one who collects things that others have no use for
Feb 12


This we have now is not imagination.    

This is not grief or joy.

Not a judging state, or an elation, or sadness.  

Those come and go.   

This is the presence that doesn’t.  

It’s dawn, Husam,  here in the splendor of coral, inside the Friend, the simple truth of what Hallaj said.   What else could human beings want?    
When grapes turn to wine, they’re wanting this.  

When the nightsky pours by, it’s really a crowd of beggars, and they all want some of this!  

This that we are now created the body, cell by cell, like bees building a honeycomb.  

The human body and the universe grew from this, not this from the universe and the human body.

Feb 11


She let go.

She let go. Without a thought or a word, she let go.

She let go of the fear.

She let go of the judgments.

She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming around her head.

She let go of the committee of indecision within her.

She let go of all the ‘right’ reasons.

Wholly and completely, without hesitation or worry, she just let go.

She didn’t ask anyone for advice.

She didn’t read a book on how to let go.

She didn’t search the scriptures.

She just let go.

She let go of all of the memories that held her back.

She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward.

She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.

She didn’t promise to let go.

She didn’t journal about it.

She didn’t write the projected date in her Day-Timer.

She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper.

She didn’t check the weather report or read her daily horoscope.

She just let go.

She didn’t analyze whether she should let go.

She didn’t call her friends to discuss the matter.

She didn’t do a five-step Spiritual Mind Treatment.

She didn’t call the prayer line.

She didn’t utter one word.

She just let go.

No one was around when it happened.

There was no applause or congratulations.

No one thanked her or praised her.

No one noticed a thing.

Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go.

There was no effort.

There was no struggle.

It wasn’t good and it wasn’t bad.

It was what it was, and it is just that.

In the space of letting go, she let it all be.

A small smile came over her face.

A light breeze blew through her. And the sun and the moon shone forevermore…

-Rev Safire Rose


Gem of a poem. I’m laughing reading it. New York City — no, scratch that - LIFE - has cultivated a creative control freak in the bottom of my spirit. Let go. Let go, let go, letgo.



“When I first arrived in New York, I went to the top of the Empire State Building. Seeing this big city, I promised myself that one day I would conquer New York and make my name in the world with my passion for the arts and mountains of creative energy stored inside myself”

Yayoi Kusama

Jan 17

The range of what we think and do
Is limited by what we fail to notice
And because we fail to notice
That we fail to notice
There is little we can do
To change
Until we notice
How failing to notice
Shapes our thoughts and deeds

Tony Schwartz

Jan 02
Friends, I wish you joy this year. Card by moi. 

Friends, I wish you joy this year. Card by moi. 

Jan 01

2013, thank you. Celebrating life & three decades with soul friends. Photos by the beautiful and talented Karen Kristian. // &

Dec 31

Beautiful and True Words, Glennon

“If, anywhere in your soul, you feel the desire to write, please write. Write as a gift to yourself and others. Everyone has a story to tell. Writing is not about creating tidy paragraphs that sound lovely or choosing the “right” words. It’s just about noticing who you are and noticing life and sharing what you notice. When you write your truth, it is a love offering to the world because it helps us feel braver and less alone.”

“If you feel something calling you to dance or write or paint or sing, please refuse to worry about whether you’re good enough. Just do it. Be generous. Offer a gift to the world that no one else can offer: yourself.”

Carry On Warrior, by Glennon Doyle Melton


A Letter to the Years

Dear 2013,

Life has been so full to bursting, and at times, actually bursting. You burst forth in beauty and change and loss and gain and many moments and many  learnings. Oh, the learnings.

You have been high highs and low lows and a palpable richness. You have been hustle and advocate and push and wait. Glean, glean, glean, and make make make, and ask the keeper of time to please hurry things along already? and wait, not that much. Thank you, God and oh no, God! and help! help. Thanks.

2013, You’ve been  friends gathered around tables. You’ve been new friends and old friends, friends I love and have barely seen. You’ve been babies birthed and friends committing their lives to one another.

You’ve been days and months and seasons flipping by like pages.

 I turned three decades on your watch.

You’ve been transitions and not yet transitioned and have we transitioned?  You’ve been new and old and just the same and every. single. thing. is. different.

And, and, and.

I guess just thank you, 2013. We’ve been in it.


You are health.

You are saying no, oh blessed no, and sometimes you are saying yes, and you are standing firm in that.

You are the calm after a great rainstorm, one that left fertile ground fresh for planting.

You are radical. You are self care, care to the tip of my toes, care for rest, care for drawing and  daydreaming, care for accepting the love I think I deserve. which is love, after all.

You, 2014, are fruition. I know you won’t be all fruition, as all is process, but you are a culmination of some things. You are God making all things new.

You are rest and you are movement. Rest rest rest. Move move move. You are the tension between these, and the extremity of both, in peace.

I look forward to it all, 2014.


Dec 29

I am Huge.

by Kelly Rush

Do you know how big I am? I am more than December. I am more than the wave that held down the sand and told it to lay quietly.

I am more than grains washing out to sea. I am more than parts.

You told me of the city of Big Shoulders, of hot iron and sweat and fear and you wanted me to taste iron from the blood in your mouth when you see the thing in your side vision

and you don’t know how to face it.  

Do you know how big I am? I went to a mountain and it asked me to sing a song. The mountain wanted to hear my voice. The mountain, the mountain of granite, the mountain of steel, the mountain of impenetrable surface, asked me


To sing a song

It asked me to be the hugeness that it can never be. The mountain was weighed in a balance, but I am alive. You cannot weigh me.

The mountain asked me for an example. It asked me to write on the blackboard, and show the students what it means to be weighed in scales. It asked me to show them what it means to have a core that has gone bad.

And I became angry. I felt rage.

Do you not know how big I am? Do you not understand my core is holy? Do you not understand that you cannot violate what you will never know?

Who are we, the ones who go bad. Who are we, the ones they speak of in magazines. Who are we, the ones they warn you about, the ones they talk about, the ones they want to be.

Do you know how big I am? Do you know that I took the dawn and claimed it? Do you know that I claim that? Do you know that I claim the dawn? Do you know I claim the sky in which the dawn breaks and you cannot fly through me because I own the sky, and I will not let you.

You cannot break me like the dawn breaks.

I will not let you

Fly through the sky

Because I own it.

I am huge. My voice calls to the ends, and the ends of things, and the beginnings, and where were you when it was beginning? Can you say you were there? Can you say you saw it spring out of nothing? Where were you when it began? You were nothing. You were a wink in someone’s eye. You were cold dust that he had not yet gathered in his hands.

You have no breath and how could you have life?  

Do you know how big I am? I will take your turns of phrase, your clever ways, your knowledge and your knowing, and I will open.

I will show you, and you will not see me. You will not understand who I am. You will not see what I put on the plate, or how I was shaped by the hard plane of isolation.

What do you know? You see me as small.

Did you know I hold time in my hands and I can stand outside of it? Did you know I am the one who shapes the dunes and makes them crest in peaks that you cannot climb? You cannot climb this tower. You cannot climb this tower. I am a tower.

Did you know the sound of me extends to the ends of the Earth? Did you know they speak my name there?  

My name is bigger than sound. The One who exists inside of me speaks my name. You cannot speak it.

Kelly Rush, my brilliant writer friend + roommate

Dec 18

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

Anaïs Nin