A Re-union of Self

She danced into spring

in a red dress

She was fire

catching life. Unbounded

Unbridled. And he watched

from the center, steady

yielding to her energy

as it spread, opening

to the rise of need

 A red bud

unfolding into wings

They met at the center

where he waited

becoming one

an expansion of flame


against night


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Visions of Change

Last night, before falling into sleep, memories from high school returned to me, one in particular. The day I was asked to be year book editor. See, despite everything, you still shined, was the message I received with the memory, and the idea that someone saw a gift I embodied to fill this role. A voice worth hearing.


The truth is, I swallowed my voice the vast majority of the time. People thought of me as shy and reserved, if they did not really know me. Some considered me a snob. Most did not see the scared, paranoid child living inside.  And, there were the few (but it was enough) that fed upon my insecurities and caused a great deal of torment, anguish and paranoia.


Yet, still I shined. This is the message I was being asked to hear, to see, last night. Despite the internal and external battles I felt I was waging both at home and at school, I persevered. I never gave up. I never gave in. Instead I shined my light to the best of my abilities.


So today I am remembering the light, and the “Visions of Change” I held onto. I am remembering the steady voice of the accomplished young lady who stood above a crowd of gatherers and talked about how the past can become a marker, but not a place to stay. I am remembering the beauty of her soul and her truth. I am remembering her strength.

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Twinned Flame

Twinned flame

I unfolded the black body
of night to find light
in the center. Warmth
spun a silk cocoon
around my heart, uniting
the orange fire we share

Twin soul, I see you
mirrored in flame. Me.
You. Black. White. Yin.
Yang. Darkness. Light.
The half of a whole
that is me. You, though,
are the side that wavers,
too light for solid form

Intangible, switching sides
I see you best unfocused
The light within, now without
until I bring the hood atop
our flame and solitude falls
like a brick, crashing
density into this body
called life

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And then there was Peace


Hers was the only aura I saw without trying. Violet, like the energy of St. Germain, extending from the tips of her fur in soft flames. It was four years ago, and we were walking in the woods. I began our daily journey together distraught. My physical and emotional worlds were burning in a dark chasm I’ll call fear. It was February, that month that tests the limits of endurance. Within the span of a few short days, every heating system in my home and in my body went on overload.  The ancient furnace in the basement stopped breathing warmth and started emitting the poisonous gas that silently consumes the oxygen of life. The wood stove followed suit, deciding to search down, rather than up, for air, filling the house in a matter of panicked seconds with thick gray smoke. Fearing flames, I rushed my children, coatless, outside with Daisy and called the fire department. Then, the pellet stove decided it wanted to play the same game, vomiting an over-abundance of fuel that caught a fire that decided to breath in, instead of out, filling the house, again, with gray, suffocating smoke.

Sometimes the world outside mirrors the world inside, testing our ability to heal and release to the point of near collapse. That February day, after I safely shuttled the kids on the bus to school, I desperately sought release. Daisy, my faithful companion and guide, calmly led the way to the forest. Although it would have been impossible for her not to feel the fires raging through me, she was the epitome of peace.

It was the walk of  dreams, where time stands sentinel to bare witness. Sound disappeared into the blanket of snow and waited for me to emerge whole again. Yet, the air was electric, so alive I could feel each silent heartbeat I passed, and the Earth held me in reverence, as I walked her body in sorrow.

Each footstep brought with it a memory of the little girl afraid of forests and the secrets hidden in shadows. I wept memory to release her, and in my pure and open need, Nature held me in the full, unconditional embrace of love.

I can recall the moment my eyes turned down to gaze upon my guide and caught the purple fire of her aura. She had quietly, with the energy of pure love, led me along the path of peace until the forest outside replaced the fear-filled forest of memory.

This is the energy that filled the space when she passed 8 days ago. When her soul released from her tired body, peace took over, filling the sorrow that pervaded our home and bodies. My children stopped weeping and quietly entered the energy they saw mirrored on my face. In those moments after release, we were filled with the joy of her surrendering to pure love. “Can you feel it,” I asked them, “can you feel it in your heart.” “Yes,” they whispered as they clutched their hands to their chests. She was there already, always, our Daisy, restoring us to peace as she had some many times before.


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The house as body

It seems I cannot decide which house to claim as my own. This is clear in my dreams. Too much clutter leaves the residue of frustration and anxiety. Unstable walls and floors, the fear of collapse. Some nights I build palaces that rival Versailles. I walk gilded halls and call them my own. The rooms are endless, each floor more brilliant than the one before. I am a vessel of unlimited creation, before I crumble back into a buried fear.

Last night, my house made me uncomfortable. The bedrooms extended into living rooms without doors. The kitchen needed updating. There was a graveyard outside my son’s window. My own bedroom opened into a balcony of trees, and my heart filled with joy as I imagined waking to the ever-changing scene of wildlife, until I saw the gaps under the floor, and the futile attempts to secure a house against the elements that would inevitably pervade the constructed space. Who was I fooling? I could not live here.

Yet, I could not leave. This was the house I had chosen. It was mine. So, I began to clear the rooms, freeing them of the energy called fear. I did it alone, using my hand to feel the unwanted vibrations, my breath to clear the energy into light. There was no sense of discontent. I was not discouraged that each room seemed to hold pockets of energy that needed to be cleared. I simply did what I needed to do to make my house my home.

Perhaps tonight I will build a palace again. I’ll use my hand to paint the forest on the walls, upon the ceilings I’ll map infinity in stars. When I am done, when my hand is tired and my palace is complete, I’ll let it crumble. I’ll watch the walls recede into the body of the Earth, the ceiling dissolve into the heavens, and then I’ll know I’ve come home.


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Taking the lead

Recall the Bird of Spring who appeared to me on the the 24th of January. I have not forgotten her, nor have I forgotten how she appeared in the days before the 11th. She often watched in silent vigil from the bush filled with winter berries in the neighbor’s front yard, while I waited for Alex to get off the bus. You were usually inside.

There was the flock of robins, Dad said there must have been 20, if not more, outside his office. Did you send them after you came to him in a dream, telling him you were leaving? Of course, I already knew. How could I not? I felt you release the tug on the orange nylon that bound us together months before you finally let go. I knew last summer you were patiently urging me to take the lead, knowing well before I did, that I was ready. That you had, in the heart-beat of 5 and 1/2 years, shown me how to walk the path of love, and to take the lead. The last 6 months were a gradual letting go, your final gift to me in your physical form.

Oh, but you knew I would weep and rage. You knew I would cling fiercely to the memory of  the brown silk of your fur pressed against my lips, and feel of home when I wrapped my arms around your body. You knew, even, that I would miss the tug-of- war, the constant test of who was in charge.


You knew I would hold on, even after I let you go. So you sent me robins and hearts. I saw the love that you wore on your face everywhere, in the days before you left, and even more now that you have crossed the rainbow bridge without me. One thought, and you are back. I see the symbol of your love burned into snow, etched in ice on windows and carved into the life-lines of wood. I saw your love two nights ago, when you sent me the barn owl (with face of a heart) in the cypress tree. I see it each time I remember your face.

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Your rebirth into pure spirit, was my letting go. To become my own spring and bloom new. Even though I still shed the waters of sorrow, my garden is ready to birth strength. How many nights, as I was preparing to let you go, did I dream of a home, my home, surrounded by the rebirth of life? I woke happy, filled with hope. Filled with promise.

Even the 3 crows that caught my eye, circling the invisible wheel, made me think of the magic of birth and not death. You were the 3rd, though, in a close trinity of passings. My days and nights were filled with the numbers 3 and 7, even when they appeared with the numbers 10 and 11. The 10th was the day I knew for sure you were leaving, the 11th, when I opened the door to let you go.

On the 8th, two days before I decided it was time, I saw two robins. That evening I fell into dreams of rebirth. I played through the game of life, recording scores, which reduced to the number 9 – the complete cycle for birth. I searched tables of food and ate. I took the driver’s seat and drove, with the top open, over a bridge, where above me a green wheel turned. I watched my child (who looks so much like me) let go and felt only peace as he released his hold. I turned back time and became a young woman again. It was summer, 74 degrees (reduces to 11), and I was among a crowd of peers heading down a hill to swim. At the intersection of paths, I decided to walk alone. I went to the rocky shore, instead of the sandy, sun-filled beach, and stripped bare of my white shorts and flowered blouse, before I lay my body on the pebbles and let the water wash me clean. Here, I felt freedom. I felt release. I shouted back, fearless, to the girls who taunted me, calling them out on who they really were. I swam away from the boys who followed my naked form through the water, and pulled my clothes over my wet body before I walked back up the hill, alone. Later, in another dream, a messenger hugged me and told me it was time to surrender. To let [you] go. So I did.



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there is no map for grief

this I know

grief is water

raging the chambers of the heart

grief is noise




grief is the absence of touch

the ache of memory inside skin

grief is silence

where beauty dwells

with love


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