents’ omissions i am the… Read More st r u gg ling artist ii
More times than I can name, the wayfaring has been a desperate crawl. This is no metaphor, not when there were days I could not drag my broken body downstairs for the mail. Jan 2003, Meningitis. The virus had taken itself up in my spine and lining of the brain. Journal: At every turn of… Read More The Question of Human Suffering
A vine of dreams: luscious grapes resign all fear They bruise underfoot barrels brim in earnest dark and time turns into wine.
1. I eradicate the flu, cancer, and the bad grammar virus. 2. I’m Catherine Zeta-Jones in Chicago. No, not talking about what lands her in prison. I mean the moves, her look, her zip and tang. 3. I wiggle my nose and the dishes disappear from the sink. 4. I sing jazz in a red… Read More In My Fantasy
Every time I drive by the church where it happened, I still look away. I drown the memory in a parade of new thoughts and have managed to take Hidden Valley with the casualness I run through any other road. That evening six years ago, I was leaving the church with my toddler in my… Read More It’s Always My Fault
A Holistic Journey 