As we stand beneath the circle of trees, a stirring rises within. Unexpected. Rousing. Connective. Familiar in the ways of half-remembered dream rites from distant pasts. I can feel the world turn, circled stars and seasons breathing through me.  It feels like coming home.     ..read more

It is late, my laptop says 1:50 am, but that is slightly misrepresented as I am in BC and there is an extra hour to content with.  Still, the night has long since entered my room, and I can feel the weight of a world sleeping, like a heavy blanket dampening the air.   A second wind comes upon me, and I am restless in my wanderlust desires.  In my need to connect, to find meaningful discourse within the forums of my mind.  I write as though I am discovering language again, after months of parched expectancy.   Tonight, there is a lushness to my fingers as they break thr ..read more

There are choices I have made that even years later weigh heavily upon me.  I consider that weight to be a good indication of growth, reflection and a tenacious commitment to truth and integrity.  My reflections and writings are a way for me to unravel myself and the unconscious fault lines within me.  I think we all have them; only through the application of specific pressure in specific areas do these fault lines crack within us all.  It is a gift that I now know the landscape of my own vulnerability and I actively try to choose differently than in my past as I have come ..read more

I see you. You with the kind heart and soft eyes. You with a past you still wear on your skin but that cannot hide the shape of your spirit within. You who lay in bed last night crying your burdens out after everyone was asleep, a testament to how deeply you feel in this world. You who hide your pain to keep your children safe in a world that often is not. You who love. You who despair. you who loaugh. You who hold on. You who hope. You who dream. You who survived to be here, alive in this moment.  I see you and you are beautiful.  ..read more

When the silences Of expectations Leave the dusty echo Of words unspoken When the aching puzzle You’ve left is broken And the gaping sound of it Cracks me open Still I can’t let you go Every paper thin note of me says I can’t let you go I can’t ever go home When the soft folds of memory Hold my tattered thoughts of you Of you, of you When you slip away  Like mist in the morning Shapes of shadows all That’s left of the moment When the siren’s call Still holds me captive A crumbling faith of  Spellbound stories Still I can’t let you go The scattered words left all say I can’t let yo ..read more

As many of your know, the last 3 years for me have been largely consumed by the process of separation and divorce.  It has been a journey that has been painful and conflict-ridden and yet ripe with opportunities for growth and reflection.  The journey of divorce, for me, has been taxing and long, and has consumed so much energy, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well.  As an introvert and a feeling person, conflict is wearying and difficult for me, often leaving me drained and listless.  I have tried to be good to myself over this time, not requiring more ..read more

Heroes.  Villains.  White. Black.  Somehow I live more comfortably in the shades of grey between ..read more

A New Year tiptoes in upon cascading snow drifts leaving nothing to mark the passage but a whitewash of the year before.  I have never been one to create resolutions, it always felt a bit contrived to me, but somehow this year, I feel the urge to write down goals and desires, to pull to me the life I want to be immersed in.   I can sum up all my wants into a simple phrase:  I want to grow beauty; in music, in writing, in space, in photography, in every interaction I have.  Growth.  It feels like I have nurtured the seeds long enough within.   My mind is a bit rust ..read more

March rides in on winter's roar.  Though the sun's light is mellow against the edges of the horizon, the wind has teeth, sharpened by the unseen snow in the air.  I however, am snuggled warm on my couch, with the yellow glow of vintage lamps creating my own sanctuary.  I mean to write, something...anything but all my words are churned conflicting in a tempest of thought, memory and emotion.   I turn 40 in a month and a half, a number that means pretty much nothing to me.  I don't feel 40, but then again, what does 40 feel like?  Maybe it feels like this, a soft co ..read more

Hiraeth, a Welsh word, has no true English equivalent. Perhaps the closest is homesickness or nostalgia. There is a saying "you can never go home" and I think perhaps that is a good approximation of Hiraeth. Home can be a memory, half buried within the landscape of the mind, a fragment of time just beyond that horizon; surely around the next infinite bend. Childhood is a place we can never go back to, it has formed the bones of who we are now, but is fundamentally inaccessible, except in brief lucid snapshots. Perhaps Hiraeth is like trying to find the lost pathways back to each soul changing ..read more