Swallow

I seek the silence between the spaces, the almost and the engulfing, Making pilgrimage to the possible.

Refraction

I am not braveMy eye is not so bright as to illume all my heart would encompassStar song now discordant in the uplift of my voiceAnd I am broken These shards dance, reflecting the stories we tell ourselvesTo lull us back to sleep, clingingSafe, we say, back to flame, holding cindered the hands of our … Continue reading Refraction →

Coming into the body, an invitation

I've been doing quite a bit of embodiment work these last few years, and have really increasingly done so since the advent of COVID, with it's free floating impact on so much around me. As with many people with complex and developmental trauma histories, I historically dissociate from my bodily experiences except when they are … Continue reading Coming into the body, an invitation →

Pain as language, and other conversations

Thoughts tonight on learning the language of the body as a person with chronic pain and autoimmune issues arising from childhood adversity: The body doesn't have thoughts, it has sensations. The thing is, emotions are these complex things that often really start with sensations in the body to which we ascribe meaning, and many of … Continue reading Pain as language, and other conversations →

Ripples

I have been so lonely, and living narrowly within the confines of my walls. I glanced outside today just in time to see the world turn peach, with a soft lavender underbelly. And I am so glad I went walking. The sky is aflame, the river dancing adorned in borrowed glory, the rich green riverbanks … Continue reading Ripples →

Threaded

The world is rent open;I would mend it.And if I cannot, I will decorate the edges,a fine tracery, veined to feed us.We all of us need those wild places,after all,where our own brokenness may settle again into that strange song that is our self.Let it arise in you,and in each other.Nurture the bramble and the … Continue reading Threaded →

Salt in the Well

The mirror crackedNostalgia, like grief, lancing poison I want to hear that something in her broke openthe first time she held meThat all her rage and pain somehow sublimated into a fierce protectivenessI have her chin, after all, and her smilePerhaps that is why she raised me to know heartacheWild-shy, a stranger in a world … Continue reading Salt in the Well →

Fringes

She keeps her secrets hidden in a box like a drawer. Every day she finds a different place to hide it. Sometimes it pops out from the tender flesh between her forefinger and her right thumb. She always worries a bit when it’s there—being her dominant hand, a slight mishap may reveal it, spilling her … Continue reading Fringes →

Wholeness

This morning I had an appointment, and I had to sit in my car for about 30 minutes beforehand. There was this tree outside the office of the kind I think the Victorians would call picturesque. It would fit right in with the florid writing of a gothic horror set on the "blasted moors." And … Continue reading Wholeness →

Succulence, or Golden on the Tongue

I haven't been writing much recently, really, and it has felt like a waiting space or like being poised, listening deeply, rather than preparing to speak. And today I had something simple and maybe slightly unfinished arise and I wanted to share it. It is called, for now anyway, Golden on the Tongue, and thus … Continue reading Succulence, or Golden on the Tongue →