That the very stars above us were born from my own body. Spinning globes and fire balls simply living in the palms of my hands, after thousands of labored hours,cradled while I sing them into a spiraled sleep. That the kiss in the booth at the bar during the thunderstorm on mother's day when the... Continue Reading →
Loving a poet isnoticing snowed-in flowers or cracks of sunlight in a dead sea sky.Springtime cruelties; simple guttural changes that come with smoky, yellow promise evenings -- ones where we light the lampssparrows seek in the sky with our fire eyes. Loving a poet is the childhood memory --a shuttering of ice cream dripping through... Continue Reading →
A little over a year ago I did a thing that truly changed me. I bought a ticket to the Brave Magic writing workshop in the Redwoods of Santa Cruz where I got to learn from two of my writing inspirations: Cheryl Strayed and Elizabeth Gilbert. Now that the Fall air is starting to settle... Continue Reading →
I still have a lot I want to share about Brave Magic. So here is post three: all about *MOTHERFUCKATUDE*, as coined by Cheryl Strayed. When I think about power in a general sense, I usually get stuck on how it is misused by old white guys -- the patriarchy, you know? And how systems... Continue Reading →
The only thing that has been saving my sanity over the past two weeks is working through my notes from Brave Magic. Because, what on earth is happening in our country right now? What world am I living in? Oh yeah, one run by powerful, old white men. Just double checking. Here we go.... One... Continue Reading →
It has been a week since I set off on my Brave Magic weekend with Cheryl Strayed and Elizabeth Gilbert. For a week, I have been working hard to articulate what happened. Working through my notes to create some kind of real and true testimony of my experience. Working on saying [[out loud]] how I... Continue Reading →
It is dark in my house, although it's only 4 in the afternoon. There is something about being alone, in your most comfortable place, during a dark afternoon. It's like a magical gift. A light scent of lavender incense wafts through the tall ceilings, circling the balloons -- still clinging to their float from days... Continue Reading →
It has been bubbling up, making itself known, riding in the passenger's seat next to me. Just brewing under the surface, that sort of ever-present existence of 'you must create' that sits, pounding under the tongue of most writers. But this time, it's changed. It isn't just "you must write" ––it has become "you must... Continue Reading →
In The Way 