I am not my own. My body is not mine. The boundaries of my skin hold the multitudes that began merging within me in 2010. They came through again and again and I became them; horse, human, lightning, the light and lighted one.  Again and again, they merged and melded into a being that was as recognizable as she was before but not the same. My heart doesn’t beat for me. My heart beats for those who have chosen this vessel as their memory bank, their ways of knowing within ever

A Facebook connection shared this earlier today, written by a third party: No one is coming to save you, but it is not because you are unloved. To the contrary: You are so revered, so adored, so magnificent, that to send to you a savior would be to destroy your opportunity to become what you are in truth, to realize yourself fully, in the glory of your divine humanity. It is true, there are those who need surrogate representatives to protect their interests: the children, the

I work with ‘invisible’ beings, those that most cannot see. I am surrounded by them. They span the spectrum from Ancestors to angels, deities from multiple pantheons to threads of lineages across time, and those considered by many to be more fantastical than fiction. For me, their existence is not a belief, it is a knowing bound in a visual, tactile and communicative relationship and no different than that which I have with Others within the natural and ‘inanimate’ world. For

More on Into the Lion’s Den: The second time, I was pushed to write was in February 2017, while recovering from Standing Rock at a friend’s home in the Seattle area. While sitting with my morning coffee, these words flew from a pen: Before there was, I was. And again, I am; the ceaseless answer to the call and prayer, “Hear us, oh Lord.” I am the light; a lumined torch so that we may see. I am the bread; to sate the hunger for spirit and bring comfort in fear. I am the door;

I don’t know when it was I ran out of space for outrage. I can’t remember if there was a singular sudden clap of thunder-like something or whether love just seeped in through all the cracks. I do remember thinking that, when I finally noticed, my brain went to “Something is wrong with me. Maybe I’m just numbed to it all.” We do that, don’t we? To try to make newness make sense? Our go-to isn’t that it must be ‘so right’ but that there must be something so wrong. I remember th

There is a line in Susan Kidd’s “The Invention of Wings”: How does one know the voice is God’s? Perhaps it was my own voice? Does it matter? As I read this book and the journey of a burgeoning female abolitionist in it, I think about the parallels between the character, Sarah, and I. How the moments of courage and not-courage move between the words that get stuck in the throat and those that knock around the heart and head. Within the stillness, I felt old, irrepressible ache

Photo by Kat Jayne on Pexels.com The grief we are feeling is not the private sort. That exists but this is not it. What we are feeling is a shared grief; felt across continents, cultures, and for some, time. It’s resonance has always been there. However, now, with less to filter it through your busy days, you can feel it. On days when the Weaver threads it through your heart, it can feel unbearable. It is not. It has been borne a long time and now it is reminding you that you

What would change for you if you knew that a God, The God, all the Gods, wanted nothing more than a relationship with you? What if you knew they do not require worship or for you to follow the rules others have set forward as your way to access the truth of their Being, of your Own? What freedom would that bring? What fears would arise? Where would you explore with an open heart, open mind and open arms? How would you welcome your new Friend? #spiritualhealing #universal #Gra

To hear the prayer of one is to hear the prayer of all. To heed the prayer for one is to answer the call for all. Everyone has walked through the doors of Grace and is enveloped, in love. Everyone. #One #spiritual #love #Grace #Divine #inspiration #soulfulpoetry

To feel the pain of another is to know their heart. To feel the darkness of another is to know their heart is not dark. To breathe the breath of another, is to breathe each other. Beyond the identities we choose and the language we use, is that for which words only confuse. To see through the clutter of our own creation is to see that which has created us, as they are. As we are. The breath, the pain, the light, the dark. The love. One. #Grace #oneness #Divine #connection #so

Gentlemen, we need to talk. We need to talk about your worship of the Virgin (she wasn’t), the Holy Mother, Durga, Shakti, Tara, Kamadhenu, Kali and other female deities on whose necks you lay garlands, whose feet you touch, and from whom blessings you beg. Why do you hold the plaster and paint as more holy than Her human embodiment?  The alabaster and jade less human and her flesh less goddess? Is She more sanctified than the womb you were birthed from and those from which y

You have no idea You have no idea your desire to retreat is merely your fear of meeting yourself in another. You have no idea that your fear of another is merely your fear of intimacy with the one you’ve separated yourself from. Your avoidance of the stimuli that feeds your soul has led you to substitutions that are no substitution at all. You feel because there is no separation. There is no separation. You want there to be, though. You feel the reality will split you open an

Does it feel foolish to you, impossible even, that your ‘feeling too much’ isn’t that at all? Can you, even the tiniest of moments between the fear, understand that when you truly recognize what it is you’re feeling and from whence it comes, you’ll know it is the highest expression of love there is? That is what being an empath is–the highest expression of love there is. The capacity, without a word being said, to say, “I feel your pain”. Can you wrap your head, maybe even yo

I’m reading a book called Benediction by Kent Haruf. It’s one of those that I’m forcing myself to finish for reasons I can’t comprehend. It’s annoying. Damn-near all dialogue and not a single quotation mark. There’s a scene in which a preacher pisses off his congregation by suggesting that loving thine enemy and turning the cheek might be literal expressions of Jesus’ teaching and not a mere metaphorical for living peaceably. He preaches, many congregants walk out, cursing hi

It often feels impossible to describe the love contained within me. Even when I cannot give it words, it frightens people. They seem to be confused that the course of love would somehow find them beyond their beliefs or behaviors, that they would be missed or their cry for help would be unheard, and that kind of love would just appear, even unbidden. It courses through every fiber of my being, slips from the pores into the spaces between grains of sand, dances on the wind, dr

May the grief-stricken be touched with the tenderest kiss. May the hunger for hubris be starved as love is heard. May mercy rise. May the light of beauty shine in the darkest corners. May hate give way to forgiving Grace. May mercy rise. May pain and fear be supplanted by communion. May pride and prejudice succumb to peace. May mercy rise. May the voiceless sing and open the way. May the hardened crack under their flood of love. May mercy rise. May beauty speak the heart of a

When I was in the sixth grade, I saw an angel. At least, that’s what I called it. It was in the sky, it was alive, and not a bird or a plane or Superman. Not even a super-something else. It just was. And pretty as it just was. I told my mother who commemorated the experience with a poor concrete facsimile that confused me to no end. Because that wasn’t it and it wasn’t quite right in my adolescent mind. I don’t know if I ever thought again of that beautiful being I saw until

Mercy. noun 1. compassion or forgiveness shown toward someone whom it is within one’s power to punish or harm. or: a blessing that is an act of divine favor or compassion We most often associate Mercy with someone else. I suggest that we show ourselves a little mercy. And give ourselves a little Merci. Mercy and thanks for not having it all figured out; for feeling ungraceful and ungrace-filled; for floundering; for all the goodness that we know is there but can’t feel it i

tangled up in the hair and roots get twisted across the toes, grace just isn’t there There is a fine line between a twist and shout and a pirouette. Grace and ungraceful go hand-in-hand. #Grace #soulfulpoetry

You are part of the fluidity of all things just as oxygen is of you. Inner and outer are not a breath apart or away from each other. They are as seamless as the senses. #connection #Grace #oneness #soulfulpoetry