On December 7, 2017, the 2 year anniversary (to the day) of being mugged at gunpoint, my car was broken into for the 3rd time. I made the stupid move of leaving my bag (with laptop) in my car for 20 minutes in Temescal, Oakland. I came back to a smashed window and my bag,…
Tag: wild
thank you, longing
There is something perfect and right about this longing. yes longing. thank you. thank you for the reminder that I’m alive and that my heart is so so so big. Thank you heart for reminding me that there is never just one way to love, or parameters to follow, or prescribed time to wait, and…
the veils are thin
The veils are thin. My dreams are making music with my life. The beloved is dancing with me through all forms. Right now it is the tall pines next to me that hold in the silence and tiniest baby lizard doing pushups in the sun. If I’m still enough, these details become the foreground, the…
On grief, and the way it moves in my body
Once we have grieved something, does grief ever fully leave our hearts, or do we walk with it always? This morning I woke up feeling good, that anchor of loss that’s been following me the last few weeks, that descends into the center of my chest upon waking, was absent. Even the nature of it…
The Morning Before (arriving at Burning Man 2012)
It took until morning to realize what she’d done. For the gravity of this leap to fully settle. She had spent hours and hours planning and packing, booking flights and cars, researching and learning how to survive on the playa, had coordinated all the details like the pro-organizer she was, and not once had she…
the magic of goodbye and hello
The sand sprays over the shining water, and rains down into the foam of the most recently crested wave. In the air, the carefully sculpted sand-balls burst into millions of tiny grains, diffusing what we had built, what we can’t live without, what we must live without. We hold hands and watch our gift to…
The ambivalence of air, the expression of earth, the edge of heaven
The sun is setting on Valencia St and no one can tell if it’s summer or fall. The breeze holds with it an ambivalence, as if the changing of seasons is none of her concern, a silly construct developed by mere mortals to mark the passage of time (another of our silly constructs). The sun…
A River Unfamiliar
Every morning the sky is grey. She wakes up with faith languishing, muddled by the flickering images of escaping dreams. Breath brings her above water, to bob along in the stream she dove into a ways up. There is no turning around, no looking back: the night has erased all traces of the path behind…
If you do not come, these things do not matter. If you do come, these things do not matter.
Driving home to the country last night from Melbourne, she sensed the mass of stars before she looked up. When she finally snuck a glance from the road, her breath caught in her throat and her stomach leapt to her heart, and she fell into the expanse of light smattering dark. She had forgotten, or…
