Wound Wood

There is a calling I kindled in the dark house;not a place I visit but my first home.In that seed space, a yearning arose.It cried out in a voice I recognized but could not yet know,with a language older than our human throats.I hear it even now echoingin the murmur of water over stoneand the … Continue reading Wound Wood →

I come back.

I come back. Again and again, I come backto these questions,gnawing, hunting some deep nourishmentfound only in cracking myself open, a marrow of belonging with which to feed the world.

Our Mother Is Dying

Today I am gratefulfor the ways that I am broken.Cracked open,with rough edgesthat soften to the world, invitingthrough voluptuous sensitivitythis upwelling of celebrationthat is griefas the pain of our being sings through me,and I know that I belong.That I can be longing,a cry in this darkthat draws us to ourselves, cohering,clotting, clothing ourselvesin love and … Continue reading Our Mother Is Dying →

Thirsting Spirits

I said once that the only protection she could give me was a sharp and shattered heart. Did it break hers when she broke mine?or was it a relief when my own jagged pieces drove her further away,when there was no longer the demand to hold,to care,to comfort.To mirror the mirror that she shattered. Perhaps … Continue reading Thirsting Spirits →

Quenching

Some words once spokencan never again be silenced.Some truths once knowncan never be set down.They hang, shimmering, betweenall you were and all you became,between what you've lovedand all you could have been.There are choices that spring forthfrom the sundering at the foundationsof a soul broken open by the rootsyou wove into yourself, a rhizomaticrelatedness with … Continue reading Quenching →

safety is (not) a passage

Molten I am, cracking my shell,devour my own abandoned flesh;nutritive, my hunger burns the hotter,a sacrifice shrouded in the roots which rundeeper on the path at our feet, the pathfound only in what feeds us.lapping waters spill from lipslimned by a fresh confusion,opening vistas ordered along newly broken lines;a narrative written in breath and beingand … Continue reading safety is (not) a passage →

Ursa Major

I feel if I could touch my heart, my hand would come away bleedingA mighty claw hooked free that core of poison given as medicineBy ones who would have loved me if they couldIt did not want to come free so much so that I could not tellWhether I clung to it or it to … Continue reading Ursa Major →

On Sinking Back in Service of Flourishing

I've been thinking a lot about growth and growing in this season of our lives... We are in a time that involves many stressors, adverse conditions that reduce our access to the things that nourish us: relationships, physical contact with other living things/people, genuine leisure time, a sense of basic safety in our environment and … Continue reading On Sinking Back in Service of Flourishing →

After Image

I have been haunted by the impression of an image (because aphantasia, etc)... In this unseen image, I am watching myself from behind as I ascend towards something, and just as I come to it I stop, stepping back and turning away. It always felt to me like falling-- falling short, falling down, falling away … Continue reading After Image →

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 →