yesterday was a different kind of conversation with petals flying and thunder booming in the end, a soft a rain fell against the night * this morning songbirds are warbling the ancient trees are still and plaintive a jay screeches a call to action as the sky stretches * tomorrow is not here yet
All of the paradox and contradictions. I always wished I could make pretty things. I wish I was a pretty thing. But what’s true is I am messy and complicated. I make more messes. I make pretty messes. I’ve been doing some inner calibration lately and ran across this journal entry from earlier this year. …
slurping chai from a saucer like a kitten (and the blushing) falling in to your gravity meandering through the conversation the day your journal (this still leaves me smiling) me, drawn to the texture of your opinions and passions (and then the kissing)
The other day in yoga I was in “Happy Baby” pose and suddenly I felt very small. And vulnerable. I found myself saying, “It’s okay, sweetie. I’m sorry that you were hurt. I’m sorry that you were lied to. I’m sorry that has made it hard for you to trust people.” I started crying as…
