Wonder & Awe

Find moments to be in wonder & awe
Engage the silence…every’thing’ unspoken
‘Hear’ the mystery in the absence of words.

A Flock of Preachers

A Flock of Preachers

Before dawn
they rose—
each ‘one’
finding a pulpit.

The sun
still hours
from cascading
herself over the
horizon’s line…

The preachers
seemed to dip
‘into’ the Milky Way
and dangled
from Orion’s Belt.

They gathered
only ‘enough’
to begin
their sermon.

the homily began.
A concerto of
voices echoed
throughout the land.

One message
ran into another
and still another
raced in
creating a ‘harmony’
not composed—
its symphony
never duplicated.

No one ‘sang’ about
‘wrong’ doing
or sin…
The message was not about being
saved or forgiven.

The Gospel Truth
from these
feathered preachers
was a simple note
sung in their own key.

Yet—when they sang
they were ONE.

The sun rose
by the sound of love.

The Path

The Path

I don’t wish to
travel your path—

Don’t misunderstand me…
It’s ‘your’ path—
Your truth—
Your good—
Press on.

Let me have my path.
Let me create my
footprints in the sand—
I don’t wish to walk
in yours—NEVER did.

You go on
inviting others
but not to find ‘their’ way—
but, yours.

let us all take our
own ‘steps’ even if
we should fall again
and again—
give permission to allow
others to stand
on their own…

Then we can all discover
we are on the same
path and walking
that is led by
no one except
what calls all
beings/all things
into existence…

Ushering in the
harmony of peace
even in
chaotic and
uncertain times.


a gift that births itself each day not only in a single day…
How we choose to celebrate love clearly reveals whether or not we’ve gotten the message—
Still, love pours itself out even in chaos for love cannot deny itself…it is always born again.

It’s Coming…

“Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow…”



A friend brought me this
and so I sat
with it…

and I sat

and still I sat.

NOW—here on this—
on this approaching solstice,
the shortest day of the year…
while darkness moves into
the landscape to wash away
the colors meshed
in all the wonder…

‘gloaming’ sparkles

never ceasing to be
even before the final
hours of light’s setting.

A Clock

A Clock

I hear the
sound of a clock,

Still, I’m lured
by the silence between
each rhythmic tick—

I’m held…
holding my breath ever
so still
wanting this ‘space’ to
never cease.
But, then, another ‘tick’…

so like my mind
holding thoughts
and then the pause
and the surrendered
‘nothingness’ bathes my soul


reminding me it is NOT
about time,
but the sacred spaces
in between

where we come back to
our ‘Oneness’
as if for a first time.

His Name was Anthony

His Name was Anthony

I happened to glance at the clock…
it was 2:09 a.m.

Before heading out the door—
the words,
“Go…bring glad tidings to the poor,”
spoke to me.

Bursting into the frigid
air, I immediately spotted Luna—
she was covered in a swath
of clouded vapor.
Still, her luminous light
split the veil between us.

I spoke out, “glad tidings to You,”
and I began my trek.

I breathed in the chill of
the early morning…

I was not even 10 minutes
into my pace when
I heard cans spilling onto the concrete,
glass spattering all over the roadway
AND then a river of expletives…
white water, rapids spewing
from a stranger’s lips—
his cart full of cans
swallowed by a pothole.

I approached the man and said,
“I’ll help.”  He was surprised by my
presence and the first words spoken—
“I’m sorry for my language…
I got this far and…”

I said, “It’s alright—let’s pick-up
the cans,” and the man said, “Thanks.”

We pitched the empty bottles back
into the cart—the grocery store
ONLY a stone’s throw away.
The man said, “I don’t want any
of this glass to pop a tire…”  I said,
“Don’t worry we’ll sweep it to
the side.”

We worked together and before
going each our separate way,
we lifted the cart from its
abyss.  The stranger said,”Happy Holidays” and I replied,
“Merry Christmas”—
The man said, “Yeah,
Merry Christmas—Thank you.”

I looked into the night sky
and began to walk…
I was only a short distance
when the stranger shouted back,
“Hey, I AM Anthony.”
I waved back,  “Sandy.”

A shooting star spilled down
from the sky above

and I whispered,
“Thank you Anthony for
brining ‘me’ glad tidings.”


An Open Window

I Don’t know how to love like You

I Don’t know how to love like You

My words so few
cannot express
‘love’ as You.

I rise each day…
with urgency I embrace
the morning.
I attempt to kiss each
star, but I’m at a
loss as the celestial sky
twirls on—

Before the coming of the sun,
I bend my knee…
I cup my hands—
a solitary attempt
to usher in this rising.
AGAIN, I’m so lost in the
rays penetrating the sky—
my hands open…
You sink in.

The day makes way—
the quiet I knew
cars honking, music blaring,
machines operating—
a siren ‘crying,’
and I try to send ‘love’ to
‘that’ other the ambulance
seeks to get to—
I know You
ALREADY there.

The orange ball
has begun its descent—
All the time that has
All the opportunities to
love, I’ve missed.
BUT—You have not.

You have loved me
through this single day…
caught my words—
held my being—
You reside in me…
allowing my ‘ear’ to
hear a single ‘cry.’
If it be all I
cared for this day,
Your love taught me it
is enough.

I’ve heard.

I close my eyes this night
knowing I don’t know
how to love like You.

Still…I AM your
HEART place.

A loving place in which to
rest .


The Light

Write while the light is dim—this way you’ll stop going over and over the same ole’ line
and trust the ‘light’ already shining in your words.

Sweet Communion

“Sweet Communion”

I Believe

I Believe

Eyes wide open—
I looked out ‘into’ the sea.

So many times before,
my heart’s rhythm was lured
by the ebb & flow
—the rush of the wave
crashing onto the shore.

But, today
as I glanced,
I noticed something changed
—it was I.

I no longer needed any
scientific data to explain
to me the unfathomable
depths of the ocean
—unexplored reefs where
new marine life NEVER

I no longer needed the
astronomer’s vision clarifying
the movement of the tides
and how it connects with
the moon’s orbit.

I no longer needed any
theological understandings of
creation’s beginnings—
no one needed to clarify
the soft void that made
its way in emptiness.

This day I understood
even though I’ve stood
in this place countless times…

I do not need anyone
else to understand
what it is I’ve come to
know exactly as I do—
my conscience guides me.

I do not plan to stand in
any academic arenas
defending my thesis on
what it is I NOW know.

I’m not planning to stand
in any sanctuaries
‘preaching’ the lesson
I’ve learned because it is
not held in any book,
chapter or verse.

Staring out into the infinite
mystery of the sea—
treading outward miles
after miles…
inwardly I dream,
I vision and hope.
I ‘hear’ my breath in
harmony with the sweet
rush of endless water


The Artisan’s Hands

The Artisan’s Hands

A piece of glass in the Artisan’s hands… ‘every’ distinct cut—a Masterpiece.

A Cry in the Night

A Cry in the Night

A crescent moon
hung in the night’s sky
as the stars danced
in her shadow’s fullness.

I walked
bathed in haunting
silence.  Only the
choir of insects
dared to fill
the hidden emptiness
of unseeing.

Suddenly, in the darkness
two shadows appeared
walking on all fours—
bushy tails leaped in the
air and they departed
into the forest.

It was then—
what seemed for only a moment,
BUT went on for what seemed
an eternity…even the
choir froze ceasing its

A victim of the night
crying out—caught in
the perils of the shadowed figures—

they held on until
the last cry of
the helpless creature
ceased to be.

I walked on
‘holding’ the sound in
my inner depths
praying ‘it’ did know
it was not ALONE
in its farewell
from this Life.

When comes “our” taking
from this world—
AND yes, it will come

may we know our passing
is never ALONE.


A Lion’s Roar

A Lion’s Roar

Beneath heaven’s dome
I walked
gazing at the sparkling
jewels overhead—

each glistened casting
hues of universes beyond reach.

Mesmerized, I ‘traversed’
the hidden landscape
until a sudden roar like that of a
lion ripped through the
silky sheet of

The roar did not cease—
it only grew in strength
and in its wake
picked up leaves…
they, like dancers,
whirled about and were pulled into
a tumult of spirals.

I was caught in
‘this’ force.
Another roar attempted to
push me back.
‘We” were like two rams
locking horns…
both of us ‘immovable’
and yet, pushing forward
as if in labor.

A hard ‘drop’
hit my face—
then another and

The torrential spring
casting itself downward
struck my being
until I was soaked.

Dripping, I could not raise
my head.  Still,
I pressed forward
trusting my steps
in the unseeing.

The starry sky was gone—
the black canvas
painted over by
searing clouds.

I stopped—for one brief moment
I felt I was face to
face with the lion…
I realized THEN I was so ALIVE

I joined in the roar.


A Laundry Day

A Laundry Day

Give yourself
a laundry day.

Begin by ‘gathering’
ONLY yourself.

Set the water temperature
to a warm, comfortable
setting and step ‘in.’

Reach for that delicate
bar of soap…
Let it caress the outer
layer  of your ‘surface’—
then, add a little softener.

Allow a gentle rinse—
breathe and spin
a few times is all
that is necessary.

Let the cycle come to
an end.
The waters are off—
Drip Dry.

Wring yourself
with a soft towel
before going outside.

Once you’re outdoors
find a place to hang—
I mean—HANG.

Let the moist, dewless
air of the morning
greet you and cover
you with the scent of
a NEW day.

Allow the pollen dander
(sorry if you have allergies)
to coat you—

Come ALIVE as a bee
buzzes near you and a
dragonfly lands on your
shoulder—gazing into
your eyes.
I dare you NOT to hear
it speaking to you.

Bask in the sun’s glow.
Let your body bronze
no matter your skin
For ‘you’ with lighter skin…
find a shaded place.
Oh…but do find some
moments under that
fire ball.

Listen to the orchestra
all around you.
A cacophony of sounds
AND it plays
in harmony…
don’t rush this Laundry Day.

As dusk begins
to make its way in…
take yourself down.
Fold yourself in a
lush comforter.

Close your eyes
and before you nod off—
bow in gratitude
for a Laundry Day.

Once you’ve tried it—
Really tried it—
You’ll ALMOST wish
you could do laundry
















(Visit a Divine Launderer, my friend Suzi Banks Baum—laundrylinedivine.com
she knows Laundry)

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?






Half-A-Century Old…And I’ve Lost My Religion

Half-A-Century-Old…And  I’ve Lost My Religion

to some…a mere passing of years
to others…a million years.

Quietly immersed in the cup of
my life,
I’m pouring out what is
no longer necessary—
my religion.

It is not like I woke today
and began spilling out
all unnecessary ‘content.’

Actually, without even
realizing it—it was as if a
stone had been rolled away.

That’s it exactly—
a stone rolled back which
covered an entrance to my
inner chamber—
light seeped in…

A warmth unable to be
put into words— now experienced.

Nothing made sense.
There was no great epiphany
and still everything was
and, I sat in the silence…

That one stone—
a corner stone
once removed while
all the other stones began
to topple.

The weight of distorted
messages broken down—
the incense now
able to rise.

The wooden pews…
the pointed steeples…
the stained glass windows…
no longer block
the relational wonder of
pulling me
from death to life.

Do I understand all that
is happening?—goodness, no!

I move from the rubble
not lost—but for a
first time…FOUND.

I can hardly begin to
anticipate what the next half
century shall unearth


I can only utter,
“What a time for celebration.”




Rooted…in the soils of time!


Enter…the door is WIDE open.

Mystical Union

Mystical Union

When darkness and light
met a first time,
no ONE
viewed this MYSTERY…
yet, ‘we’ have been ‘invited’
to be a part of
this mystical union
EVERY day and
in every ‘single’ breath.

Flowers in the Desert

Yes…there really are flowers in the desert.



My Beloved and I—
we have been caught…

Our love could not be

So long…so very long
I wanted to keep this secret
locked away
but, when we sit—
gazing ‘into’ one another’s eyes…

When we touch—
a warmth connecting our be-ing…

We breathe in intoixicating


All this intimacy
breathed out…

Love cannot keep itself
locked away
or poured out
only upon a select few.

Love ‘spreads’ for all
to receive…
if ever it excludes,
it is NOT love.


Dust the House

Dust the House

It’s time to dust the house—
a thorough sweeping required…

The cob webs…
they’ve hung far too long—
even the spiders have disappeared.

The mats…
shake them~~~hang them from a branch
so the air can find hidden passages and
remove the clogged rubbish.

Open windows…
‘see’ what you have been missing—
the glass, so marred by debris has
clouded your sight.

Pull open the cupboards.
Your heart’s in there—
set the table with the dish wear that
has been unused…

The banquet is at hand—
invite all to this communion.

The Enclosure of Silence

The Enclosure of Silence

So long
creeping into a mystery
of unknown—

The branch
I’ve rested upon
being weighted
down by this
new transformation
only now
preparing to set itself

No rush—
this would only
put an end
to what has seemed
an eternal wait.

It’s so warm
in here—
cozy really—
Still…I cannot

my being pushing,
attempting to find

The space—
This enclosure of silence…
“Holy Womb”—
preparing for the
newness of life.

“Forever” changed by
the seasons
year after year.

Not a “creator’s” story,
endless, timeless

it is now time to
break into song.



my words were
as drops of rain
steadily falling
from heaven’s

One after
casting pools
across a vast
area of land.

I chose to step
into a pool…
the water knee deep

then another—
waist high.

I continued
stepping in and out
of the waters

until I
dipped into a sea
‘well’ over my head.

Nothing beneath
my feet—
I was treading

it dawned on me,”I’m bathing in
my own tears”!

There all along—
a ‘hot spring’
inside me.

It took
time to sense
the ‘healings’
going on—

Not physical,
but yes, physical healing
yet—so, so much more.

A light was
now shining
within the pool—

You can jump in

but, if ever you
see me floating on
my back
give me a moment

at times
I need to
bathe in the pool

Clouded Bubbles

Color bathes itself in a sky of blue satiny water WAITING for
the gazer to dip into her puffy clouded bubbles.



Like a race horse
set in ‘the gate,’
I awaited the
sound of the bell.

There it was—
off I went
but, I was not
in a race.

I was so sure footed…
my hooves
kicking up the ground
beneath me.

I was beyond
a trot…
a gallop…
it was almost as if I were
a pace
so fast

I began to
notice I was ‘missing’

rushing here—
trying to get this done
or the next task

By the end of the day
I stumbled—

Yes, so unnaturally
I lay broken—
enough to ‘feel’
the very fibers in
my being crying out

I gathered myself ‘enough’
to recognize the
stumbling in
my mind

the sounds, the noises, the
distractions—all the
vain lures wearing down,
perplexing my soul.

So hard I stumbled in my
mind until a silent
moment ‘engulfed’ the
toxicity of endless
superficial longings.

A tender swoosh of wind
ruffled my mane
and I could ‘see’ again
the road before me.


If ‘gravity’ should one day fail you…consider it a gift—
you’ve finally let-go of everything holding you down.

Upside Down

Upside Down

That is exactly
what you have done…

Will ‘anything’ ever be
right side up again?
This I doubt!

You pushed me ‘down’
into the soil…
replanted my B-ing—

In the darkness…
like a ‘weed’
I began to stretch,
trusting only
what you give me.

You said, “Trust me.”
I let go of my ideas
and found myself breaking
through the crust of
the earth.

Bathed in your sun…
Nourished by the rains…
Frozen by winter’s blast…
Reborn in the chaos of
Spring’s re-creation…

I grow—freely…
simply ‘within’ the gift of your

A weed—indeed.
Spreading across
a wild, daunting
scape of land
stretching for endless miles

seen only by those
whose hearts
lie open.

Those willing to
walk a path without
the need for accolades,
recognition, prestige—

Those saying,
“I need less and less and less—
nothing more.”

The garden filled
with plenty—
Why tarry in a
false field of
bouquets that
do not last.

Shadow land

Shadow land…why, why do we try to add colors
to the shading of your brilliant black and white hues?

The Veil

The Veil

It’s gone—
it’s been torn in two.

Stop trying to mend
or stitch it back together.

Don’t attempt
to suspend it.

Down, down…its been removed.
Look, look at your naked self.
Remove the veil—
it can be ‘seen’ through anyway.

The only one not ‘seeing’
is YOU…

You see in others
the you that you pretend you’re not.

The veil’s gone—
see your shadows…
try making friends.

You may even start holding hands.



The Way~~~anything BUT narrow.
And, we are ONE on this collective path.



I’ve disappointed many
persons in my lifetime…
I’m certain I’ll
disappoint a few more.

NOT by conscious choice—
certainly not
…in fact, my entire being
has held the weight of
the voices letting me know
or not know by silencing
themselves from my world.

For those moments
I ask forgiveness—it was
all I had left.

Beaten—not by anyone else
BUT by me…I cried
and the Source of Life
pulled me to a place where
ONLY “we” were together.

Without words
I was held—
realizing “I” was allowing
the disappointments to erase
my goodness.

Is this a confession?
Hell, yes…
I vanished downward AND
found me—
found the me who is, was, and
always will BE—a creation
that moves, breathes and in my
lack of perfection, I
know NOW how to rise.

I don’t want what has
been to go away—
Still, I do not wish
to be seeped in it.

Like a burning flame—
The fire in my heart…
warm and tender.

I’ll share my embers from
time to time.
But, right now—
Yes, in this moment…
I sit ‘ALONE’—
Yet, NOT by myself, but
in this impregnable warmth.


In American Culture I would define SUCCESS=
being who it is you ARE and nothing MORE.



In a quiet room
she sits beside
her mother—
the last breath
shatters the silence
and she holds the
hand that once
held hers.

A man touches a
soft cloth to
his Beloved’s forehead.
Sixty-six years of
wedded bliss…
his wrinkled chin
touches her cheek.
He remembers their first
“I do” and cannot
imagine being anywhere
else in this moment.

A child
crippled from birth—
the parents take turns
and often work together
caring for their
The young one lets out
an utterance that no one
Still, the couple
embraces for they ‘hear’
the words.

You ask your purpose in life?
So many ‘seek’ to make
their mark…
To write their stories on the
pages of History…
To leave their works in
prestigious galleries…
To build their bank accounts
while never learning to breathe.

Find your purpose…
search your heart.
May you discover
it has ONLY been to Love.















(Dedicated to Mikey 1917-2005)



Look, look…it had to break.
Now you know the heart truly exists.

Right Now—Inches Away

Right Now—Inches Away
(Inspired under the wise tutelage of June Gould, Poet/Teacher,
Skidmore College 2014/ womensvoiceswomensvisions.com)

Since you asked, I will answer you…
You wear a collar and you think it gives
you permission to break open TRUTHS—

I DON’T want your collar and you’ll never
imprison this soul from breathing in
‘Creation’s Truths.’

You wear dresses…come, come now—look in the
mirror—Oh, I see, you call it a HABIT…
Keep your HABIT, but funny, when I put it on
you say it’s NOT the right dress for me…
WAIT, it fits—BUT, I don’t wish to wear
it AND I’m not going to put on those
‘right’ kind of dresses so that, you know,
I’ll then fit in—that’s what you’d like.


You do not even wish to HEAR who I AM—
Pardon me?  You’re asking another question…
BUT, did you hear me?

I’m trying to answer you.  But, you’re only
playing a charade as if you care…
YOU say women need to take more active roles.

HERE I AM—see me?
Oh, you do and that is why you’re going onto
the next question.

What I mean to say is…
You still see yourself as the keeper of
the keys…you’re the one with the collar
and it’s getting tighter and tighter.
You’re gasping for air and you could
UNLOCK your own deceit,
your self absorbed rules—
and start celebrating around a
circular table…
Only smooth curves—
an endless flow.

She who is can be found.
YOU CAN no longer hold her back.
She is ALIVE. She breathes—she dwells
in all.  Yes, You, too…

Your porcelain Mary—she’s crumbling
and Her pieces are alive…

In this time of chaos—
amidst the rubble…


Never will you bind her.
She is the Mother.
She hears Her children’s cry.
She who is

Right NOW—inches away.