It's early morning. The house is quite. I am sitting in my child's room on the edge of being 5 weeks postpartum. I switch on the electric pump, and contemplate my current surroundings. Four years after the devastating loss of my first child, I find myself on the other end of the spectrum. Yes, I am the mother of a radiant son. It is also true that I am the mother of a child who did not make it Earth side. I birthed them both, and love them with equal fervor.
Poetry and I go way back. For as long as I can remember I’ve been practicing some form of writing including journaling, essays, and poetry. I’ve had one poem published. And have written at least a thousand more. Whenever I feel the need to decompress, I turn to poetry. It has been one of my… Continue reading Poems to my Younger Self
My grandmother was a collector. A curator of ideas and stories. Before starting grad school in 2013 my mother, partner and I were put to the task of cleaning out her house. She and my grandfather had walked on to the realm of the ancestors a year prior, and everything in their house went unchanged… Continue reading Notes on Adaptability, Survival & Emergence in a Time of Earthly Transformation
Dear friends, I hope this letter finds you well, post Full Pink Moon in Scorpio intensity. The month of April proved true to its character. Full of showers of all sorts. Rainy days give way to momentous blooming. Truth spilling over from the depths of shadows. Spring asks us to toe the line between what… Continue reading April 2018 Full Pink Moon
Dear friends, I write to you from my (current) bedroom, a space filled with the aroma of warm coffee and the quiet hum of morning. Outside the sun glows bright on a blanket of snow. Trees extend their joints to the blue sky. Everything around me seems to be in prayer. This moment calls for… Continue reading A Year of Restoration
Dear friends, Chaos engenders a multitude of things: darkness, disorder, unknown boundaries. A spark in the woods where wilderness is always. There is something to be said of this origin from which we all come from; though cataloged by imaginary lines drawn in the earth, deep down, we know there really is no such thing… Continue reading Listening for the Sound of Change