Poetry \\ Weave In, Weave Out


Weave in
Weave out

A tapestry of
Wounds and translucent petals
Sweetness and scar tissue
Layered between
Yesterday and tomorrow

Weave in
Weave out

Each strand
Ribboning its way
Over whitewater heartbreaks
And songs of hopeful crickets
As the sun gently falls

Weave in
Weave out

Another fall
Another break

Weave in
Weave out

Another night
Another day

Weave in
Weave out

Another thread
Of life’s bouquet

Poetry \\ Auroral Night


It’s a falsehood
Of the mind
A broken gate
That doesn’t lock
A September
Without sun
A harvest moon
Drawn into dark

No sweet cherry
On the topping
Dried up pits
Are all we get
When we ask
The “proper” questions
Dutifully met

It’s a falsehood
Of the soul
To drink a
Full glass of compliance
A severed line
A stolen tale
The Great Belief
A hardened science

In hollowed hands
We carry the sun
Amidst the thorns
Sharp-edged and clear
Haunted echoes
Held in love
Auroral night
So bright, so near

Welcome, 2018! Here's to a Hopeful New Year


Today marks the first day of 2018. It's a day of change. An opportunity for new. A time to celebrate.

Happy New Year, right?

For some it truly is a happy time, a happy season. But sometimes we find ourselves entering a new year without even an inkling of happiness. Life doesn't always deliver happy at the beginning of a new calendar year.

Sometimes life delivers pain and sorrow and sickness and death. Even on New Year's.

Last year at this time I became very ill. I went to bed at 6pm on New Year's Eve, thinking I had a flu or something. That turned into a year-long (and counting) chronic illness. And so began a health journey that has been one of the biggest challenges I've ever faced. And I've faced some pretty big challenges these past few years.

I'd love to say that today, one year later, I feel awesome. But the truth is, I don't. I feel better, but I'm not the same. My body isn't the same. And it may never be.

If you had said Happy New Year to me last year, I would have probably said "f*$% off". (And if I did, I apologize. I hope you didn't take it too personally.) But my dog was dying, I was going through the first holiday season without my dad, and I was cruelly dealt another health issue.

After a year of hard-core healing with the help of many professional healers, beautiful new souls in my life, and writing and music, I feel closer to a "happy" New Year. I don't feel happy, exactly, but I feel more hopeful and more alive than I have in years. And I suppose that there is a certain happiness in allowing the hope and aliveness to show up and live in me. I haven't felt this way in a long time, if ever.

As I write this, I feel a little jumbled because how can I -how can we - possibly condense an entire year into a few paragraphs? I don't want to go into all of my specific health issues (right now), and I don't want to write about grief (right now). I don't even really want to feel happy (which seems strange to write) because it feels too forced and artificial. What I feel is deeper than happy. I feel open to possibilities. I feel growth. I feel change. And I feel gratitude.

I've made it through another difficult year, and there is now a speck of light, a fire, a new way of seeing and being that gives me a reason to believe. That gives me a reason to celebrate.

In a quiet way.

I know that not all of you are particularly happy feeling right now. (Some of you are, and that's amazing! Woo-hoo! Happy New Year!) But for those of you that are struggling to find the happy in your New Year, I honor you. I honor your pain and your struggle. I honor your dark. I honor your healing. I honor your quiet.

It's a new year. Just another day on the calendar. If it's not YOUR new year, it will be soon.

Love to you all. And big wishes for a Hopeful New Year. xoxo

This House

I float in the hammock

Feeling the air move through my toes. 

I listen to the soft chirps of the finches

And the cawing of the crows.


She’s old, this house. Not ancient, not in any sort of a grand historical way, but she’s lived things. She’s seen things. Things I will never know.

Her foundation is strong. She’s sturdy, even after all these years. Even after being unloved for so many, if not all, of them.

I love her, this house. Or rather, I’m learning to love her. She’s not perfect, you see. Not even close. She has aches and pains and some deep wounds from being unloved for so many years. 

I hope she knows it wasn’t her fault.

She’s not grand, architecturally speaking. She doesn’t have any particularly defining details. And her floor plan is quite pedestrian. I want her to know, though, that she can just be who she is. That being here - being my home - is enough.

That I will love her even when she breaks a little.

And that she really is magnificent in her own way. She doesn’t need to be anything other that what she already is to be loved. 

I feel her come alive more and more as she gets the love she’s been craving for so long.


The birds sing to her.

She’s wrapped in flowers now.

The sun sparkles its way through her new windows

And the walls glow in the golden hour.


She holds onto her old parts just enough to keep herself together until she is given new. She waits patiently, this sturdy girl, like she’s waited for many years. She waits like she’s just beginning to trust love for the first time. She waits like she knows she won’t have to hold onto her old parts much longer.

And I can feel her age becoming increasingly irrelevant. 


“Youth,” she says “is a merely state of mind.”


I watch the bees dance around the cucumber blossoms. 

The hearty hydrangea leaves flutter in the breeze.

The squirrels chase each other through the fruit trees, taunting each other with the peanuts I just tossed out to them for a snack. 

And I agree with her.


Beauty is being loved.

Beauty is being seen.


Does she love herself, this house? Does she even know what self-love is? 

“Yes,” she whispers “but I’ve forgotten how after being neglected for so long.” 


I tell her she’s not beautiful when…

She is beautiful now. 

She’s not loved when… 

She’s loved now. 


She listens. And little by little she comes alive with all of her inherent love and beauty. In this moment, I suddenly realize she is very, very wise. And that somehow, in me loving her, she has so much more to teach me.