The Next Day


Maybe it rolls in dark and ominous
Bringing batches of brooding baggage
Dragged behind digging damage in yesterday’s trip

The day after

When words were tossed out to unwilling catchers
Their mitt and mask left in the locker room
Not suspecting enemy play


The day after

Driving away from marble memories
Etched in cold stone heartbreak
Eyes fiercely ahead
No stopping into the tunneling tomorrow


The day after

Finally free
Let loose the gripping addiction
Standing silently still
A mind swept clear
Crossroads calling sweet footsteps


The day after

When wind whispers the answer
After today has turned her back
And wishing or hiding behind shuttered lids
Will not bring back foggy film of yesterday


So then
While woe and wings seem
To utter the fluttering self
In flight
This journey so made
Has yet but one desired destination

The day after


Zoe The Only Child: The Thanksgiving Box

As Zoe lay groggy in bed, she thought about yesterday. It was vacation time from school because it was almost Thanksgiving, so Ma had taken her into the big town to get prepared. This year it was their turn to have the family dinner and everyone would be there–all of Zoe’s very favorite relatives!

Auntie Frieda was Ma’s oldest sister and was Zoe’s secret most wonderful Aunt. She brought special treats for Zoe because she knew that sometimes Zoe was sad that she had no brothers and sisters.  There were others too and everyone would laugh, sing, and eat lots of food! Zoe thought there was almost too much food and she never liked that it was sometimes wasted. She had heard in school that there were many people in the world and in our own country that were hungry.

But this year, as Zoe looked out her bedroom window and saw the pretty leaves that were still left on the trees, she wasn’t as happy as last year. Zoe was thinking about what she saw in town yesterday with Ma and she couldn’t stop seeing it in her head.


It wasn’t often they went into town! It was kind of far away, and Ma said it was crowded and everything was so expensive. “But this time of year is special sweetheart,” she said with a smile, “and maybe we can start our Christmas shopping too.” It was extra special for Zoe to be shopping and spending time with her Mom, so she grabbed her little purse and they had hopped in their old car.

The countryside was so beautiful as they had driven along and Ma played the radio loudly. Sometimes her Mom would sing–Zoe thought her Ma had a really nice voice, but Ma only laughed and said, “You silly doodle, I sing like a goat!”


Even though Zoe’s tummy was beginning to grumble for breakfast, she still wanted to lie in bed thinking about yesterday’s trip. She liked to daydream and many grownups told Zoe that she seemed older than her real age.

When Ma and Zoe finally had gotten to town it was buzzing with people. It was a much busier place than her small village! There were so many shops, restaurants and lots and lots of PEOPLE! It was almost a little scary to Zoe. But Ma was right with her and held her hand, so off they went.

After they had walked a while down a big street with lots of cars, Zoe had begun to notice something strange. There were very large boxes on the street and in those boxes were blankets. And on those blankets were people.  Zoe had become confused and could not understand why people would be in boxes on the street.


“Ma,” Zoe turned and pulled on her coat, “why are there people in boxes? It’s cold outside–won’t they get cold? Why aren’t they inside?” “Oh Zoe dear,” her Mother had said sadly, “those people don’t have a place to go inside. They are homeless. They live in those boxes on the street.”

Zoe stopped walking right there when Ma had told her about these people! They lived in boxes? How could that be? This didn’t see fair, wouldn’t they get sick? “But how do they stay warm at night,” cried Zoe getting very upset. “Sometimes they make fires to stay warm and cook their food,” she had said, and Zoe could tell that her Mother was very sad too.


Wearily, Zoe remembered all this while she lay in bed. “I know I live in a little house and we don’t have much, but I don’t have to live in a box. I guess I am very lucky,” mumbled Zoe out loud. (She often talked to herself).

Finally she got up and Zoe stumbled through the day trying to help Ma get ready, but kept trying to think about what she could do to help the box people. Wanting to help and to see what it was like not having a home or enough to eat, she began to think of an idea.

That night, after Ma was sound asleep, she tip-toed into the shed. Her Ma would never wake up because she was always very tired from working so hard. Zoe remembered that there was a big, huge box left in there from when the man came to bring the new refrigerator! Zoe decided to drag it in the house and sleep in it.

“I want to see what it’s like for those people I saw in the street,” she thought. Zoe knew she could not do it outside or her Mother would be very worried and upset, but at least Zoe would feel how small the space was–how dark and lonely.


Zoe pulled it in the living room and tugged in some blankets from the couch. She made a little nest inside the box and crawled in. Inside the box, Zoe felt cramped and whispered, “it’s so dark in here. It’s a little creepy and I’m glad the box is in my house.” She thought about all the people living in real boxes outside that very night and drifted off to sleep having bad dreams about people asking her for food.

In the morning Zoe’s Mom came into the living room and saw a big box in the middle of the floor. “Good gracious,” walking slowly toward the box, “what have we here?” With her foot she kicked the side of it. Of course Zoe’s Ma had seen Zoe’s little toes sticking out the end of the box, so guessed who might have been inside.

The tap woke Zoe and she jumped hitting her head on the inside of her box-home. “Ouch,” she snapped, “where am I? Oh wait, I’m in my box, that’s right, I forgot,” said Zoe as she started to wake up.

“Good morning Sweetpea,” Ma said, “what are you up to with this box?” As Zoe crawled out she explained to Ma about wanting to see what it was like to live in a box. Zoe told her it was spooky and dark last night and way too small. “And I wasn’t even outside!” Zoe said understanding how hard it must be for the people in the streets.


Zoe had learned some things from sleeping in the box, but it wasn’t enough.  She wanted to do more. In her dreams, the people in boxes had been asking for food. She wondered if maybe she could help by giving food too? Now she really had to think hard about what to do next.

In school kids had whispered about a boy named Joey. They said he dressed funny, was too skinny and didn’t like to play with the other kids. Some of the kids said his family was poor  and they didn’t like him because he lived in a trailer. Zoe never thought Joey was any different. She had always tried to play with Joey on the playground, but he always seemed sad and shy. Zoe thought that maybe she shouldn’t bother him because maybe he didn’t want to play with other kids. She wasn’t really sure before, but now she was wondering about Joey.

Zoe was wondering if maybe Joey didn’t have enough food all the time, or maybe he didn’t get to go to town like she did and buy things with his Ma. Maybe being poor meant that your were sad and afraid to be near other kids. Zoe had heard they came here from another country and were all alone, just like she was in the box last night. Alone and scared.


Suddenly, she had an idea! Maybe she could invite Joey and his family for Thanksgiving! There was always plenty of food–and isn’t that what the Native Americans did way back in history? Aren’t we suppose to share and be grateful for what we have? “I will ask Ma right now,” shouted Zoe as she ran to her Ma skidding into the kitchen.

Zoe told her Mom the great idea she had about inviting Joey’s family. And, because Zoe had the best Ma in the world, she said yes! So now Zoe just had to find his house and invite them.

She knew that he lived at the end of the village and it wasn’t a very long walk. Ma said she would go too just in case Zoe got lost, so off they went hand in hand, hoping to find the right trailer!


Once they arrived to the street where Joey lived, it was luck that Joey was outside feeding their chickens! Zoe loved all the chickens in the yard and was happy to see her classmate.  “Hey Joey,” Zoe called! “Oh hi Zoe,” Joey said in his shy voice, “what are you doing here?” “My Ma and I know you are new in town and have no family around here and wanted to invite you, your Mom and Dad for Thanksgiving dinner at our house,” Zoe said with a huge grin on her face!


Just then a door slammed and out came a pretty woman. “Joey, who are these people,” said a woman with long dark hair? “Mama, this is Zoe from school and her Mother. They want us to come for Thanksgiving dinner! Can we Mama, please? Zoe is my friend!”  The woman looked startled and a timid smile came over her face, “Let me ask Papa first, but that is a very nice thing to ask.”

The woman went back inside and in a moment, Joey’s Papa came out too–he was tall and slim with big muscles. “Hello, I am Joseph and this is my wife Carla. We would be so happy to go to Thanksgiving with you. You see I lost my job and it is very hard now. It is like a gift you ask us. This is what makes America great,” Joseph grinned widely!

Ma gave Carla all the important details of the gathering and they waved goodbye. With everthing settled, Ma and Zoe left and walked home. Zoe felt very good. She knew she wasn’t helping all the people in boxes, but she was helping one family. And now she knew that Joey was her friend!


Thanksgiving day arrived bright and beautiful. All the guests started pouring in the house and it smelled so good. There was lots of food, almost too much! Zoe did not eat meat, but other people did, so there was all sort of stuff to eat. There was turkey, stuffing, vegetables and LOTS of desserts. Zoe hoped this year nothing would be thrown away. Maybe she and Ma could even give the leftovers to Joey and his family!

Zoe was especially thankful this year. She knew that she was a very lucky little girl. She had a home, even though it might be small, it was not a box on a street. Ma made sure she always had enough to eat and she never had to worry that she would be hungry. Zoe had family that loved her like Auntie Frieda. And this year, she had a special gift: she had her new friend Joey. Plus Zoe had learned how good it felt to be nice to other people, and Zoe thought this was the most wonderful part of Thanksgiving she had ever felt!

ems 1






The Open Gate

My father has been visiting me quite often lately. This is quite an interesting phenomenon given he has been dead a very long time. In dreams he has come visiting, though foggy memories as I awake, it’s clearly him–warm and wise. This is unusual as I rarely had dreamed of him before my move.


A door seemed to have been opened, a gate to my subconscious thus allowing an ancestor to cross over into my realm. What smoothed the way for this meeting and caused the crack that let slip the apparition to appear?

When an aperture is created, whether actual or unintentional, it gives the opportunity for its opening to allow entrance. If the gate is purposely opened and we welcome whatever is on the other side, then we are prepared for our guests.

But often this may not be the case. A hole can happen suddenly in our lives, unexpectedly due to an unforseen accident or illness. This creates a gap that opens the floodgates of fear, anxiety and depression. Then the uninvited visitors may march into our deepest self and take residence without our permission.

Sometimes a planned change in our lives, like my own move or a divorce, can surprisingly pry open parts you might not think. My sweet, new relationship with my Mother is now tender and loving. It catches me at moments where I find myself overwhelmed by it. This passing through has put me on the other side where I have always longed to be.


These wells, doorways, keyholes can be tangible or deep within our souls. Maybe we dig them with shovels and spades or instead they can be created by a diagnosis or footsteps walking away from us. Either way, we can ultimately decide to walk through–welcome the ancestors, walk over the threshold and see the gate as something to open, not slam shut.

So look for your openings, guarded gates,  daring doorways and hold in wonder what may be on the other side. For maybe they were flung wide beckoning you to enter the life you have yet to discover!


Living “Off The Grid”

My dog nudges me awake almost every morning around 6 am. That’s pretty early, but it’s OK. I have nowhere to be and nothing really special to do these days, so even if I’m tired–I can catch a quick nap later.


On our stroll around the neighborhood, I see all the holiday decorations going up. And there’s talk on everyone’s lips about what they will be serving this year for Thanksgiving, how many guests will arrive or where they might be flying to spend it.

Oh yeah…it’s Thanksgiving this week?!  For me my blended weeks just seep into one another, like a watercolor left out in the rain. Being unemployed and unencumbered, leaves one marking the beat of the calendar or week not by numbers but other more subtle things.


That ‘grid’ that used to rule my life every day for so many years feels now like a distant memory. Today could be Saturday and tomorrow Fourth of July. Delineated moments now only come with sunrise and sunset and when the dog needs to go out.  I have become more like my ancient relatives and move with the pull of the earth.

The months used to drag upon my weary life as I ripped off the pages that hung on the wall. Each year thrown in the garbage, gone to be recycled into some other bit of energy, but no longer mine.

red sky

Now I pass through my moments slowly and with grace. I’m finding parts that were begging to be seen and are now fluttering to the surface. I’m understanding why great artists (like poets, writers, choreographers, painters, musicians, authors, lyrists) are just that: artists. They must have time and space to create their works and not be bogged down by the incessant clatter of the daily noise of the grid.

At first I was lost without the lines that separated each day from the next, telling me what day was what and what I had to get up and do. Stress enveloped me and guilt passed through my bones saying I had no right to live this way. Of course, it’s not that I haven’t been looking for work, but rather I’ve made a conscious choice to step out of my old profession, therefore cutting my chances down considerably.

But suddenly one day the stress fell away. Somehow I realized this “gridless” life was a gift. I felt free. Seeing now that I have the ability within this period to take the chance that I never had before to slow down time. Finally I can stop riding the chilling train I had been taking careening me too quickly forward towards the inevitable end.


Instead, I can heal the parts within me that needed it–those parts that had to be dug out of the crevices of my innards. Never had there been time before to stop, listen and search those parts of myself and see these hidden aspects. As a friend said: you must empty before you can fill up.

As the moments and days softly turn into one another, and no obligations appear before me, I metamorphose into something new. I too have no shape, no lines that confine me now. It is my time to become whatever may be possible.


This life without lines, living off the grid may not last forever, but while it does, I embrace it! With its dream-like quality I pass from one sunrise to the next and wonder: what will today bring? And with an open mind and spirit I great each new day.


Poem: Rain



I  walk anyway

Overdressed, battened down umbrella

Ping tapping  my shoulder

Not many others out

Squirrels square dancing

I dodge puddles pondering

Once laying shipwrecked in bed

Booming claps surrounded my craft

Hunkered deep down among the heavenly hull

Riding out the storm in stuttered slumber


Childhood cabins damp and cool

Slanted sheets upon shuttered cloth

We sat indoors like prisoners

And read our books

Ticking pittering to play outside


Turned up dirt earth soil

Smells of pulsing plants

Freshly washed and finely fed

Muddy puddles splash splendid fountains

Walk home wet

A baptized rat drowned in the rivers of coincidence


Holy water

Fall upon me

Run through my body

Create who I am

Moist wet me

I am



Zoe The Only Child: Why Not Me?

The day broke brilliant and warm in the small village where Zoe lived with her Mother. Zoe’s Father had died when she was very small. Her Ma had told her how it had happened, but she always forgot. Or maybe she just didn’t want to remember. Today was one of those days, because today was a special day. Today a special person was coming to visit the little school where Zoe and the other kids went everyday (except on weekends) to learn about all sorts of interesting things.


Most kids didn’t like school, but Zoe loved it! She loved learning her A, B, C’s and singing songs and especially her wonderful teacher Miss M (she had a very long name, so she told the children to call her Miss M to make it easier). But most of all Zoe loved to learn about the earth and it’s creatures.


Miss M would bring out books and pictures of animals like turtles and deer and tell the kids all about them. She would talk about the trees, flowers and the sky. Sometimes Zoe would forget she was in school and float away on the back of a dolphin. Miss M would have to say, “Zoe, where are you, are you here in this class?” But Miss M would have a big smile on her face when she said this to Zoe because she knew that Zoe was daydreaming about all the wonderful animals. Miss M told Zoe she had a big imagination, which meant she could make lots of stories in her head.




Today Miss M had invited a special person to class to talk about the earth. He was a scientist! He knew lots about animals and the world. Zoe was so excited she could hardly eat her breakfast. But Ma made her do it so she wouldn’t get hungry later. After she gobbled it down, Zoe ran to school down the dirt street, kicking up dust as she flew. Zoe was thinking about all the animals the man would talk about and said out loud to herself,  “Maybe the man will even talk about lions?” She often spoke to herself because she had no brothers or sisters and Ma was usually busy. 



As she burst into the classroom, she looked around to see if the man was there. He had not arrived yet and Miss M told her to be patient. Zoe was never very patient and wiggled and squiggled in her seat until finally, sometime later, she noticed a very tall person with a dark moustache enter the room.

“This, children, is Mr. Goodfoot and he’s here to talk to us about the earth, animals and conservation.” Zoe knew all the words except the last big one, the one that began with a “C”. And Zoe thought the man had a very funny name. It had two words put together.


The kids hushed while Mr. Goodfoot got his stuff ready–he had pictures that he flashed on a screen. He showed wolves, whales, coyotes, hawks and more. His moustache moved up and down while he talked about how there was no more land for these animals to hunt for their food, how the ocean is dirty and the air thick with smog. The more Zoe listened, the sadder she became.


Mr. Goodfoot said humans were doing this to the animals, that humans were taking away the places for animals to live and have their babies and grow. Zoe could not understand why this was true? She did not hurt these animals, she loved them. How could she be hurting them? She didn’t see people taking the land, they only lived in their houses. Zoe became very confused.


“Conservation,” said Mr. Goodfoot, “means we must take care of these animals, the earth, the water and the air, or we will have nothing left, not even animals. Some kinds of animals,” he continued seeming to look right at Zoe,  “are already gone, like the dodo bird.” The room fell silent for a moment. He finished his talk and then the class ended like always.

But Zoe was not the same after his talk. What had started as a beautiful day, was now bleak and dark. Zoe was sad and did not know what to do. The animals she loved were leaving the earth and Mr. Goodfoot seemed to blame her too. Afterall, he had looked right at her! He said all humans were hurting the earth, and Zoe knew she was maybe one of them. Zoe headed home feeling heavy inside, like she was carrying a big stone in her backpack.


Zoe lay in bed unable to sleep. Tossing and turning that night Zoe tried to think of what she could do. As a child, Zoe felt she was too young and it might be too late anyway. Zoe thought, “I must figure out what I can do to stop it or there will be no animals left when I grow up.” She finally drifted off to sleep filled with dreams of animals calling out to her to help them.


The next day was Saturday, so there was no school. Zoe decided to visit the village elder. This meant that this person had lived for many, many years. She was a very smart woman, wrinkled and stooped. No-one knew just how old she really was, but many sought her wisdom because she had lived in the village since way before most people could remember.

With drooping shoulders and a heavy heart, Zoe walked along the village streets to the home of Ranela.

Quiet knocks on Ranela’s door brought scuffling footfalls. The door creaked open and an old woman answered, her warm smile greeted Zoe to enter the little house. “Hello Zoe my dear, what brings you to my home,” said the tiny woman with the long white braid?

With teary eyes and sorrowful words, Zoe murmured, “A man came to my school and told us that we are all killing the animals on earth. I am sad because I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong. What can I do?”


Ranela gently brought Zoe to sit on her comfortable chairs and together they bowed their heads in silence for some moments. Zoe looked up and saw that Ranela seemed have gone to a faraway place as Zoe watched the old woman’s face. Her breathing was steady and slow. Zoe was trying to be patient, but it was always so hard to be quiet and wait for a grownup.


Finally Ranela looked up. “We are all interconnected like a spider’s web Zoe,” she sighed,  “when something happens at one end, it is felt at the other. When humans plow the land to grow wheat to feed cows that they raise for meat, the land is wasted and could have been used to grow food for humans instead. When humans drive thousands of cars that need fuel, and then a ship breaks carrying the oil that makes gas, the oil gets dumped in the ocean. Then much of the marine life is killed. Everything we do, everything we need, everything we touch has a reaction in nature,” said Ranela tiredly.


Zoe sat for a minute. What Ranela seemed pretty complicated, but she thought she might understand. Finally, Zoe was ready to speak. “Is it like the time that I forgot to shut the door tight and Buster got out and ran away? Ma was mad because he came home and was hurt.” “Yes, something like that,” said Ranela softly, “you weren’t careful so an animal you loved suffered . Both your Mother and Buster were hurt because you did not remember to shut the door. So you see, everything we do may change another being’s life.” 


Zoe thought about these words. It seemed scary that little things she did could hurt someone or something else.  “But how can I change these things, I’m only a child,” Zoe asked jumping up from her seat feeling frustrated and frightened?

“Even a child can make a difference,” said Ranela calmly with her deep blue eyes staring into Zoe’s. “You can make choices: you can stop eating animals and by your example others may too. You can study as you grow older to help the earth and all its creatures, go to school to be a scientist like that man or a teacher. And every day you can try to make very little garbage and think hard about what you want, what toys you really need. With everything you do: always remember that is has a consequence somewhere else in this world,” Ranela said firmly!


“What does consequence mean?” puzzled Zoe.  Ranela looked carefully in Zoe’s young eyes and said, “Whatever you do may change something somewhere else: to an animal, to our water, to the air and to Mother Earth”. So think wisely in all you do,” Ranela smiled.

With this, Zoe thanked the elder and started on her way home filling with new ideas and more hope. Zoe thought that if she grew up to be someone who would help the animals maybe they wouldn’t all die. Zoe began to think of all the things she could do RIGHT NOW to help her animal friends that spoke to her in the dream. 

She could stop eating meat right away because she never really liked it anyway. Toys were silly and they usually broke and made more garbage to fill the earth, so she would tell Ma to save her money. And maybe she could start teaching her Ma, the kids in school and other people about ‘consequences’ and maybe, just maybe things would start changing. 

Zoe knew this might be hard, and she would have to be patient, but she was brave. She could learn to be patient, her animal friends needed her to be. So with a deep breath she said out loud, maybe even loud enough for someone else to hear, “Someone has to do it, so why not me?” And with that, Zoe skipped back home feeling just like a kangaroo. 




As the sun and earth begin
another moment of
Handing off the dim of darkness
To simmering luminosity–
I listen


In city streets hum human noise
The car The train
But underneath
The bird still sings her song


The footfalls upon the pavement
Echo quietly
There is always silence to be found
The gray recesses of our shuttered mind
The rooms we visit there


Creating quiet
Hushed harmony
We pray
for ourselves for the earth for others


Carve it out
Shut off sound
Sit stand listen
And catch the voice of
Peace within


Out Of Place


With the holidays rapidly approaching, for me there is a strangeness to it, as though I am an alien having just landed on a foreign planet. Living my whole life up north, this will be the first time that I will spend an entire holiday season in a tropical place. Where is the feeling of the crisp cold air as I walk outside and observe holiday shoppers in their frenzy of consumer glory? No feeling of anticipation of possible blizzard warnings and being able to play “White Christmas” and have it come true. As much as I came here to be away from the cold, I admit a melancholy now. I simply feel, well, out of place. 


This term, out of place, when we break it down and really look at it can reflect a truly heartbreaking human condition. As humans, most of us identify strongly with our place: where we grew up, our people, our city, our home.


And now for millions of people this sense of place is being ripped from their lives. Refugees all over the world, fleeing the horrors of their home must leave what they know and what gave them comfort to face potential dangers and a life on the edge. Migrant workers crossing borders hoping for a better life, living in the shadows–having left a culture because of violence, seek shelter and work, but struggle to fit in.

When I think about the idea of borders, it gives me pause. Did this earth come with borders? These human-made delineations that keep me in and you out. While it’s true that even animals ‘mark their territory’, they rarely fight to the death to protect them. There’s a fluidity in nature that humans seem to struggle against. Sharing seems to go against human nature.


As countries deal with the burgeoning refugee crises, as camps swell and overflow and our own country fights over what to do–what do we as fellow humans feel? That empathetic side to understand feeling out of place, to try to put oneself inside the body of one fleeing terror or drug gangs…would you run? And would you want someone else to have their arms open to help you?


It is simplistic I understand, but we are after all, just each a human. And this earth was birthed with no lines, no walls and no doors that said do not enter. We all stepped onto it together with the same hearts beating, the same blood flowing, breathing the same air.

Isn’t it maybe time to put our beautiful complex brains together so that we can figure out how to share this amazing planet as one? 

winter 4


Phases are found in every aspect of nature and life on this planet. Look to the moon and watch it wax and wane in its monthly cycle around the earth. And the lovely butterfly: from larva to amazing gold studded chrysalis and then birthed into flight as a full winged angel. There is the brilliance of Summer painted with color, bursting with food; and the glorious riot of Autumn with trees hung in their last hoorah before the solemn rest of the snow covered quilt of Winter lays the world to rest; and on to Spring where babies and sprouts tenderly crawl and peep to start it all over again.


These cycles, phases are so numerous, so abundant and obvious that often we simply take them for granted. They beat within us like the ancestral clock that started from when we crawled out of thick slime and our eyes first opened to the great firey ball in the sky. And this clock has not stopped ticking since.


But there are also the human phases we face. These too may be obvious like the ones where we pass from childhood to adulthood. We celebrate the turning of our phases by weddings, funerals, Bar-Mitzvahs, Baptisms as to honor the next phase into which we are passing.

Some phases are not chosen by us: a divorce therefore making us now a single person, moving out of the once blissful cycle of marriage. Or maybe we were once clean but life, circumstance and inner struggles have moved us into the cycle of addiction. These kind of phases can be painful to pass through, seemingly bottomless pits of despair and pain.


When we are young these cycles seem to whir by like scenery in passing car, our noses pressing up against the cool window–life flashing by blurred and blending together. But as we grow older we begin to grasp onto phases, realizing that maybe with regards to our own lives, there may be some choice.

Some are surely beyond our fingertips: one can’t stop the wrinkles (no matter how much cream you apply) or the creaking bones. It’s more the direction one’s life is headed and the quality of one’s soul work that may be within our ability to manipulate.


As we grow older and begin to value the need for quiet and being alone (at least at times), one can begin to hear the song inside one’s own being. All the accumulated time we have spent speeding through our phases and watching the cycles of our world have woven together a story in our hearts. This story, when we sit with it, begins to form a pattern and as it takes shape can clearly lead us down the next phase of our life.


It is at this point that we do not have to sit back and be unwilling participants in our lives where the world happens around us, or let people do things to us. But rather we begin to steer the boat and head toward the shore where we want to land. This is the beauty of growing older.

So within this phase, I continue to honor the Earth as She tries desperately to follow the phases that She has for millions of years. It is in joy that I watch the birds, plants and animals in their cycles upon this world and the planets, stars and clouds cross the vast sky. And it is with great humility that I now try to move forward toward the next phase of my life.


Poem : Destiny

In youth
Decisions made
Sooty and volcanic
leaving ash in the crevices of my life


Fast and running
Cheetah speed
across 4 lane highways
Ending up like pieces of road kill
Along the way


Putting grasping fingertips
In any hand holds
Clawing upward
Berlin bent
And over
To find smoke and dust

But now a sloth
Growing moss upon my back
I ponder
Gathering the traces


Is it all just