Re-soul-ution: Calling Home the Wild Soul. {poetry}
But nothing, nothing can hold back the grief
As it crashes through my front door.
That flood, and that violent storm,
That takes away my home.
Browsing Tag:
home
Alive Day: A Reclamation of Life.
I decided if my prognosis was to be believed, I felt I needed to try and pack as much life into those 18 months as possible. My calendar filled with dinners, parties, concerts and Sunday brunches. When weeks turned to months, my body became stronger and I became bolder. I added traveling to the ...
Step Into the Freedom of Becoming Storyless.
The mind will panic and shout stories about who you are and why. It will demand that you identify yourself using words. It’s an adjustment, losing the fixation on the psychology behind yourself, and it feels like intentionally going blind, but you will discover how much more you can actually ...
Home Is a State of Soul (and Other Musings from the Window Seat).
Home is the strength in your softness, and the softness in your strength... Home is the voice inside you that gently whispers There, there when you have been bruised and burned and continue to choose love anyway. Home is every time you choose love anyway... Home is you high on you.
Where Do I Go To Escape?
We all have those places we run to, the places we retreat to, in the recesses of our minds, in the dark corners, under the covers or out in a sunlit field. I asked myself, as I ask you, where is your space? What do you claim as your calm, your quiet, your escape? Where is that safe space in ...
Away From Home. {fiction}
“Where are you going?” she asks. Mark looks into the darkness in front of him; the bright road lines on the highway are clear only for a few feet in front of the truck before they disappear into the night. “Same place you are,” he answers, and he just keeps driving.
Welcome Home. {poetry}
Home… breaks our hearts into small pieces, so they can reassemble every night
And break again and again every morning, while our bodies, astonished, just watch in peace.
Ebb And Flow. {poetry}
Not in the past, where mistakes and failures lie in wait to torment you with reminders of where you weren't good enough, of all the ways you failed.
And not in the future, where a million fears are ready to pounce and weigh you down in the incessant possibilities of ways in which life can go wrong.
As The Blood Dries On Our Birthing Bed: A Rage-Filled Prayer For Imbolc.
On this Imbolc night, the flames of all the Candlemas altars are dim in comparison to the bonfire tearing through my so-tired heart. I pray now not to Mother Brighid but to you, Woman, as you lie breathless beside me in your own recovery. Do not fall asleep.
For Those Making Their Way Home: In Honor Of Sacred Disintegration.
Be aware of the people around you. You may need to speak this experience to only those who are also turning and heading back home. Even those who consider themselves spiritual may not be working towards their own individuality.