My Soles

My Soles

I’ve been to mountain tops
and descended into canyons.
STILL, I know
where my soles touch the Earth.
In this moment…
when I pause and capture the gaze
from where I NOW stand…
THIS place…
this ‘holy’ place is
right where I AM to be.

Each day…her Camino

Each day…her Camino

She rises—
darkness seeping
through the vertical blinds
draping the windows
in her room.

Her body
no longer moves
with the freedoms
it once knew—
her living ‘tent’
awkwardly accepts
the graces of her
shell inviting her
to awaken to
this day.

She grabs the sheets on her bed
lifting herself…
it’s a dance—
she, the orchestrator,
of every tender step.

She looks at a
wall in her room—
focusing on a pencil sketch of
the Christ she seeks
and then she whispers,
“give me just enough
for this day.”

She never asks
anything else for herself!

The methodical ballet takes place—
washing, dressing
yanking clothes from their
hangers because it is
the ONLY way she
can reach them.

She sets herself
for the trail ahead.
Her ‘pack’ carries her—
her slender arms
reach for the wheels
that move in a direction
she can still ‘control.’

Her mind may be fading
and this she knows…
so often she asks
forgiveness, “Please I’m not
thinking clearly today—
help me, will you?”

A tear slips from my eye
as she makes her way
trusting I’m behind.
I think of all the
days when no one is

to ‘see’ her courage—
to ‘hear’ her prayer—
to ‘touch’ her hand.

But…this is her Camino.
No one will write her
grocery list of kindnesses
she’ll share this day.

So many around her are unable to
‘do’ things on their own.
She’ll open the creams
for their coffee…she used
to push those in the wheel chairs
until she found herself
in one.

Her Camino in life
a daily adventure—
journeying to breakfast
lunch and dinner.

Her favorite path,
the “outdoors”—no matter the
She loves the sun on her
face, knowing
her sunset to be fading

and HOPES her Camino—
the one here, NOW, continues to touch
others with all her attempts of goodness.

This is her mind…
it’s her Camino
and her wheels are still
turning—her feet helping
to guide.

It is never about time…
it’s simply about each moment she has
As night sets,
she looks at the pencil sketch
once again…

She says ‘goodnight’ to her love
who has already made his way
through this world and
then she thanks the Christ
for what is her only treasure—

Her life ‘lived’ just for today.


One by one the leaves let go of the branch that held ‘them’ through this season.
‘They” fall landing upon earth’s blanket—in their death their distinct ‘being’
NOW born into an eternal “Oneness’ with Creation.

A Weaver

A Weaver

A field of cotton—a store house
for a Weaver with ‘prickled’ hands.

Yet, the piercing must
take place to bring
each tender cloud ‘puff’
to the spool.

Twisting, spinning, twirling—
a process…
now, a fine piece of

A loom AWAITS the
strand like a lover
its Beloved.

a tapestry unfolding…
a garment to be adorned.

Another ‘piece’ of cotton
added, a different shade
blending into a _________!

Oh, ‘NO’
a tear—
a separation.

All this work—
Seasons of preparation—
Weeks of picking—
Hours preparing.

The Weaver
fashions a knot—
a beautiful, life-giving knot.

Like an umbilical cord
cut and tied,
‘something’ birthed into
this masterpiece.

To some eyes a flaw,
an imperfection.
Yet, to the Weaver—

Another strand
follows after another…

Malala Yousafazi

“I raise up my voice—not so that I can shout,
but so that those without a voice can be heard.”

Malal Yousafazi Nobel Prize Winner

Ashes & Fire

Ashes and Fire

are embers
set ablaze~~~
ignited upon our
entry into
the vast mystery
we call

Sparks ascend—
at one time
there existed a
living inferno…
yet, ‘some-thing’
smothered the flame.

Call it what
you will—
(don’t waste time debating what it is or was),
but notice
all the
‘ashes’ left
years gone by.

Voices from our
past breathe
through the soils of time
reminding us
‘we’ are now
the light.

What will you
do with the
bubbling up inside you?

A volcano
waits, and waits,
and waits.
It knows not
the time the
lava will at last
‘freeing’ itself
(its natural flow).

This moment—
this NOW
needs your
to rise…rise
up from the black

the old
hidden self
buried beneath the
‘Capture’ the air.

Light this
world awaiting
the YOU that
you were
already born ‘into.’

Inspired by the writings of Emily Dickinson

The Untamed

The Untamed

A mist blankets
the ground
and a breath
mixes with every
visible droplet.

One solid hoof step
beats upon the earth.
A sound like thunder—
the dirt joining
the elements
dangling in the air.

A single grunt—
a young one comes
awkward in its
its mouth
reaching her mother’s nipples
to suckle the milk.

The majestic creature—
a solid mass of
sculpted as if
Michelangelo still exists.

Engraved into creation
‘she’ eats of the
fertile plains—
Mother Earth providing
so she can give
sustenance to the
one who sprang from
her womb.

Pray we learn.
Hope we are listening.
The ‘wild’ teaches.
The untamed grasp
the reality of Life’s Abundance.

Look in her eyes.
She trusts what is
while greed devours
the gift of the land.

Let us not lose what
little we have left
or else our ending
will discover NEW meaning
with or without us.



I don’t know what to say.
Every time I pen
a word, a sentence, a

off I go—
not clear
where the ink will run.

I touch the paper…
lift up—
the tender sounds of
dawn’s ‘unheard’ entrance
wrap around me.

Soft light appears
while a chorus of
insects sings an
endless hymn of

To write
its daily
nothing timed,
fixed, thought through

only its
to sing
with such
joyous bliss…

“HELP” arrived—
all the timeless

simply seem
to get it!
How can they ever
stop their music
when given
this life to live—

what say I?

Why not drop mussels instead of bombs

Why not drop mussels instead of bombs

We sat by the sea
a friend and I
delighting as the tide rolled out.

The smell of salt
and the wind in our hair
set the stage for the
performance soon to begin.

They hovered in flight—
the gulls dancing as if
dangling from a string.

Then, with one fluent motion,
they submerged with a splash
re-emerging with delicate morsels
clutched in their beaks.

Back into the sky they flew with
glee, but ‘ahhhhh’ it is here
the climax begins.

Over the rocks the gulls hovered
to drop their dainty treasures—
then, fluttering down to the table
they gathered to feast.

A banquet in hand…
astonished, I stared—
how simple a lesson
is shared.

We humans think we have all the
answers.  I chuckle as
I wonder who really has the brains.

Imagine—instead of dropping bombs
from the sky, we dropped
savoring mussels.

Imagine feeding countless with
morsels of food instead of
leaving countless dead.

Imagine spending monies skimming the sea
to feed the hungry instead of spending
millions on endless weaponry.

Before closing my eyes at the end of
the day, I thought of my friends
in the air…
God, if we only took time to
see what began before you
created us ‘humans,’
we’d savor the values of life
and all of creation’s constant

In Memory of Samira Saleh Al-Naimi

Lawyer and human rights defender Samira Saleh Al-Naimi
executed by ISIS in Mosul 2014-09-23

Words—her weapon of choice and she had the courage to ‘write’ them.

Art Work by S. Mattucci

Another Sunrise

Just another sunrise…
BUT, there will never again be one like THIS—THIS day!”

I AM the Goddess of Sarah, ‘Hagar’, Rebekah & Rachel

I AM the Goddess of Sarah, ‘Hagar’, Rebekah & Rachel

Imagine ‘hearing’ the story
via this ‘shoot’—

Can you listen with new ears?
The vine of this root is
being spread throughout the world.

Zipporah, wife of Moses…
she knew the land.
‘She’ lived beneath the mountain
and one day it called to her.

She left everything
uncertain of her search—
yet, some-thing tugged at her.

She climbed…
the mountain was rugged—
out of breath, she held her course
not understanding the prodding of
the spirit within her.

She came to a ledge—
and as she pulled herself up
as if onto a perch—
a light gleamed from a corner.

She rushed to ‘see’—
urgency filled her…
a new sense of strength
led her forward.

She could barely believe
what her eyes beheld—
illuminated in fire…
its branches blossomed
while set ablaze.

Zipporah thought, “How can this be?”

AND then a VOICE—

“Zipporah, I AM the Goddess of
Sarah, Hagar, Rebekah and Rachel.
Take off your sandals, my
the ground you stand upon is HOLY
and I want nothing more than for us
to be joined sole to soul.”

Zipporah heeded and walked to the
tree.  Her being burned with a
fire within her—
unlike one she had ever felt.

The Goddess spoke—
“Take your children and your
children’s children…it is
time to move on.”
Zipporah did not question—
she only asked, “How?”

The Goddess said, “You will
know as you go and I will
walk beside you.”

When Zipporah returned
from the mountain,
she gathered together the community—
they prayed and set out for
a promised land.

All at once, and pregnant with wonder,
they gathered what seemed necessary.
They entered new terrain, untethered
from a ‘system’ keeping them in
bondage, in despair—
they were now captives, set free,
walking without answers and
trying to build on HOPES and

As they walked—hundreds of people,
animals wandered and TRUSTED,
but the ground beneath their
feet began to shake,
“What could it be?”  This their
unspoken refrain as they
glanced at one another.

Looking back
in the distance
a rising of dust—
it was not a storm…
It was the very persons who held
them for so long— coming
NOW to retrieve them.  Their
system could not work
without them—

Fear settled upon several within
the community.  Now
directly in front of them—
a mighty sea.

Zipporah said, “Be not afraid.”
The Goddess parted the waters
and the people entered as if into a
birth canal— and they walked.

Massive walls of water
encompassed them.
As their pursuers entered,
they pressed forward with a
quickened pace—

As the last one crossed out of
the parted sea, the Goddess
began to cry—
Her tears filled in the path
parted by the waters.

At first the people began to
shout with jubilation as
they watched the waters
engulf their pursuers

BUT Zipporah proclaimed,
“It is not time to rejoice…
The Goddess has created ALL
life and to see any of her
‘beings’ wounded, destroyed
causes only grief.

We must press on mindful
of the Goddess’ ways—”

Each of us walks a path—
some may choose to stay
right here—it is their place.
Others will go on
searching or seeking…
it is their journey.
Others will_________________.

Transformed by the ‘unknowing,’
we are IN a promised land…

How will we care for it and
each other?