Writing Now

Writing is one way to connect with Spirit.

Therefore, for me, it has become less of a production  

and more of a messy correspondence.

Connected, Connected, Connected!

The mosquitoes wanted to eat me. They liked that I walked through the woods slowly. I tried to tell them to leave me. I pleaded silently. I covered my body in clothing. But they are wild and free, and hungry. And so, yesterday, I started running, clomping and clamoring in my boots. I felt clumsy and happy. This morning, I wore a t-shirt, tall socks, yoga pants, and sneakers. Then, out we went, this dog and I, to the woods. On the trail of roots and stones and mud, we ran and ran. As I hop and jog, my blood swims through me, my muscles flexing and stretching, and all the while, my heart is dancing with glee. Oh my goodness! This is one way to get into the heart. This never occurred to me. I always thought of them as separate, like all things, separate, separate, separate, but it is all connected, connected, connected! It is all one. And that's why some people are more drawn to exercise. For in the sweaty state of exertion, we experience elation and a connection to the heart. That's where they find their flow by doing it again and again and again as a meditative and physical act. It's not only moving in yoga. It's not only sitting still for moments or minutes in meditation. It's not only walking slowly through the gorgeous forest. That's one way. That's another. And they are all ways to the way! The way to the heart, to the universe within. Oh goodness, yes, Amen! 

Amen! Amen!

A Wild Light

There is fern and rain on my boots. Mosquitoes kiss my cheeks. The dog lopes and leaps. He looks like a black bear and a deer met and mated. Every morning, I walk and walk and walk, awaiting my awakening, as if it will appear before me like a wild light upon the mud and ivy. Perhaps, it is a wild light, - bright, bold, pure, illuminating. I want to see how deep this well is. I have found water, and now I want to swim! Swim toward freedom. 

Mundane is luxury.

Your attention is delightfully delicate now. Yes, delicate. Take your experiences with a small spoon. This is living. Be in your body. Be in your being. Be in your world. Explore, as Jon Batiste said "the muse in the mundane". Because mundane is luxury, really. Mundane is daily work, obligation, and dedication. Mundane is alive and perhaps too, well and healthy. Mundane is luxury. It is walls and roof and floor. It is water in the spout and shower. It is a warm coat and dry boots. It is a walk in the woods. It is a journal full of scribbled sadness and bold-pressed joy! It is a sleeping, sighing dog. It is a pencil. It is clean paper. It is a stove to warm the room and a stove to warm the stew. Mundane is luxury. It is a thriving sort of surviving. Mundane is luxury. Believe me. You don't want the complexity of tragedy. The muse is in the gratitude for the mundane, for the experience of living on Earth during a time of walls and roofs and stoves and boots and notebooks and coats and water spouts. The mundane is hidden within a camouflage costume - a cloak of boredom. Discard it. Go find the stars. Walk in the cold rain and dry by the fire. Sing grace to the clean water and the stew and the bread. The muse in the mundane may be gratitude. 

Letters from LOVE! (January 2025)

Elizabeth Gilbert has a superb Substack entitled, Letters From Love. It has inspired me to journal to myself rather than simply from myself. I rarely now journal to record. That always felt like a tedious school assignment. Now I journal to release the wisdom from within. I write questions to the universe and see what returns. I will start to share them here. 

Dear LOVE, what would you have me know about becoming an elder? 

Oh, Love Child! 

You are on your way now, every day older and wiser. You are at the beginning of a revolutionary time. A time of self-actualization, a time of determination, evolution, and deep and exciting authenticity! The strings of attachments to the thoughts of others are snapping - one by one - setting you free to float and fly. You know your truth better than you ever have. And now, as you enter middle age, you are more equipped, more confident to listen and speak from that deep place within, that well of wisdom and truth. Courage is needed now more than ever. It is more important than pleasing others, remaining neutral, and attempting to avoid conflict, or even simply disagreeing. Better to be true. Better to be the free bird flying and seeking grubs and seeds, and building nests and swimming and surviving in the beautiful wild. Better that than to waste away in a cage - living inside, hidden, heavy with fear. So speak! Sing! Fly! You want to feel well and healthy. You have some disappointments over wrinkles and old scars. Let them remind you of a lesson in the interconnected nature of your flesh and energy. You were afraid and angry about pimples, and you, therefore, manifested them. Lesson (eventually) learned. And the wrinkles - eh. Those are from 41 years of smiles and frowns, of communication. The lines live like book pages folded, "remember here!" and "remember here!" they say. This body evolves just as your soul evolves. It remembers, it learns, and it prepares for what is (possibly) to come. 

Love this life. Love every part of it...as if you chose it! 

love, 
LOVE 

Liberation (A Note to Self)

It is simple. 

Be liberated of the mind's expectations. Mend the sacred road to the heart and listen. 

What does it call you to do? 

It wants your deep attention. 

So attend. 

It is simple. 

Tend to yourself. This is how you allow others to attend and tend to themselves. When everyone is tending to themselves first, the collective evolves into a greater version of itself. So do your part. Do your tending. Tend to your creativity. Tend to your quiet walking. Tend to your relationships. Stop waiting for your children to be grown. You'll be in your 50s by then. Tend now. You are vibrant. Embrace it. Love yourself. Love your life. Love the world! And be you. You can only be you and so be the best you. 

Tend and attend and you will find your liberation. 

Hope

Hope is a nest and wings. Hope is made of hollow bones, feathers, grass, song, and string. When fed, she is superb and strong. So go on, hold her in your long hands, and feed her from your tender beak. Bring her grubs, bread, and seeds.  Don't let her go hungry. Let her feast and feast. In a while, she will unfurl and fill the sky with courageous, creative, and colorful love. She will pull others from their dirt beds of despair. She will lead a flock. So throw her high - far past form and sound. There, she will become like light and air - expansive, open, and everywhere.  

And then you too will be free.