A Garden, A Garden

A garden, a garden is my mother's bodyof English rose, wisteria, and grapetwisting the trellis. Not quite of this ruggedtidal pool island, no longe...

Be Kind to Yourself, Dear One

Be kind to yourself, dear soul, for you don’t know the trauma that brought you here, dragging its hidden weight at your heels. Perhaps a kinder word toward yourself will be the knife that cuts the rope you hold yet, unknowingly.

You Did Well Today

You did well today, be proud of yourself. What you see as no big event, no special occasion, I see as the steadfast victory of another foot forward, another mile taken, no matter how slow or plodding the pace.

It's OK to Rest

It’s OK to rest by the side of the road. This too is from Me. I move and I sit with you in stillness, where the greater work is done, deeper, Spirit to spirit. It’s OK to be still, do nothing, wait on Me. Speak no words, not even pray. There are times when even the disciplines are quieted to nothing, when it is OK to just be.

You Are that Mexican Freight Train

You are that Mexican freight train running along the carretera from San Miguel to Querétaro, first stationary as it was loaded up, then picking up speed toward its destination.

Interwoven, I hold You

Interwoven, I hold you.

Your life is a series of threads and knots, in your perspective pulled and tangled, terribly, beyond repair. But see now the invisible at work, My careful fingers holding each strand in perfect tension, as I weave the threads together and leave no design unfinished...

Repair with Gold

Kintsukuroi, to repair with gold. The Japanese art of repairing pottery with gold or silver lacquer, understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken. You need to know this means you...

Peace, Peace in Every Part

Peace, peace in every part.

The space between your tissues, where your cells breathe—in, out. Peace there. Around your eyes, that pressure when you think, try not to think—that line now smoothed...


Look, I am bursting with it: seed-knowledge and something to say! Before I was, I resided in the winter crust, here where sugar crystallizes in the green apple; yes, I was the prescience of myself before ever being it...

My Mother Is a Garden

My mother is a garden, is a universe unto herself in the eternal backyard of Baker Street. In polka-dot halter and flannel shorts, she bends down to tend the runner beans, she bends down to tend to me. A silhouette as large as any sun, and I, small and green as a caterpillar among the rows of strawberries...

Welling up to Eternal

Let the waters fill you to overflowing, living springs that surprise you every time with joy and a deep compassion toward yourself. Let this peace rest on your head like a patriarch’s hand in blessing as I anoint you daughter, I anoint you son. Let these springs welling up to eternal fill every dryness in your person...

Way of the Pilgrim

I am with you, pilgrim, through farthest reaches of your broken mind, the desert-bone beaches of solitude you traverse like a champion would, crying blood, better than a man ever could. No one catches you like I can, myself charging on winged fire to keep up...