Sunday, July 27, 2014


Butterfly,          slender stalk,           petals and pollen,           blossom nectar,           wings stir,           breeze blown,                   f          l           i           g           h           t.
I used to wait for the time when all would be well, when the ever changing tides of life would shift to calm, clear waters reflecting idealized bliss and saintly assurance.
I used to wait for "enlightenment" and "transformation" and "redemption".
I used to work hard to that end…books, classes, hours on zafus, practicing inadequacy.
The butterfly,
     becomes the butterfly,
           only by relinquishing all that it has known,
     all that it has been,
and trusting the life within to express itself in flight.
The flower,
     becomes the flower,
          only by relinquishing the bud,
and opening tender petals in bloom.
Why does human add such pomp to the occasion.  The caterpillar doesn't strive for "butterfly-ness" and the bud doesn't long for the bloom.
Could we but relax into the wide arms of life as caterpillar and bud, as mustard seed and lily, what wide expression of life's diversity will come forth in expression as you and me?
Without one cherished "OM", without one labored prayer.
With the faith of a caterpillar, of a bud, of a mustard seed...

Friday, July 25, 2014

Bloom where you're planted

Where to begin?
The first word written on a black page sets the trajectory of thought.
Where to begin?
I don't know.
I stand captivated by uncertainty and the gross human need to explain the unexplainable,
      define the undefineable,
          comprehend the incomprehensible.
I listen to the jumble of   w    o    r    d    s     bumping about in mind and wonder at the preoccupation with thoughts and the artificial buffer they create, affording us the illusion of control and certainty.
I wonder what it might be like to      b     r     e     a     t     h     e,     without judgment or criticism of the breath itself or the quality of the air…    just breathe.
I wonder what it might feel like to cease, for a moment, our mental/emotional hustle and let all that is arising BE exactly as it is.
Then we, like flowers swaying in the breeze of our own belonging, simply bloom.

Monday, July 21, 2014

Whitman reflections and Nature's Splendor

"I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey work of the stars;
(I am large, I contain multitudes)
I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable:

Wisdom is of the soul, is not susceptible of proof, is its own proof...

Something there is in the float of the sight of things that provokes it out of the soul.

Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune."
-----Ah Walt Whitman and the Leaves of Grass

Friday, July 18, 2014

Gratitude: Louie Schwartzberg at TEDxSF


Sleep was a wayward bedfellow last night.  By 4 AM I was already sipping hot tea at the kitchen table, eating gluten free toast coated with cashew butter.  By 5:30 AM I was winding my way up the mountain, newborn sun kissing my morning face, wind softly caressing my curls and birds talking in aviary chatter like music on a new day.
Nature!  In her embrace I always feel at home, even after the most restless of nights, I walk into her arms and I am reminded again and again to let go, to relax and to trust.
What better gift could I hope for?

Wednesday, July 9, 2014


Make a wish? 
     A desire, longing, or strong inclination for a specific thing.  
When walking with children, wishes are everywhere.  
Dandelions are plucked from slender stalks. 
 Fuzzy promises 
      brought toward puckered lips 
            exhaling wonder 
                 from lungs filled 
                      with possibility.  
Great gusty breaths, hearts strong with belief, 
      send delicate wish seeds on a dance across the sky.  
Children don't see weeds to be plucked or worried over.  
They see wishes, 
           and a world ripe with possibilities.
Next time when a life weed presents itself, perhaps we can look with eyes of wonder and just maybe, we will find wishes blown across the wide sky of our own longing.

Sunday, July 6, 2014

David Whyte on Pain

Okay, I am falling once again, with abandon, into the beautiful poetry and deep reflective wisdom of David Whyte.  Here is a beautiful treatise on pain by that amazing artist:
...Pain is a lonely road, no one can know the measure of our particular agonies, but through pain we have the possibility, just the possibility, of coming to know others as we have, with so much difficulty, come to know ourselves.”

David Whyte

There is a faith in loving fiercely

the one who is rightfully yours

especially if you have

waited years and especially
if part of you never believed
you could deserve this 
and beckoning hand

held out to you this way.

I am thinking of faith now
and the testaments of loneliness
and what we feel we are
worthy of in this world.
Years ago in the Hebrides 

I remember an old man
who walked every morning
on the grey stones
to the shore of baying seals

who would press his hat 

to his chest in the blustering 

salt wind and say his prayer 

to the turbulent
hidden in the water

and I think of the story

of the storm and everyone
waking and seeing

the distant

yet familiar figure

far across the water

calling to them

and how we are all 

preparing for that 

abrupt waking, 

and that calling,

and that moment 

we have to say yes,

except it will

not come so grandly

so Biblically

but more subtly
and intimately
in the face 
of the one you know
you have to love

so that when 

we finally step out of the boat 

toward them, we find

everything holds
us, and everything confirms
our courage, and if you wanted 
to drown
you could, 
but you don't
because finally 
after all this struggle
and all these years
you don't want to any more

you've simply had enough

of drowning

and you want to live and you 

want to love and you
will walk across any territory
and any darkness

however fluid and however

dangerous to take the

one hand you know

belongs in yours.


-- David Whyte
      from The House of Belonging 

Saturday, July 5, 2014


Do you ever find yourself exhausted by the questions themselves?  And the minds continual distraction with answers that can never begin to approach the complexity of Life.
I do.
At times I wonder what it might feel like if the brains busy thinking were silenced and the great unknowings of life were given a chance to simply be within the human context of self.  What then?  What great horrors is the mind attempting to avoid with all its thinking?  And what great horrors is it actually inventing?
Life is.
Perhaps the invitation is to allow the horror and heaven, the fear and love, the pain and pleasure, the light and dark to rest within a spaciousness, in which no thought is necessary.
Just life.
As life.