unfurling into spring;

April 4th, 2016 · 0 comments · permalink

{Taking a walk to collect the mail every few nights, rarely before midnight; completely respectful of my fellow humans’ sleeping homes and spaces but unable to resist taking furtive steps into certain yards to touch and greet the prettiest flowers.}

.

December 14th, 2015 · 0 comments · permalink

The last thing I said to him was I love you. I miss you. And I feel so so profoundly grateful for that, every day, and I say it still, every day. I love you, I love you, I love you. I miss you.

Brimming with longing.
Brimming with love.

“You’re not selfish, you’re grieving.”

December 7th, 2015 · 0 comments · permalink

Literally moments after I stood in my bathroom readying for bed – rinsing honey from my face and plaiting my hair and thinking, heavily, how, grief has made me selfish, how it has kept me from responding to every gracious hand that has reached out to me in the last several weeks – I slinked into bed and was greeted with this message, in this night’s chosen book.

(“Grief has made me selfish,” I thought.)

“You’re not selfish, you’re grieving.”

You’re not selfish. You’re grieving.

And my heart, my heart, I thought. The Universe always provides.

.
With much love and tender gratitude to each and every one of you who has taken the time to tell me your stories and offered concern, again and again. I have been an awful friend these weeks, an awful do’er of normal things, an awful human with a no longer intact family. But every effort, every kindness, is taken and kept and folded and unfolded and looked at over & over again with great love and relief and great gratitude. I have felt so cared for. Protected. Tended. And I remember where it’s warm. I always remember where it’s warm.

Thank you, endlessly, friends. Thank you thank you thank you, and a thousand times, thank you.

10.25.15

October 25th, 2015 · 0 comments · permalink

“Even as I rocked on my knees, howling, I detected soft breathing behind the roaring. I leaned in, listened. It was the murmuring of ten million mothers, backward and forward in time and right now, who had lost children. They were lifting me, holding me. They had woven a net of their broken hearts, and they were keeping me safe there. I realized that one day I would take my rightful place as a link in this web, and I would hold my sister-mothers when their children died. For now my only task was to grieve and be cradled in their love.” – CARAVAN OF NO DESPAIR

Anthem.

September 30th, 2015 · 0 comments · permalink

the signs as witches

September 19th, 2015 · 0 comments · permalink

Libra: covered in veils and breathes perfume to hide themselves and confuse you, summons creatures and demons to do their bidding so their hands remain clean. almost transparent at times like a ghost or vision. is stronger than they look and delights in you not knowing their power. their mouth is almost always moving, but you can’t hear what they say. soft to the touch but their skin is cold. trinkets and charms and chains adorn them and their home . . .

{ a sacred space }

September 14th, 2015 · 0 comments · permalink

My bed is my sanctuary.

If the kitchen is the heart, my bedroom is the womb of my home, my most sacred and cherished space. It is where I find my quiet and my calm, and at the ending of days layered with noise & anxieties, I treasure that so so fiercely.

My bed is a sensual ocean full of softness and care, warm bodies, cool sheets; giant pillows; purring animal tribe; my nightstand like an altar, with offerings of salt and oil; a perpetually evolving tower of books. Nurturing balms. Beautiful silk.

It is so so important to have a soft place to fall, a sacred space for healing, and for rest.

Show me yours . . .

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      11 months ago by undreaming Readying the hostas for Spring and finding that one is softly carpeted, and jeweled with a tiny abandoned home. {The other - poor confused darling - has already begun to come up, and I worry for her in the cold . . . } This will be the last Spring I tend these forgiving bebes, the only plants that have grown wild for me and blossomed every year in my awkward, uncertain care. I have had to let go of too many things I love this year, leaving pieces of home&heart everywhere, everywhere. Every woman in me is half sick…
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