We share the earth
its riches and gifts
the very air we breath
all for the taking
Not for the hoarding
the I, me, mine
has gotten us to this
pinpoint in time
to really make a shift
in our thinking, in our eating,
in our hearts and words
To walk in this world
we must become the stewards
to respect and replenish
Earth’s many gifts
The future depends on us
though we may not see what
lies ahead
There is power and empowerment
There is sorrow and horrors
like on this blood red ground,
ashes and cinders
where homes, schools and businesses
once stood proud
ready to serve, learn and relax
The fire burned out of control
like when we fire back
unspoken utterly ruthless
gutting thoughts
It’s hard to take those words back
But this too is a turning point
We can ask for forgiveness
deeply apologetically
And take the lessons gained
Lessons learned forward
to our future encounters
our future endeavors
To walk in this world
we must become worldly
not shy, timid or stretched
too thin with productivity
over commitment
we must dig deep and fill our well
so that there is an overflow
of good enough
of a shared right to the Earth’s gifts
Our own gift of peace can turn the tide
Try it. To walk in this world
say hi to a neighbor or heck
even a stranger
If the world feels unfriendly,
be the friend you wish to keep
If you get shut down or ignored,
it’s all part of the warming-up process
our warm hearts and hands
hold you and your beloveds.
Come take a walk with me.
Tag: words
I greet myself
I stretch and breathe.
I expand and reach out
to touch a lock of hair.
It is never out of place
even as it grows and gets cut
It is still the same self.
The scale inches up
more and more each visit
to a specialist’s office.
Do I dare to look?
If I don’t see it,
it doesn’t truly exist, right?
I see myself as the same me
though the outerwear has morphed
grown no longer so firm
and fertile.
How I feel so outside of myself.
Disconnected from my center.
The space that grew and bore
two beautiful children.
I marvel at their beauty,
their perfection every day.
How can I find them so perfect
and me, who bore them, so imperfect?
Societal norms
Harsh words that stung
and played around
over and over in my brain.
Till I believed them as truth
words I vow never to say
to these beautiful babes
so full of potential
truly wanted and loved.
Is love really finite?
Can’t I find some of that same love
and turn it toward me?
To my center
to my current weight
and space I occupy.
I don’t want to live in regret
and I want to shed these old
stories, these old beliefs
no longer holding me back.
I am a book
I am a book
all the chapters are written,
the words have been said,
the future imprinted,
even if I haven’t gotten to
those pages yet
What is mine
Confusion.
Stillness.
Soon it would end.
And I’d still be frozen,
Unaware of my inner flame,
My power that was always mine.
I would regain clarity, love.
I would see what truly was mine.
In friendship and support
to be believed
to be known
to be loved, loving and lovable.
Even afterwards.
No longer like a stone,
Immoveable.
Now I move mountains
With my words, with my voice.
With my whole body
I embrace.
Those old wounds
A distant memory.
I find compassion for her
And the woman I am today.
My Writing Manifesto
The blank page is my canvas. Each day is a new opportunity To show up for myself And be inspired As my words flow onto the page. It is creativity manifested As intangible thoughts and ideas Are alchemized Into tangible words I can see Taking shape onto the page From my own hand. To be shared or not The choice is always mine.
RELEASE
Release the urge to get it right Perfection is the joy destroyer. Release the desire to sound eloquent To have the right words delivered At the exact moment. Release and trust that I will receive What I’m meant to. There is no end goal No finish line No final product. We are all works in progress And there is always room for more: More edits, for rewrites, to rehashing And then what’s left? Hacked up, tattered words Left on the page. Torn fragments. Might as well make confetti And see where the words land. That would show perfection. I don’t have to do it right Or get it right. There is no finish line where I suddenly become who I’m meant to be. I am her now. I embrace and embody her now. There is no “there” to get to. I am the joy, the connection, The creator. I am the words that you see, The sounds that you hear. They are all a part of me And a part of you too. Where does creativity come from? The seed of the soul is my guess. What seeds are you going to plant today? What nourishment does your soul desire? What would you like to plant? Place them in your palm And touch the earth. You are forever supported And nourished.
Seeds
The doorway opens. Heartbeat to heartbeat Seeds clutched in my hand Waiting to be sowed Not knowing what lies ahead. Seeds are like ideas and words. Some have a way of Flowing into the heart and mind. Germinating into core beliefs, A shared memory or story. Where it originated Sometimes a mystery. Seeds can root into an entire story whose words and thoughts can empower and create growth. Some stories have to be Pruned back to allow in more light And space for new growth to take shape, To embody and take root. It all starts with a little seed. A seed in my heart that germinates into thought, Speech and the written word. Those fruits can then be passed From me to you. An offering from the heart.
Healing Insights 