Published Words

“Invisible No’s”  -Pulp Metal Magazine


“My Hysterical Goddess”  -Rebelle Society

“Making Friends with the Voices in My Head” -Elephant Journal

“No-Man’s-Land” -Rebelle Society

“Shadow Stitchers” -Tribe de Mama

lonely traveler

I’m sorry. Please forgive me,
I mistook you for someone else…
In light drenched visions confetti exploded before my eyes,
dissolving before signs could be read as the… flash… had colored me blind.
In abandon when I danced my limbs to ecstasy, the pulse throbbing ever Closer,
wet breath tickling my neck until I turned to find nothing.
All the hints like electricity in my blood- that tingle of what could be-
And I found it.
In those who nursed my wounds with capable hands and tore them apart with the same skill.
In voices whispering sweet claims to my heart (when I ran) knowing all would turn to dust if I stood tall in glory and sin.
In the bones of those I touched, hot with hunger and sugared regret.  Tickling their bellies with precious intent.
In my desires to nurture, while collecting affection as if my salvation depended on it.
In my power to cut to the core, but spreading myself as thin as frosting over a cake of ice.
Freely fed to so many, as the waters inside me hardened to shield us all from what could not be contained.
But I found it.
That damp possibility of Love was inside me all along.
Already and Always (as it is in you.)
And my castle awaits now, glistening with dew-dropped petals of promise,
Asking to be washed clean of all who stepped in with dirty shoes.
I gaze down at my own, kicking free the mud and baring my feet- releasing the effort to wash yours with water from my eyes,
When I bowed… again and again and again to praise your insides.
Still ever grateful at you thawing the tides. They rush now, demanding my submersion.
Come Closer (the whisper within)
Closer still.
I will.
But before I walk away I must say,
I’m sorry. Please forgive me,
I mistook you for someone else…

man… and wild


Can you sit in the forest, with just yourself and the trees and the bees and the nothing-ness of all that time? Can you do that… not just for a moment, but for loooong enough… with no highs and no poisons to lull you into a swoon? No company to get lost in? Can you watch the thoughts that come, feel the feelings that well up from the depth of your center? What if you had no goals, no private agenda or ambition? What if there was no one left, to save you from yourself? What then?

That is your insanity… and it’s mine, and it’s a collective dis-ease that I feel, too clearly.

We are the master distracters. Our society is built upon it. Entire cities are erected and sustained and pushed forward and destroyed, all because of this simple inability to ‘be’. Imagine how much less waste, how much less harm to each other and animals and nature, if we weren’t so afraid of the very nature inside of ourselves?

We are insane. And what a game that has become! Yes, it has made beauty, is a source of creativity and progress and excitement. It is sacred in its own right, and I can’t deny… that is part of the rules of this human ride. But I would love to transmute this insanity… more. To be with it, more. To allow it, more.

When I walk down streets and immerse myself in the chaos… when I chase dreams, and create my masterpieces only to destroy them again… I do feel some peace. When I fall in love and allow that surge of feeling to lift and carry me high… I feel wild and free as that bird atop a tree.   When I move from place to place not allowing my soles to step too firmly I feel quiet, and at ease.

But what I know…now… is that none of these are the freedom I crave. When I get back to the forest, to the solitude, to my own thoughts and feelings and insanity… I see. It must be faced head on and heart in. It must flow as easily as breath inwards, and let go. And I know, that so long as I act as a master distracter, nothing will change, and my game will only perpetuate in the same cyclical way.

I know I am not the only one who craves more!  Who wants to frolic with the dance of the bees and flowers and trees? Who wants to put thought and form and feeling into one cohesive harmonious action? Who wants to learn how to live….how to really live… without the ambition to ‘be’ anything, except exactly what I am.

Without looking for an escape route, a solid plan, a great story or accomplishment.  Without any substance to induce me into a trance, with nothing at all added, to this magical dance. What happened to us, human beings? I try to recall how it felt to be free… before I forgot that to ‘be’ was so easy.

We need such simple things… healthy food (not as much as we think)… and a cozy shelter, as even birds have a nest. We need love, expression, movement and play.  But we’ve confused those needs to be so grandly stylized and artificially placed.

And just maybe, it is all just part of a greater symphony…

one that evolves as a you… emerging as a we.

fear (an inquiry)


As I observe myself, I notice the intelligence and the wounds programmed into my very skin and bones. The intensity with which I feel my experience of this life makes me tangibly aware of every vacillation of emotion, whether it is a repsonse of my own, or one I’m absorbing from proximity to someone else.  I am often a sponge for my surroundings, but I love riding the coattails of this journey, because life itself demands to be experienced.

I can’t help but notice that every bit of my discontent can be traced back to one emotion.  And that is fear, in all its tricky manifestations, both painful and intoxicating.  It is a reaction dialed into my DNA, and though I know it serves a purpose, I cannot help but want to transmute it, more.  I watch my being quiver with adrenaline: the trembling, the racing heart, the loss of clarity. It’s the worst kind of drug (and in fact only after ceasing to consume those artificial ‘antidotes’ can I see the ones at work right within my very being).  Fear is a funny one, it can even be sexy, drawing us into the illusion of attraction, attachment, even passion.  And while the fight or flight response triggers a kind of heady rush, a tangible feeling of ‘aliveness’, it actually clouds me from my divine right of being present and at ease.

It is always there, like a predator waiting to pounce.  Fear of receiving too much, fear of having too little, fear of feeling pain, anger, or even joy.  Fear of failure but fear of success, fear of loving, or fear of being un-loved.  Fear of speaking out, fear of holding back.  Fear of being confused, or of making a decision. And how about this one?  The fear of being powerful, connected, and whole vs being small and separated.  I am not a victim of these, but I see them at work, all too clearly.

While intellectually I have known this for some time, an experience recently brought it to the surface, making me viscerally aware of fear and its power to influence. I have a beautiful friend Allison, who has been a part of my journey for some time, and has taught me so many lessons over the years.  Her wild dreams manifested for me to join her on a travel around the country giving light therapy sessions.  For the duration of our trip, this has been a magical and life-affirming experience, but in very rare cases it can cause a violent reaction from the body.  Much like fear itself, the affects of light can be bent in various directions and into countless manifestations.

A few days ago I sat in a room, giving a session to a woman in her late forties. We went through the required protocol of investigating whether or not there was epilepsy in her past, and did a mild three-minute trial session to make sure there was no aversion to the light. There wasn’t (that we were aware of). And we proceeded as usual.  However, this was a day unlike the others, and towards the end of the session, she began to lift her arms in a way that was strange, but somehow familiar. I walked over to her, turned off the light, and asked if she was alright?  Her eyes were open, but unresponsive, and I knew something wasn’t right. My body told me so, but my mind wanted desperately to believe otherwise.  Funny, I see myself doing that so often, another way that fear twists it’s knife.

This was when “I” disconnected from the body that contains me.

You see her body twitch and writhe and seize. You see her throat tensing up and cutting off her breath. You panic. You run outside for help and Allison returns with you.  You try to hold her. The woman falls on the ground and hits her head.  You will it to stop. It doesn’t. Your fear is palpable, your hands shake uncontrollably and your heart races. This does nothing to help the situation and you are grateful that you are not alone. Though we are never totally alone.  Allison holds the woman’s mouth open, and you both turn her on her side. You do your best to rub her back, rub her legs, reassure any part of her consciousness that she will be okay. You do not know if she will be okay. But you must say she will be. You have seen people die before, but this is not the way it is meant to go.  This is violent, and unnatural.  The minutes tick by, achingly slow. You exchange worried glances with your friend and silent prayers for this to pass.

The EMTs arrive and get the seizure is under control, and after another half hour of trying to stabilize her, they are off to the hospital. The woman is okay. She is shaken, but alive and whole.  However, I am not. I am in shock. I am lost and confused and my body is in one realm, while my spirit hides in another.  The only thing I can find to do, the only thing that can give me a bit of control is to clean up the blood, throw away the left over breathing tubes, pack up the light. I become a prisoner of my own fear, and like humans do, I busy myself with tasks to try and forget about it and gather my control back.

To be alone and still and silent, with one’s deeper thoughts and feelings, is often the scariest thing of all, is it not?  And yet after that experience, this was probably the only thing I needed to do, in order to re-connect to the source at my center.

Our bodies are programmed machines of the highest intelligence. They are often the most highly tuned transmitters of energy, and when correctly balanced can give and share all the energy we need from earth to sky alike.   However they too, are subject to their memories and external influences. And without balance, our body systems, much like our deluded minds, can be slaves to feelings, thoughts, and sensations. The eyes react to stimulus, the heart reacts to hormones, and because we are afraid of what we are feeling, we disconnect and our awareness begins to wane. I believe it is possible to re-program these responses, to rise above being a slave to the fight or flight mechanism. I believe we are presence: timeless and open and connected.   We can tap into this.  We have free will.  If this wasn’t possible, this life would be a cruel joke, and I know that it isn’t.

But the question remains, how to channel these experiences and integrate these wounds in a way that honors their existence without allowing them to trample us?  The irony is, this has happened to me before. When I was young, on my first travel abroad, I witnessed my friend having a seizure. He fell to the ground while sitting on top of a beam and sustained a head injury.  We were in a remote jungle, off our heads on mushrooms.  And while I handled that situation with far more grace than I did this one, apparently it left a bigger scar on my nervous system than I imagined.

So what to do?  I ponder and doodle and question.  I throw words out like dice, and try to see the pattern they form on the ground.  I try to face the fear by exposing the wound, by bringing it to light.  And I attempt to re-train the mechanics of my body by listening to it, and allowing the response to exist.  Because life will continue to challenge, will continue to force expansion and bring awareness to our vulnerabilities… until we listen.  Until we learn to take a step in another direction.

tiny stories



(zooming out)

So many different kinds of Love on the spectrum.

Some dotted, some long. Some thinner, and some complete, but all perfect in their own possibility.   As we roll along this wavy line, heading in the direction of something, we stop at the various points, we explore those loves… and each one, like a galaxy spinning off the tip of a star, creates it’s own tiny story that becomes it’s own tiny universe.  Some are specific. Some are grand and diffuse.  Love is gigantic when you zoom in or out.

They say we learn by example, but I doubt it.  We learn by playing don’t we?  Not by thinking or dreaming or watching but by touch and taste and smell and tears and lumps in our throats.  We learn by experiencing these things, and noticing that experience.  It took me a long time to learn and I still don’t know.

But this life is our playground. Even if sometimes we don’t know what to play on, the monkey bars or the swing, the jungle gym or the see-saw.  I like them all.  But I liked you. Most completely.  And while this story doesn’t translate into a world of wristwatches…

It is the biggest private universe I can fathom.  It is diffuse.  It is gigantic.  And it is very free.

So maybe it’s all of the loves, all together, all at once.

(zooming in)

And so you say that you’re crazy.

You say that you’re hungry and imperfect and unclean. You say that you’re lost and you mostly have no idea who you are. You say that you’re ashamed.  You say this the way you can only say it to a lover being a friend.

And so you breathe deeply, and their eyes meet yours and you build a string between your hearts, stronger than any tie taking years to weave. Because for once you are honest.  And for once it’s accepted.  For what it is… as it is… because yesterday was only a story and there is no tomorrow now.

No expectations like bricks knotted into your shoulders.  No judgments, those nuclear bombs that demolish all the love you contain.  Because with the ties, come the expectations and lies.  The judgments that pierce your sternum and crumble your insides.  Those bombs would explode elsewhere if we saw them for what they were, flickering across a white screen and changing shape with the image before it.

But we don’t see them.

Because we soon become each other’s stories. It gets all mixed up.  And it’s no longer okay to be crazy.  To be hungry and imperfect and unclean.  I can’t be lost and I can’t be ashamed.  And I can’t have been a girl who tried to taste everything, until I tasted you.

(That’s how it used to be.)

And we used to like each other, like we were.



How this face shape-shifts before my vivid eye.  As he becomes he becomes she… patterns of a vibration at sea. Crest into waves and slip into troughs, together we swim.  Rising with the ebbs to fall into flow.

And my tears come now like the patter of rain, watering fresh shoots, tender once again.