Thursday, September 29, 2016


  • It’s how I communicate with my soul
  • It’s spiritual practice
  • It’s how I see myself, and my habits. It’s how I look at the framework of my behavior and assess the gap between who I am and who I want to be.
  • It’s how I step outside myself. It’s how I step into myself.
  • It’s how I bear witness.

Grace & the Hot Air Balloon

You are seen. You are known. You are heard. I see you. I feel you. You matter. There is life after disaster. If you’ve made it here, then you’re home.

I know what it’s like to live inside your shadow-side for months and months at a time. I know what it’s like to feel shame. I know what it means when a heart hurts. I know what it means to cry. I know what it feels like when you don’t know why.

Here you get to start over and you get to begin. This is the place where it all sinks in. Together. We’re in this together.

Grace is good weather on a hot air balloon day. It’s red, the basket is big enough. Climb in. Real shit, not stark black and white. All that color and a whole sky to fly in.

Tuesday, September 20, 2016

My Dream for You

I dream that you’ll know peace. I dream that you’ll learn to believe in the rhythm of your own heart. That doubt will slip away as quickly as it comes and you’ll sit in your center. I dream that you’ll meet love and you’ll be ready when it comes. I dream that your finances will be spectacular. That you’ll wake in the morning ready for the world rather than anticipating disaster. I dream that you’ll know the ease of being. I dream that you’ll know movement of your body as something sweet, that you’ll know your own skin as home. Not just comfortable, but thriving, not settling for the mundane. I dream that you’ll see magic in everything you do, that you’ll feel brand new and know that you are just getting started, no matter how old you are. I dream you’ll have everything you’ve ever wanted and know that deserving does not require lessons. I dream that life will be enough for you and you will rise to the occasion, yelling loudly: challenge accepted. I dream that you will heal from all the pain and the mistakes and the self-criticism. I dream you will know deep belly laughter and the wisdom of your ancestors. I dream that you will adventure and grow wings so big no cage can hold you. I dream that you will bare your soul to others so that they may see you with eyes and hearts. I dream that sex will be a welcome act of love. I dream that you will know what it’s like to not feel like you have to dye your hair or paint your face with makeup, that you would do these things for fun not because you think you’re prettier this way. You’re pretty as you are, it goes without saying. I dream that you will know and love the peace of sleep and wake, ready, when the time comes.  

Prayer for the Mountain, Prayer for the Hike

I want to say Thank You. The way
You made it clear which way to go.
You rose up to support my steps
and gave your vastness to my breath.
Here, I know what it means to know.
I do not have to rest or hide in costume
or worry or hurry. Here, it is okay
for me to forget. I give it all to you,
the mountain, whose loneliness
must be greater than my own.
But you, you who knows the whole sky

as home, let me in without question.  

Tuesday, September 13, 2016

Sitting In Traffic

The intersection is square. The lights blink green, yellow, red. Stop, don’t go. Wait. Be patient. Let the rise and fall of your chest rest into rhythm. Wrap your fingers around the wheel, but be still. Listen. Hear the hum of rolling down the window. Breeze. Arizona heat. City desert. Just me. 

Being a Mom

It’s like growing a new finger. The most perfect of all your 20 digits. The way this one looks and moves is such a wonder. It’s thick, smooth and a little bit blue at the tip. It sits between the middle and ring fingers, on the left hand where it can touch everything. Every experience is new. Even the things you’ve been doing a whole lifetime: cutting fruit, writing, holding hands. You have to learn a new meaning to one hand washes the other. This one digit changes all the others. It makes room where there isn’t and when you bring your hands to your heart in prayer…it feels different. More real, more grounding as if you’ve only just gotten here. When you beat the drum of your life, it’s a new rhythm. One you don’t recognize. Even after years of seeing it there, you understand it as pure magic. 

Wednesday, September 7, 2016

Let the Future Vision of Yourself Be Your Hero

Photo Cred: Paul Jacobs

She didn’t want to go. Three years here, in this condo. So much laughter. She loved the high, wide ceilings, the wood floors, the cabinets. The extra bathroom with its extra sink. It doesn’t matter that the toilet stopped working 2 months ago, she muttered. After locking that last door, she turned her eyes to the road. The gas pedal purred against her toes.

Tirta Empul & the Center of the World

With red flowers between my fingertips I prayed, palms pressed together at my forehead. Lift this burden from me. Let me start over.

Breathe deep. 

Tuck them behind your ear, he said, and get in. Cold water. Deep laughter. God watching. I was hoping he’d clean up all the ways I twisted myself into disaster: the smoking, the bad eating, the constant you-suck-at-life chatter. Wrapped in the sarong, patterned shades of brown, orange and cream…I felt myself very earthly.

All of those forgiveness flowers floating. Confetti on the water. Offerings were stacked on the statues. Crammed. In. Everywhere. Square trays made of reeds stuffed with tokens, bits of candy and string. Proof that we’d give anything to make our lives better. The smell of incense reminded me of a funeral pyre. We followed each other, spout-to-spout, pausing to pray, to ask again and again at each fountain.

The pool reflected the grey-green stone, I could see the bottom, the pebbles smooth beneath my feet. One foot in front of the other. The path, the long distance from home to here. Halfway around the world to break the pattern. Monster koi fish close enough to touch. Those faces, whiskered wisdom, those feathery fins. Their calico patterns of orange, yellow, white, black, silver and red. Fat, slippery, good-luck-dragons.

Be brave.

To purify by water. To wash clean. If purification isn’t a heavenly virtue, it should be. Purify: to remove the dirt, to make new. To start over. A clean slate. Rebirth. A way of viewing yourself in the world…as a person. To once again make whole the parts life chips away.