In Honor of Great Men.
The invitation is open for men to be aware of the nature of their own humanity... If you want a Conscious Man, I say, find a man who is willing to grow.
Browsing Tag:
altar
Losing My Innocence. {poetry}
Unlike losing my virginity...
I lost my innocence in the desert
amongst 100,000 people,
but in a sacred temple of sharing
with one.
Letter from God.
They think love is a tail that you have to chase, and they have made their home on the run. I do not blame them. It feels safe to live inside a box called home. But it is a type of death, the most dangerous kind.
Let Me Write It First on Your Heart. {poetry}
Dwell in me, hide in me: those are the words that I could whisper in your ear to so solemnly find.
I scattered the dust from around you to tie in my love,
and put your faith on the utmost rewind.
There’s A Wolf Inside All Of Us: How To Use Archetypes.
I find that using archetypes in general life situations helps me love the things I once hated or feared within me. My she-wolf is my anger -- but seeing anger as an animal, especially one I adore, has made it easier to accept it into my life. Before embracing her, I swallowed my anger or ...
Spitfire, Sass & My Imaginary Friend.
This private joke was going to stay private. I didn’t want my colleagues, bosses, or those I see at my son’s school, while wearing my mom clothes, to know about Stacy. Stacy’s profile went live. She started receiving friend requests and strange private messages. Gulp! Facebook had changed the ...
My Sacred Scar: From Brokenness To Wholeness.
The real transformation, like all matters of depth and substance, occurs beneath the surface. It occurs when you are deep in process. It occurs when you are steeped in forgiveness. It occurs when you are rooted in radical self-love. It occurs when you are wildly accepting of every ounce of your life.
Emerald Dreams And Surrender.
The color emerald has been appearing for several nights now. It began as a hillside, Wizard of Oz type of metaphor, then landed me smack dab in a calm sea with large black rocks underneath. In both instances, the scenery was as green and beautiful as Ireland herself.
What Princesses Really Want. {poetry}
I do not want smooth marble castles,
I want mortar eaten away by nature.
I want the smell of wet moss and wood rot
To seep into my lover’s lair