Sacred Dawn

This, my favorite portion of each twenty four,
When the connection to the universe is gauzy and clear.
You reach me without words, shame, or reticence,
Feel into me with intention, desire, imagining.
This simple request becomes a devotional offering.

You balance me on the tip of your tender hand,
You abandon caution and invite me to pay attention,
Watch with me as divine truth crystallizes
in the sweat between our mortal skins:
This is the place where souls cross over.

And the truth flows through me,
This moment saturated with the beauty
of this wordless and profound truth:
If I can know this here and now,
Surely it has been here in every moment.

Surely it was there when a new child passed that very spot,
Surely it is there in every waking moment
Ready to be seen beneath so many needless layers of busy.
How cavalier and careless we are with this,
How we forget to pay attention.

In this moment, my desire and intention shift
To a devotional offering to pay attention without caution,
To breathe deeply without shame or reticence
To be ever mindful that these hearts, these bodies, these moments,
Are the place where souls cross over.


March 2013


Lately, this extremely unfamiliar but very welcome deep calm has come for a visit. Paradoxically, it is a little unsettling in its newness. I laid down to meditate for 10 minutes yesterday and over an hour passed without my noticing the time. I sat at my computer to be productive and chose instead to wander aimlessly about the house adjusting little details.  I pulled into my driveway from errands, turned off the engine, and felt no desire to ambulate for many minutes.  I had an intention to create some art, but found a truth that I could summon the beneficial feelings of those practices without actually getting out of my seat.
I can see how some of the mystics get so unkempt, seriously. It’s a quiet that is more about my mouth not moving. I’m having stretches of no mind, no thought, no desire, even no desire for movement because this moment is so engaging. And then this moment and then look here is yet another that is so worthy of my full presence.
I’m sure there is a name for this. I know it is a normal part of the process, but my analytic mind insists it needs some context, lest I allow myself to fear the pull of drifting completely into stillness that won’t serve my basic needs like work and food and child care.
But when I think too hard on the nature of this stillness, my ego is all too pleased to respond with less peaceful thoughts, my learned personality offers to shatter the calm with obsession and worry over details, my mind rushes in to stir the pot.  But on a deeper level than these friends is the truth, and it gently emerges to offer them a reminder:
This is a practice. It takes time.

On being in the Middle

It’s okay to be – part way there.
To cry while I make love with you.
To still use words where touch belongs.
To feel sensations of which I can not yet speak.
To melt lovingly into your embrace,
while I use one hand to hold reverence
for my own fear of abandonment,
and another to cradle my desire
to not become trapped.
We are always right
in the middle of the beginning.
Beggining to follow this thread
that weaves seamlessly in and out
of your soul and mine,
to feel how it spans between
pleasure and purpose, safety and freedom.
I allow myself the space
to stand naked
in a puddle of love
and laugh with you.

Love note from my future partner (NOT a short story)

She’s been “leaving” me for years (it’s not really leaving, it’s more like minding the gap that is required to keep our spark moving). In the beginning, I found it heart wrenching, but now I just know it is part of how I am here to love her. It’s not my favorite part of our relationship, but I’m just resilient and persistent enough to let her go, and each time, trust a deeper knowing, that we aren’t done.

This leaving habit of hers pre-dates me. In her early relationships, she stayed in the house, but left the premises emotionally, shutting down and cutting off the pieces of herself she couldn’t figure out to bring into the particular dimensions of the puddle of light of that relationship. I can think of no worse way to love her than to enable that.

In the beginning, it was hard. A wordsmith, she can be quite convincing when she explained that she’d reached her end with me. Even as her heart and my heart spoke differently, her exit was very convincing. Sometimes loud, worse when it was cold stone silent. For a while, it seemed erratic. Over time, I came to understand the paradox that sometimes “both” can be true – that she needed to be away, and also that she was, even in her exit, permanently and inextricably inside our togetherness.

So we have a relationship that is like swiss cheese, and whether that is judged as good or bad is my choice. It is all of one connected piece, and I can focus on that, or it is full of holes and I can focus on that. I’ve learned to now hold those holy spaces with a loving caress. When she goes away, she goes to grow, to feel her own breath, to reconnect to the quiet signal that can sometimes be hard to hear in the cacophony of our robust and gregarious life of family, tribe and community (and my noise?). What I’ve learned is, that signal inside her that is so clear and discernible to me and sometimes so elusive to her is a broad and undeniable call back to community and connection. She lives in connection, and I’m blessed to be one of her chosen connections.

I keep the light on, enjoy time with my and our other beloveds, and look forward to meeting and starting anew with her again and again, each time greeted at my open door by a partner for this next patch of life that is an upgrade from the one that just left me.


On gratitude

Today I pretend that I am a bush woman, collecting firewood for my fire, my knife sharpened to carve goddess figurines when the chores are done.

But I know this is a choice.

It is just as likely today that I might click the up button on the thermostat, and those “chores” involve little more than merely feeding our excess into machines that do the work for me.

This is the blessing of living in the first world; this daily choosing to consume or not, to participate or not, to harm a little less today, handed to me well before the age of deserving, dubbing me winner of some cosmic lottery I never even bought a ticket for.

As if the real Goddess half way across the world has had anything to do with deserving her lack of choices.
No, there is no reason in how we’ve been assigned these very different human experiences. Her yearning for opportunity and justice, the intelligence and strength it takes to care for her babies is something I can’t even imagine, never mind compare mine to.

Today, as I feast with blessed friends, I pretend that I’ve done my part,
but know deep in my bones that being kind to the other elites
and hiding my privilege under gratitude does nothing for the other 7 billion today and their countless ancestors, upon whose suffering my pleasure is precariously perched.

Yes, I feel thankful. And know that simply isn’t the point.

Here come the words

Some times, I get to some new wisdom place where I get the insight, write it down, and then promptly forget it. I think this is one of those times.

Here’s what I know today: This self love thing is disruptive.

It doesn’t feel like the glowing light of an Angel or a Goddess. When it really landed that I’m not just a nice person connected to God, but that I am made of stardust, I am a Goddess, (thanks, HAI L5), first I got really angry. I felt Very UNlovable in this new state brought on by self-love! Interesting response. As a commitment to loving myself unconditionally, I allowed these negative feelings to arise nonetheless.

I felt this blind white fury for all the ways I’d allowed myself to be misunderstood and “improperly” treated. I was angry about how I myself had desecrated my own divinity. It came out (ungracefully) as blame towards those I’d conscripted to taunt myself with – the beloveds who I had put ahead of my own needs so I could blame them for not “letting me” be me.

I believe that when negative feelings come from genuine misalignment  of environment, or mistreatment, the solution seems obvious. But when we are all just “walking each other home,” fulfilling the soul-level contracts we’ve made to poke each other in tender places to keep each other awake, well, then what is one to do about the irritation of that action?

Trying to find the gratitude in the middle of all this fury and blame has been confounding, and yet it comes anyway. So now I’m coming to this deeper place of trusting that even my negative feelings – the deep fear, anger, sadness, blame — these are just lovely messengers. It is feedback that there is deeper listening or minor (to not minor) tweaks needed. I wrote THAT 2 years ago – it isn’t about the feelings. As this redawns on me, I recollect that the invitation is to stop fixing others so they can have their own relationship to these lovely little messengers from their souls (in the form of me poking them unwittingly or at least unskillfully).

And here is another knowing that hitched in on the self-love channel: in addition to all the loveliness I offer, I’ve also have been so controlling of others, and I’ve used my spiritual practice to learn to “let go” of some of the wrong stuff. Now, I’m feeling very deeply into the question of what is worth preserving. This controlling and surrender are sometimes just ways of covering, but what am I hiding from? (I don’t have an answer to that, but I’m pretty sure now that I’ve written it down, I’m going to get an answer and there’s a good chance it will also be an uncomfortable paradox!)

So, today I’m contemplating the relationship I have with my own discomfort, and that of my beloveds. On the one hand, I can commit to standing in my own light, letting others know of my audacious asks. The self love thing gets me to a place of at least imagining I deserve my asks. Yet, I’m still telling myself a story that when my choices, thoughts, feelings and actions land in someone else as a trigger to their pain, there’s some responsibility I have to help with that pain. If someone ELSE is the one doing the poking, and I see my beloved suffering, I find compassion. When it is me doing the poking, my compassion compels me to reduce “my part” in their suffering, and then the cycle of controlling and letting go of the wrong stuff begins anew.

My interpretation is: this finding the divinity in me, this finding my Goddess heart, is opening whole new layers of empathy.  My heart is breaking for other’s pain in a way I haven’t ever felt before. My compulsive need to make people not feel abandoned that defined my early adulthood had made way for an autonomy of letting people have their stuff because I NEEDED to focus on self care as I entered middle adulthood. I wanted self care, and I knew that self care without self love is just narcissism, and I don’t want any part of that. So good noticing that.

It feels like the next step goes back to loving others, but in a new way. As the self love really lands, as my heart opens and my energy field becomes so much more attuned to the collective, experiencing the pain my beloveds are experiencing is becoming not an intellectual or emotional exercise, but a heart of hearts deep soul thing. It hurts. And when I am helping in their discomfort, ah, there’s the rub. And I want to know what to DO about it.

Fortunately, sometimes I know stuff and write it down. So here’s some advice I have for me that I think wraps up this contemplation nicely:

“Love. This, so simple. Nothing to engineer, nothing to do right or wrong. Lovingly witnessing their becoming and joyously celebrating their choices and empathetically holding them in their struggles, even if their struggles include me, is all I’m required to do. Loving IS doing it right. This isn’t something to work on; it is a celebration of life.”


What to remember

You seem to think that there is something that needs healing in you?
Without negating your very genuine suffering, I wish to invite you to consider what may be more true than your commitment to the pain of what happened.

There was a moment when you knew. That first time another human held your quivering body and looked into your terrified eyes, we all saw your perfection. And then with that first breath, the layers of forgetting began to pile on. And so it was with each of the 7 billion and their countless ancestors; can you invite yourself to comprehend? Care (and lack of care) comes only from similarly veiled others.

You have moments of reckoning where you are reminded of this. Many call it empathy, or self care. Or love. Or enlightenment. It is that moment, as fleeting as that first, when you become aware that no one has harmed you that isn’t also terrifyingly harmed themselves.

Do not despair at this news! There is nothing to fix. Simply remember. Do what helps with that, hold rocks or slip beads between your fingers, gaze in that way that sees something more beautiful than you think your burdened heart can bear, and simply call your attention back to what you’ve known longer than you’ve known any of these stories.

I beg you, please don’t fool yourself into thinking you must dig through, analyze, or somehow comprehend what has happened. You are not meant to be an archeologist of happenings, and we need you for more essential work. As you grow your tiny protected heart from within this deeper place of truth, it will expand out and all those layers will simply crack and fall away of their own accord.

And there you will be, nothing to heal, ready again as you were that first moment to offer a daily practice and commitment to listen to the call that your only work here is to help others remember as well.


Dearest Beloved:

I’m not sure if this helps or just reminds you of your pain, but I want to share this excerpt from a book I’m reading as an example of how what you are experiencing isn’t unique or even a problem. It’s awakening. Call it soul, home, oneness, unity, connection, god. Don’t call it nothing. The people worth spending time with, they feel it too. This lady below didn’t understand until she was nearly 70. We are lucky to hear the call whenever we are ready.

“…Yes… the Longing. The Great, the Endless….
From the very beginning I never knew for what I was longing. Confused, tortured, the mind not working, I did not, could not, analyze it. It was just a longing from the very depth of my heart, the poignant feeling of some vanished bliss…

At first, it seemed just a longing for its own sake, for nothing in particular. At times it was more, at times it was less, but it always remained in the background, throbbing softly. I was never without it and it could grow so terrible at times that I would lose the will to live. There must be a reason for it…

I looked deeper into my self. Deeper and deeper still. And it took me some time to discover that it was in reality the same yearning I had had all my life, since childhood! Only now it was increased to the utmost degree. Even when I was quite small, every time I saw golden clouds at sunset or the sky so blue, or heard lovely music, or saw dancing sparks of sunlight on the trembling surface of the water – each time it came, an endless sadness, something was crying in me.

Often I wondered what this yearning could be. Never understood it, not really. Was it my heredity, the innate sadness of my people’s temperament? This morning I knew…for a few seconds it seemed to be breaking my heart open, so strong it was, causing even bodily pain. Then it ebbed away, leaving the understanding of it’s very nature behind… So simple.
All the time it was never anything but the cry for real Home!

We bring it with us into the physical life. We bring it from the other planes of being; it forms part of the very texture of our soul; it is intended to take us home again where we belong. Without this longing, which is a gift from this world, we, as deluded as we are, would never find the way home…”

– Irina Tweedie “The Chasm of Fire”

Clearing the Path

Spring is under here, I’m sure.
And no amount of shoveling will make it come faster.
This I know.
But I can clear a path for you.

No amount of meditating will make the sun rise faster.
This I know.
But this breath is a good thing to do while I am waiting.
God has cleared a path for me.

I cannot make spring, or make sunrise,
and some days I can barely make love.
But this I can do.
I can do this work.

God is in the work.
One inch. And then another.
One breath. And then another.
I am a lousy shoveler,
But I have cleared a narrow path for you.

And also for me.

Inside Job

There are no answers here.
Facebook doesn’t have them. They aren’t in GMail.
They aren’t in the thing you stopped yourself from saying
Nor in the thing you wish you hadn’t said.
Sweet girl, why are you looking here?

The answer isn’t even in the daily practice,
it IS the daily practice.
In the breath. In the stillness. In accepting the chaos.

The answer is in loving your lover when he stomps around,
your sister when she cannot see you,
your child when he withdraws,
and yourself when you know not which way to turn.
In the being with.

Do the work. Just do the work.
Bow to love. Bow to kindness.
Listen to the deepest stillest voice.
That is the sound of The Beloved.
Listen to the most Loving Action available in each moment.
Be sure that action includes loving you.
Move in that direction.

That is the Deepest Truth.

Riding the Wave

Today, I’m thinking about the wave(s) of love, the balance:

between autonomy and connection,
between stability and freedom,
between effort and surrender.

This Tedtalk by Reuben Margolin inspires today’s musings on love.

A wise woman once said she expected I’d “figure it out” in relationship (whatever IT is). So, I had a sense that deep dive into relationship could offer an opportunity for growth and then I ASKED the universe for this chance to see what it is like to be all the way “off the couch” with a partner and growing constellation of beloveds willing to do the same.  Before that, I studied for my second life: meditation, workshops, books, therapy. I selected a new life for myself with care and clear intention.

So here I am, deep in it. And I was right. I belong here. And there is an ease to noticing that when I am on the right path, the universe comes up to meet me. And also, there is still struggle. Every time we reach a new level of light, shed a few unnecessary layers, what gets exposed is excruciating, beautiful, challenging.

It’s like a wave…

We ride up, exhilarated, hands clasped together, big toothy grins. We reach the peak, look around together at the horizon, amazed by the possibilities.

Deep breath, and then comes the ride down, the natural pulling back into self for integration, passing through the baseline, noticing it is a little higher than it was last time, but still feeling the contrast with the peak.

To the bottom, where each of our egos and wounds and past lives poke up, asking to be witnessed, embraced, taken “With” for the inevitable ascent. That long pause at the bottom, with the view completely obscured, is the real invitation to faith, to awe, to gratitude. I dig in. He digs in. I reach out. He reaches out. In this low light place, we offer each other insights into what we can each feel out, like the blind men and the elephant, we share what we know, begin to form a mosaic view of the wholeness.

Which kicks off the ascent. No rushing that either, it takes its sweet time pulled by the memory we share of what it is like up there, we “pass Go,” collect our sustenance, humble ourselves to the way this game is challenging, but almost impossible without a play partner, appreciate each other’s growing skills and effort.

I don’t want anything else but to be on this journey, in this life.  This isn’t needless drama or some kind of manic cycle. This is soul work. It is right effort, and effort nonetheless. So I bow my sweaty brow, deep and low, to the mystery, invite my body to be supple and steady, to maintain balance in the movement.



I sit swimming in words, swimming INwards
wandering wondering about love
when I check for her words
and find five notes that splay themselves
out for me to touch like waiting lovers.
Will she let me be her editor?
She has
One of learning
Two of Church and Family
Three of Motherhood
Four of Discovery and Revelation
and Five of me.
She thinks this is prose, a post,
journaling a truth to send my way
to maybe send me away.
This handsome disclaimer that she is —
Does she know that she has made me poetry?

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What is the difference between
Making love, poetry, and a prayer?

Your tongue tastes like honesty
In my mouth.

I want to meet you in that spot,
Where God comes through.

This, this is a daily practice.

Here’s a goofy wordplay from 2013


Growth happens where I lose it.
Growth happens where I choose it.
Growth happens where I choose love.
Growth happens when I choose love.
I happen when I choose love.
I live when I choose love.
I live when I love.
I live love.
I love.

Drunk TXT

I’m really HAPPY with you.

I don’t just mean “you please me,” (even though you do),
I mean I’m really happy in my life right now
and I’m with you in my life right now
(And you strike me as a fairly happy person too) so,

Continue reading

Contemplating Independence

When the first one was still a baby, there was a night of unexpected fireworks that frightened him awake; it was just at the start of the first Iraqi war. As I held him and tried to comfort him, I had the full knowing that there was no actual harm or concern to accompany his fear. At that thought, I felt the presence of countless other Mama’s with their children, unknown to me and far far away. This mom could feel the exact same empathy for her baby’s fear of noises too close to home, but could not offer herself nor him the comfort of its harmlessness. And that was at the expense of my and my son’s privilege. Continue reading

Gifts of Inspiration

I’m on vacation. We could be lounging by the pool. We could be piss-drunk. Instead, we are sitting around a table, loudly exchanging ideas about spirit, art, prosperity, self. We are giving each other intuitions, and provocative questions and reading lists. I’m sharing the resource list with you: Continue reading

Mom writes a graduation speech

If I muck around long enough in your data universe, will I eventually find your heart?
What if I just sit there, information swirling by,  and listen. very. quietly.
Will I hear your calling?

I have always loved the way your mind works.
And even more, the end product of all those synapses firing.
The way your agenda gets so completely usurped by a good explanation
that contains a concept you don’t know, which causes you to go look that up,
and discover a whole new world, that means this assignment
is never going to get done on time, but in the meantime,
you’ve given yourself a far more compelling outcome
than what set you off in the first place.

I love the way you’ve convinced me that the technology and media
so many other people blindly assume is a “distraction” from life
actually IS the way your people find each other, engage in community,
create hope and sometimes even thrive.

And I love the connections you make, always dangling your head
over the edge of the current collective wisdom to see what is under there,
or ought to be added next, or what patch of intellectual property is just near enough,
and strong enough, for you to leap the gap and continue on your way.

But the internet literally has no end, and what one can learn and do is essentially infinite,
and when you think about that too hard, it starts to blow your mind.
This existential angst you’ve labelled “suffering” since you were way too little,
your concern over the futility of effort in such a vast place…

Well, it is my hope that you are starting to revise what must clearly be
your essential question, not as a problem to solve or avoid, but as the truth.
What ONE can do is infinite, but what YOU should do is to be discovered
by leaning into and loving this mystery as intimately as you can bear,
and sometimes by putting it down for a god-forsaken-minute
to go outside and see who else wants to play!

On this graduation day, I’m tickled to notice that I have no desire to congratulate you
on your academic accomplishments, or to appreciate that you are “wicked smart,”
any more than I want to gush all over you about how proud I am that you have ears.
THAT you are smart is a gift you were given, and we both know you use it skillfully;
What I am most proud of is that in spite of the fact that you have such a brilliant mind,
you also allow yourself to have a tender heart, and that you have begun to muck around
in that completely illogical universe soon enough to start to notice how that might matter,
if not just as much, maybe just a little more, than what you think about it.

Because what the world needs of you IS your big brain — I’m certain of that —
but FOR WHAT is up to you, and that is not a problem to be solved by said big brain.
How you move towards the truest, most happy, most “useful” version of yourself
comes from the struggle of listening quietly to the sometimes subtle,
sometimes excruciating, and sometimes utterly unknowable thump
of what stirs and calls your big giant heart.

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I am sitting on a couch next to my offspring, whose fingers whir across a keyboard imperceptibly fast, his thoughts coalescing into words for an essay that will form the foundation for his future adult self. But he is not yet an adult. What is this moment?

We are atoms. Electrons “spinning” around nuclei, but not really because electrons are just waves forming a pattern of movement. The idea of the electron, the orbital, mere models in our gross realm attempting to explain something inexplicable on the quantum level. He, me, the couch, the computer, the air between us, all just atoms, quarks. He is not me, but his atoms are no different than mine. How is it that we each are called by different names?

Our atoms configure themselves into molecules, proteins and water. Those form organs, skin, bones. Here we sit, essentially nothing more than bags of water, configured into slightly different shapes that we call different, but we are far more similar to each other than we are to the couch, the machine, the air. We are made of the same stuff.


The silt in this muddy glass we’ve been stir stir stirring
has finally begun to settle. It simply needed for stillness,
and a regular portion of gravity. Brownian motion aside,
the inescapable pull of earth on its tiny descendants in this vessel
Wins out over the chaos of fluidity, until it becomes apparent–
the difference between the transparency of the cool clean aqueous medium,
and the opaque denseness of that which has finally fallen out
of what looked like a solution.

I have to learn to return this earth, by being as careful as I am brave,
to the dark ground it desires. So I ever so gently decant
the fresh water into my gaped mouth, let it caress my hoarse throat,
quieting all these needless words. Then barefoot,
I will bring the slurry that remains out into the garden
where we will transplant bamboo from my my first life,
and from the first part of my second life.

Once there, in the heat of the rising sun,
I will scoop it out with my fingers, smell the chalky brownness,
then plunge my hands deep into the soil.
I will pull them out clean, leaving that mess in its new home.
Where, instead of obscuring, this distilled product,
purified of noise and regret, will begin its second life,
just as I have mine, nourishing hope, adventure and honesty.

There is a vitality

The first time I heard this letter read aloud was in a Soundstrue podcast by Rick Jarrow that is no longer available. I hear these words, in his voice, echoing in my head regularly when I see a beloved struggling to let themselves out, to be seen. I would love to have a recording of this again in a beautiful voice. Any volunteers?


A Letter to Agnes De Mille from Martha Graham
There is a vitality,
a life force,
a quickening
that is translated through you into action,
and because there is only one of you in all time,
this expression is unique.

And If you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and be lost.
The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine
how good it is
nor how valuable it is
nor how it compares with other expressions.

It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly
to keep the channel open.
You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work.
You have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate YOU.

Keep the channel open…
No artist is pleased…

There is no satisfaction whatever at anytime
There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction
a blessed unrest that keeps us marching
and makes “us” MORE alive than the others.

Martha Graham
( – a letter to Agnes De Mille-



On Falling in Love

I’m so honored to be in conversation with someone who is discovering the joys of loving another (I assume romantically and for the first time).  She found that a poem I wrote accurately reflected the experience she is having, and I am inspired by the way she is connecting it to a universal experience of feeling the joy of being in connection.  Here is my reflections on that.

On Falling in Love

This joy is not something we construct, merely something we tune into. I believe this feeling of joy we attribute to early romantic love and infatuation is there all the time, yet most of us only manage to access it when we are enamored with a new partner (the “you”), or when we first have children, or when we have something that feels like “winning” happen in our lives. Then, our egos and strategic minds tell us the feeling comes FROM the event or person, and we create a lot of suffering for ourselves chasing/clinging to people and events that we hope will “make us” feel this happiness. The invitation for me is to simply notice in myself this ability to feel joy and love, and grow that, regardless of who is in the room with “me” (and to feel deep gratitude for the triggering person or event for helping me awaken)!

I spend more and more of my life now with individuals who practice tuning into this kind of beauty and love without attributing it to anything but beauty itself, or perhaps something they may call God. The Bhakti Yoga folks sing to multiple gods, the Kundalinis to a universal energy, and the Sufis to an individual Beloved, but they feel like names for the same reality to me. For me, this feeling of connection to Love exists in individuals who are living as authentic to their true selves as possible, and so my journey is to do the same.
Here is a poem from a poet I deeply admire that discusses this phenomenon. Sometimes I read this poem and imagine it is a romantic reflection and the true love is a lover. Other times, it describes how I feel about my children. It is also easy for me to read it as an elegy to finding faith or connection to divinity, in which the true love is the poet’s God. But the most powerful read for me at this point in my life is to understand this true love is finding myself and my calling.
As an aside, the romantic relationship that was forming at the time I wrote that poem did not last. It was with/about someone very powerful, but also who was far too ego-driven and self-protective to feel like a safe partner for me. I am deeply grateful for the experience though, as I learned a lot about my intuition and what I want in my community by being adventurous and willing to take on a little risk and inquiry.

Sexy Teachers

I spent the weekend at a retreat where we allowed ourselves to ask deep, beautiful (and for me, often frightening) questions about the nature of love, intimacy, self-care, sexuality and spirituality. As I “re-enter” the world where these aren’t the most common topics of conversation, I want to remind myself of these questions I’m exploring, and perhaps some of the answers I’m receiving.

What is Sexy?

People who know deep in their core that they are beautiful, and have absolutely no interest in convincing me of that, are a profound embodiment of luscious sexiness. People who have forgotten their own beauty and are hell bent on convincing me that they aren’t beautiful are the embodiment of unsexy.  And the paradox – people who have caught a glimpse of their beauty and are hell bent on convincing me to also see it, are in the ugliest part of the process. I’ve been in all three states, and know that how one gets from one of these states to another is a deeply personal journey. Love helps it along the way. For many of us, sex and love are so intertwined, that we get caught in this trap of it seeming like the only way to connect to feeling sexy is to have sex, but if we aren’t having a connection to our beauty, the opportunity for that becomes extremely scarce. Isn’t life a funny teacher!

How are Security and Self-Consciousness Connected?

I used to use the word “self-conscious” to mean “insecure,” as in “I’m self-conscious about my body,” or “I’m feeling self-conscious about the poem I just performed.” I’m gaining a new relationship to this word. I’m understanding that there are moments in our lives when something is worthy of bare attention – it can be when I’m on the edge of a beautiful new discovery about my truth, or when I’m on the edge of something that is powerful, or even when there is danger of harm near by. In these moments, a sharp and intense consciousness of Self arises to offer me the invitation to become present to my wisdom and to act from that place. This Consciousness of Self guides me – to garner the courage to walk away from negative mind chatter towards something more meaningful, to engage the powerful situation with appropriate and focused respect and care, or to move away from harm.  In this context, what I want is more self confidence, coming FROM the security of deep self consciousness, not to be “less self-conscious” because I’m feeling insecure. Fear is like this too, but I don’t fully understand that yet.

When to Teach?

I am so grateful for the teachers who have left breadcrumbs for me. And I’m deeply appreciating that there are breadcrumbs on every trail, each calling to me to go in useful and non-useful directions. When I choose for myself a painful path, I’m still learning. They are all teachers. My job is to feel myself drawn to the breadcrumbs that are healthy for me.

I love so much to be both the student and the teacher. I love the productivity of shared wisdom and workload. I love the way someone else’s journey can help me make a quantum leap on mine. But I struggle with knowing when to ask for help and when I’ll benefit most from the muscle growth of helping myself. I also struggle with knowing when to offer a hand forward vs. letting those I love find their own answers. The easy answer is to always ask permission before offering help, and I practice that daily. Yet, I notice in myself that I love best those relationships in which we know and love one another and have tacit permission to “cross the boarder” into one another’s hearts. When I’m a mess, I usually want my people to reach in and grab me be the shoulders, look me straight in the eyes, give me a little shake and say “get back into yourself!” Yes, I’ll get back to myself either way, but the process of going it alone often wastes needless time and effort. And I love the moment when I can offer an intuition to someone I love that helps them connect point A and B in their own journey.


So what is the toggle point of knowing when to cross the border? For me, sometimes NOT sharing that wisdom (in either direction) can feel like abandonment.  And also, I have stories of feeling invaded by other folks with helper tendencies like mine. I’m feeling like the toggle for me in deciding when to cross the border has to do with intention. Is it to serve my own agenda, or to help my beloved redirect towards their own good? And when someone is coming into my heart space — same question.



a constant, real, and broad invitation for togetherness

I want to be like one of the living goddesses I know,
Standing surely in the puddle of her own light,
For whom ‘coupling’ is an indulgence in self pleasure
Rather than a humanly attempt to create identity.

Or perhaps like an enigmatic and lively wood nymph,
Touching lightly the ground of the dappled forest floor
While dancing a blend of spirit dreams and earthly fecundity,
Making lovers of those who dare to play in her realm.

As such, I shall choose to feel alive in my own human skin,
Practice daily the slow, steady unveiling of my inner light,
Make a constant, real, and broad invitation for togetherness
With the others who also struggle to be on this path.