Everyone foraging for the happiness that was always right there to be had.
With unlimited stillness we are all feral, finding home.

Everyone foraging for the happiness that was always right there to be had.
With unlimited stillness we are all feral, finding home.
Manifesting is an art and a science—and you have to leave a lot of room for mystery, while upholding your Faith. No one has THE way. Life is complex. But here’s everything I’ve been given from masterful teachers over the years, and practiced myself with some exquisite results.
This is the first time I’ve publicly spoken about the “living death” I experienced in the Fall of 2018. I went to the darkest place of my being—panic attacks, identity crisis, loss, disillusionment and… incredible awe. GRACE.
Anxiety and fear, mercy and bliss.
It’s lying to yourself until the needle of Truth pierces your life and stitches you whole.
Spirituality is doing the dishes and looking for your phone.
If you’re on your creative edge, you will continuously want more. True desire is full and insatiable. She is appreciative and ceaseless. She is present and she sees possibility everywhere. This is the divine paradox of intentional creating. You’ll love what you’ve got with all your heart today, and you will be ready for more tomorrow… and the next day.
Eventually, we will all beg for love—proudly.
17 things I did to make the MOST of the year + 4-day workweeks and a poem for loving your life. My December Roundup is here!
I know the colour of your eyes (A poem for loving your life while you’re aware of eternity.)
The Ultimate and Immediate Why:
Swallowing fresh water,
inhaling
clean air
through our mouths,
speaking
words of adoration, and
kissing.
I saw a Muslim man roll out his prayer carpet in Union Square park
to prostrate to his god.
People, dogs, pigeons, were passing by his intimacy.
You may hear this as an order, an invitation, or as the opportunity of lifetimes.
How you listen is how you live.
Can you hear the women crying?
Can you hear the soil gasping for clean air?
And did you hear that? That’s the sound of a good man asking, How can I serve?
How do you serve?
You are worth waiting for,
tall beam of Light.
And I will open the door for you like our lives depend on it.
I have expressed from my longing and obstacles
the balm of thoroughness,
rare as rose oil,
nothing cures like devotion.
I stroke it on wounds and desires
There was a time when You lived to protect Me.
Sometimes, my heart is so openI can’t tell if it is a gaping wound or a portal for everything that ever was and ever will be…
You know what I want? I want JUST LOVE. Something so pure it transmutes my terror of not getting what I want into what I want the most: JUST LOVE…
We dance ’round fires
to pray for others to change,
and we change our names
so that a reality we don’t truly want
will let us in the door…
The outline of my being
shines brighter than
agreements I made before now…
Chorus:
The long time of loud striving
the symbols of success
keeping time in my head
always a quarter b-b-beat behind…
I am looking
for a place
to put this fire…
If I ever tell you
that I long for my
Star Home
don’t back away…
That tired beautiful animal in me needed to die,but not like a sacrificial offering…
Desire enchants you to the woods
and has you push through the muck
with the patience of a Lotus.
Come closer.
Search everywhere for your keys.
And then she makes you drive all night, desire,
With no map or insurance.
Empty your belly of rage and striving Create! Create! Create! and all the while, be still so you can hear the code of The Beginning.
A poem, with audio. I never feared the darkness, only the cold that can come with it.
My love for you
is larger
than any compass could map.
But like a Queen
with the luxury of time and resources…
I can walk down streetsin new cities or be in a stadium waiting for the concert to begin
and I see your face
and I feel
I know you and you and you and you…
I was in a special English class in high school, the one for the word geeks and bookworms. That was me in the front row with big hair and leg warmers, talking Bronte and Shakespeare. Mrs. Mulvey, my English teacher, was on the outside of my teen drama (and there was a lot of drama back then — I left home when I was sixteen), and we rarely spoke out of class, but how she treated me quietly influenced my entire creative career…
you are more than your name your frame your DNA more plenty than all that you have…
when you were bornmy days were suddenly full
of trees and apples of hope
and the machinations of terror