my heart doesn't hear words...
it hears
the spaces that exist in between
the words we speak,
in what is not said,
in that land of possibility
that exists
in the places in between...

fractured thoughts
trying to find their way
into being

i have not been fully here for some time,
it's a hard place and space to be

yoga and pilates
both waking up my body
like the slow morning stretch
that moves us into the day

i didn’t know that muscles in my toes could hurt...
my back has to relearn how to curl and uncurl....
there are some muscles that it is hard to remember to keep clenched while others are doing their thing....

i’m sore
and it feels good...

where i live....on a calm day....

and i can....and i do....slow, measured, deep breaths.....one at a time....over and over....with daylight comes perspective....with daylight comes another step of the journey....

i'm drowning....
i sink
deep into
cold dark waters....
i kick
and struggle to the surface
gulping air,
thrashing frantically
to stay afloat,
before my body slides
again beneath the waves
and my lungs burn....
over,
and over,
and over,
i dream about
warmth, and oxygen, and light....
but feel
only
a dark, cold, loneliness....


maybe tomorrow i'll breath again....

our stories....

nigerian storyteller ben okri says that "...we live by stories, we also live in them. One way or another we are living the stories planted in us early or along the way, or we are also living the stories we planted - knowingly or unknowingly - in ourselves. We live stories that either give our lives meaning or negate it with meaninglessness. If we change the stories we live by, quite possibly we change our lives."

i think that is what many of us are doing here in this medium, telling our stories, defining who we are to the world (and to ourselves) through our stories

i have defined myself by the stories of my life....the roots of most of my stories (most of our stories) are found in childhood. i learned who i was by those experiences. it was then that i began to tell myself stories of who i was (am).... i have lived by these stories, and have reinforced them time and time again through the years. the sad thing is that these are not positive stories. they are hurtful, and no less because i'm the one who tells them to myself.....i know that i am not defined by my childhood, but i am defined by what i believe about myself, and much of that echoes back to then....

so, how to change my stories, the ones i tell myself that try to silence my voice....the ones i tell myself about who i am that cause me to want to retreat back into my fortress, to not talk to the people i care about, or write...

this is how....by just doing it....

"... and what does it mean," I asked, "to follow your heart?" She laughed and beat on her drum. "So you want my secret recipe?" she said. I said yes. "To follow your heart is as simple as closing your eyes and listening to the rhythm of your soul song. Once you find the beat you will always walk in tune..." (from the Persistence of Yellow by Monique Duval)

that is what i want, to not let fear of that unknown place, a new way of being in this world, hold me back from allowing myself to remove the noise, and in that ensuing silence, let myself hear the rhythm of my soul as it sings...and to live in love, and not in fear, to be fully present in every moment....

old habits not only die hard, they fight back, clawing, biting, and kicking.....i fall back into old patterns again and again.....i find perverse comfort in the familiarty of the self-destructive, soul crippling thoughts.....it doesn't matter what my head knows...it's my heart that needs to hear....

and it will..i will have faith...i will have faith...

six years ago
two little spirits
entered my life
teaching me
how much
love
my heart could hold...

watching them grow
teaches me patience,
and reminds me
to treasure
the moment....

it's a new year......traditionally, it seems, in north america a time for reflecting on the past, for thinking about the future...

what do i say...? where do i begin...? it's taken me half my life to discover who i am, and who i've become (because we're all in the process of becoming, each day of our lives...)

i met someone recently who caused me to hold a mirror up to myself and i saw someone looking back who i hadn't clearly seen before, but who'd always been there...i can only thank her for that...

i'm at a crossroads of sorts (oh, so cliche, but true). i'm starting to take some risks in my life....one of the many is putting down into words the chaos that swirls in my head, in my heart, or in my soul, and putting these words out there....it's scary, but gratifying...kinda like life...?