The concept of home has been on my heart the past few days.
What defines it. What creates it. Its multidimensional layers- house, location, family, heart, belonging, connection, love- there are many ways to define home.
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They say the best way to learn something is to teach it.
I teach grief. I already knew the language fairly well, but I learned to speak it fluently when going through the loss of my brother, and in that fluidity I took my words, wrote a book, and have been an author and voice on grief since.
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Every field and flower fades, but love is infinite. – – Melanie Chisholm
We found out today our sweet old dog, Sam, has cancer.
A beautiful morning at the beach where he laid by the ocean and sunned himself turned into a nightmare of a seizure just an hour later on the car ride home turned into rushing to the vet turned into cancer.
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Change is the way of life. I try and stay open to it and let myself unform and flow and let go, though it’s not always easy and sometimes resistance creeps in at unexpected times in unexpected ways.
Our upstairs neighbors moved yesterday- we rent the downstairs of a giant home up in the hills of Kauai and they rented the upstairs.
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These days, these days right now- they are our better days. I know it doesn’t always feel like it. I know that betimes it’s very difficult to find the good and to find the gifts.
I know that, and I often live that difficulty, relieved to fall asleep at night and simply be done with the day when something’s been particularly hard.
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I just lost a power struggle with a bunch of mosquitoes while sitting out on the lanai trying to write.
They started biting, I resisted; they kept biting, I persisted; and then I realized my foot was itching with a good number of fresh bites, so I threw in the towel and bid a hasty retreat indoors.
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I just saved a poor bird from the clutches of my cat. Though the sad creature did get clutched before I freed it, so I’m hoping at the very least if she doesn’t make it, there is peace and trees at her end, instead of my kitty’s tormenting face.
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I finished my book today, Transformations of The Sun.
I know an ending when I write one, and after I wrote the last words and went through the final section- reworking, reordering, recalibrating- I realized I had finished my 122 passages for my next book.
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“And I want to hug you into me, bury you in the only place where I know you’ll be safe, so I can birth you out in every word and breath and love and beat, as long as you’re There and I’m Here. Keep you alive on my fireweed breeze.”
-Fireweed Breeze from Lamentations of The Sea
When things are meant to flow, sometimes they just flow. Quickly. Especially when creativity and the right timing intersect.
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It’s a quiet Easter Sunday. The island is gray today with soft promise of rain; the bright of last night’s full moon faded to cushion clouds and pewter wisps streaking the sky.
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Life is a strange dance. We think it will look one way and sometimes it turns out entirely different.
Or maybe it does turn out the way we thought it would, except the process of how it turns out looks different…
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March marks 9 months on the island of Kauai. I have visceral feels and a felt-sense of this time last year, as this was the beginning of the end of life in Alaska and March-June were about to become these mad months of good-byes, letting go’s, and the exhaustive tasks of selling the house, closing my practice, and taking care of the tangible steps needed to move. I tire even thinking of it now.
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I was told this would be a year of integration, and I feel that.
Sometimes I look back on life in Alaska, and how that life was no more the day we got on a plane and crossed the ocean to Kauai last July.
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New year, new space, new website. And this the first official post. I’d like to say something BIG or important, but instead all I have is simple reflection and going back to the basics.
The principles of allowance and receiving are on my heart as I write these words. Along with a thoughtful and tender contemplation regarding how I tend to be in the world – – taking the reigns of things, steering the chariot, and trying to make things happen in my life.
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5 sections, 27 poems each. How do you know when something is finished?
Yesterday I counted up the content in each of my poetry book’s sections and found there are precisely 27 pieces in each.
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How far can your dreams stretch if you don’t tell them they have limits?
I’m working on stretching mine these days. There’s been starts and stops. Bursts of activity followed by the crash of nothingness. Uncertainty. Creativity. Feeling lost then re-finding my way.
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It can be hard to slow ourselves down and hard to slow life down, and yet it is essential for our soul’s wellness that we find ways to do so.
I live on an island, so it’s a little bit easier here, there’s something about being surrounded by and supported by water that invites you to take things at an easier, less frenetic space.
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What nobody tells you about soul callings is that while following one will be the most beautiful and rewarding thing you’ll ever do, it will also the hardest.
The path of the soul is invisible; it is one walked by faith and not by sight, by trusting in your intuition and heart, by working with whatever higher powers or energies you may believe in, and trusting the guidance you receive along the way.
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The rain beats in hard sheets as the power flickers and the jungle bends and sways. The elements are strong today, its a bit of a Mystic Monday and it’s impossible not be tuned in.
My brother was humming around me as I sat writing to the rain earlier; I lit his favorite scented candle to say “welcome” since spirits are drawn to scents they loved when they were here in human form. Love, he tells me, write about love.
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