divine | grace | love | mystery | photography | pleasure | poetry | sexuality | the delicious now
a haiku for the Feminine
oh, fragrant flower!
open yourself to me now
so that I may love you
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- art | love | self-excavation | truth | Uncategorized
new rules
If you’re married, I am NOT interested. If you’re a liar or a cheat, leave me alone. If you withhold the truth (or your feelings for that matter) out of fear of loss or getting hurt, steer clear. If you think sending text messages saying, “I miss you” or “I want u” when you’re not…
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a thousand ways
i have a thousand ways i want to distract you close your eyes and breathe in this luscious strawberry before i put it on your tongue sit with me fully clothed my head in your lap your fingers on my cheek and tell me your stories or bring your weary head (so filled with thinking)…
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art | creativity | grace | inspiration | quotes | self-excavation | the delicious nowfinding meaning in 2019
That’s how we find meaning: through playing, exploring, creating, loving, constructing and deconstructing. And also through listening, softening, deepening, and remaining open to possibility.
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- divine | faith | grace | healing | inspiration | love | mystery | photography | poetry | the delicious now
perfectly woven | utterly unraveling
snip snip snip cutting ties that have bound and cut off the circulation to my heart stich stich stich stiching and weaving the love that is close more firmly and deeply into my life snip to the fantasies snip to button eyes snip to deception stiching care and love stiching co-creation stiching radical honesty no…
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- faith | healing | photography | self-excavation | truth
a different kind of empty
“How have you been?” he asked. “Empty. You?” “Same.” he replied. After listening for a bit, I realized it’s a different kind of empty. There is the emptiness of mindfully cutting away all the things that have been killing one’s spirit, and allowing the kind of hunger that keeps you feeling alive. This empty is…
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- grace | inspiration | love | mystery | photography | pleasure | poetry | self-excavation | sexuality | the delicious now
the (un)measured life
Let my life not be measured by gold or productivity or towers built for someone to later knock down Instead, let it be measured by the number of kisses on my neck, my forehead, my lips (and elsewhere). Let my life be measured by the number of times I have heard or spoken the words…
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