Connection

Fifty

The book of my life
was written
and handed to me
on the day I was born

Before I knew what
language was
The story was laid before me

As I was put into
my mother’s loving,
welcoming arms
The world began anew

The days and seasons
spun and turned
without me even knowing
of their existence

“We are here for you”

Legs became stronger
First steps and fumbles
The first of many practices

I opened the door
and nature greeted me
with open arms and
a belonging

To know I was where
I was meant to be
I laid down on the grass
My senses alive

Before I could even
open the book
of my life
I was free

Connection

Last Azalea

My last blooming azalea flower holds firm,
not ready to let go.
With every bee and hummingbird
– a visitor –
who only can return
when skies turn blue and warm sun shines
I must wait for the wheel to turn

Connection

Sometimes

Sometimes I can block out
the noise, fodder and distraction
and hear that inner voice

who tries to say her lot
always calm and gently
It often disappears under the rumble.

Her voice is rooted in love
and always looking out for my wellbeing

when I stop ruminating, interrupting,
habitually filling the awkward silence,
I free the inner me

out of the cage of silence and past hurt
out of the chamber of iron and thorns
to express utter knowing and passion

when did being authentic become so scandalous?

Connection

Where do I find the sacred?

Connection

Can I be okay with the silence?

Connection

My inner light

Connection

Mistakes

Connection

Crossroads