Sequoia: healing from the roots up

Grief feels like this, a room with no windows. You know that there is sunlight and warmth outside, but you cannot see it or feel it, because you are locked inside, for the time being.  Your grief folds you inward on yourself.  The world is too big. You must get smaller, so that you can bear your grief, while it stays with you. No one knows how long that will be. It is different for everyone. You wait, you feel. There is nothing else to do. Eventually, you will want windows in your room again. First, you will want a small window to let in a slit of light, which will gradually work its way into your soul, softly. Then you will want more than one window, to open up and begin to air out your  grief. It will always be with you, of course. But you can live with it more easily, after some time has passed. There are some people who live in rooms without windows for so long that they forget what it is like to look into the light, and feel the warm rays o...

Peel back your petals to reveal your heart of matter. Let words sink in to your being.   Embrace your sacredness, walk strongly in your day today.  May the sun shine warmly on you. And may your breath rise up in you and make you feel alive. When I pull away the layers, I am facing only myself. I must choose, then, to love myself. I soar to heights. And I curl up in a ball, in my normal, naked humanity. Expanding into another, of the many rooms, in Goddess’s house. The Bhudda lived in one. The Christ. Human, tree, bird, sky, earth, air, smile – all of these are blessings in and of themselves. I am a part of the healing and heaving of the earth. I am a part of the collective pulsating humanity that weaves brokenness into beauty. That shakes the earth through silent, sacred petitions. Freedom has been lost. But it will always be regained where we open ourselves up to love again. Lately, I have been sorting through the pieces of my "fractured identit...

I have a handful of small madnesses. To other people they may appear to be good choices, or mistakes, or moments of life, which have passed me by. Or moments, which have grabbed on to me so strongly, never releasing their grasp.  They are small madnesses, and we all live with them. They are intrinsic; it is not possible to peel them away from who we are. And they are different for everyone. My handful of madnesses include – opening myself up to several varieties of love, being soft, the way the moon makes me feel, the grip of past love, the irrational dreamy view of every future day, and the stubborn persistence of living in the moment. Her handful of madnesses are, in no specific order - the way she cuts the broccoli florets diagonally instead of vertically, how she stares at the door waiting for him to come home, her seven pairs of sheepswool slippers, a Japanese mattress, and the vodka that she feeds her thriving geranium. His handful of mad...

“When loneliness comes stalking, go into the fields, consider the orderliness of the world.”   -Mary Oliver When loneliness comes stalking, I wait. I welcome it. I look in its face. I leave room in my heart. It comes stalking like a striped tiger through the tall grass. That is not so bad. If you are okay with being pounced on, and becoming part of the earth again. Burning bright at night, it stalks me. Dimly, during the day, it stalks me. It comes from within, and without. It is part of the whole. When it comes, it comes as a reminder. A reminder that I am not alone. It proves the paradox. It ushers in all the people who have gone before; all the other ones who have been stalked by loneliness. We are all here together. Even alone, we are together. When it comes stalking, I am ready. I am well stocked with books, and maps, a compass, and a telescope to look at the stars. And then I remember that I am stardust, too. When loneliness comes stalking...