Stop: A COVID-19 Invitation From Your Earth Mother.
And in the pause, in this stop, She began to heal. Your Earth Mama, She began to put Herself back together and find Her balance.
Browsing Tag:
rhythm
There’s a Little Zipper Under Your Chin. {poetry}
Let me pull that zipper down
Let me unzip your skin
Let me unzip mine too and you can step in
Let’s spend the day in each other’s skin tones
Woman Most Wild: Three Keys to Liberating the Witch Within. {book preview}
The Wild Feminine is a homemade, potent salve for many of the world’s wounds, and everyone, regardless of gender, harbors some psychic terrain where this particular, timely medicine grows.
Dancing Love. {poetry}
Dancing every day is good. I will do it until I die. Dance every day... Dance when I am feeling sexual -- allow sexuality to live in me, to move me, to sparkle and grow and animate my dance.
The Dancing Medicine.
Why, as we grow, do we disconnect from the medicine of our divine, inner child? Why do we block an untamed trust in the wisdom of our non-linear instincts? Why do we stop harvesting the beauty of a flexible mind?
Because society values clear divisions between children and adults. Because we ...
Bang the Drum: Elegy for the Grieving. {poetry}
Bang the drum for our sons and daughters, for husbands and wives, mothers and friends.
Shout death’s name to a clueless world. Bang the drum loudly!
Love in grief has a powerful rhythm. Bang the drum with courage and strength!
Bang it loud filled with compassion! Bang the drum proudly!
A Holy Rhythm. {poetry}
To age he finally cries
Cruelly, he limps atop time, crippled only in the throes of its touch
Fighting and fleeing the throngs that have descended into its cold and callused crypt
Why Do I Need To Hear The Things That I Already Know?
Absolute knowing is a knowing you can hear again and again, but we confuse familiar with knowing. The familiar dances around the knowing. Its smell reminds us of the known, its taste reminds us of the known, its touch, its sound -- but like a spice mixed into a casserole so that you wouldn't be ...
The Reasons I Write: Ode To The Pen In My Hand. {poetry}
I am writing because I want to impress the impressive and repress the repression.
He’s Gone, But Her Heart Still Sways To The Rhythm Of This Song.
He is gone, but her heart will not stop swaying to the rhythm of this song, to the branding of these words on her sensitive soul. She has grown and she has been broken into the knowing of that which forever remains: that love cannot play without pain.