I’m ready for something new.
Time to shed a skin or two.
Habits and thought patterns are stale.
Begging me to begin a new tale.
I am mired in the same old dance,
Convincing myself of its importance.
Yet feeling an invitation in the breeze,
Which tickles me and makes me sneeze.
What grand dreams were just inhaled?
What new walls here to be scaled?
Glimpses of new vistas that I see,
Sent back in time by a future me.
I ask, “What is there?
How do I prepare?”
I answer, “Throw away the map
And climb on my lap.”
Carried away by an unseen dream.
Across uncharted territory.
Upside down and topsy turvy.
No time to rhyme.
Bump, I land back where I began,
Steadied by a Divine hand.
The invitation is crystal clear.
Thus invoking lots of fear.
With child’s mind, I venture out.
To play, to risk, to sometimes pout.
If new is what I’m called to do,
I guess I’ll try a thing or two.
Tickled by this unseen dream,
The path is clear, just can’t be seen.
Who knows where I may land?
Or who will come to hold my hand?
Emboldened by the memory
of a brave kindergardener me.
I venture forth to this new game.
Trusting I will not remain the same.
Hoping for playmates along the way.
I trust you’ll venture out to play.
I’m ready for something new.
Are you?
Peace be with you and with all. No exceptions.
There’s a lot of benefit to writing, reading, and listening to poetry. Research shows it benefits the brain, developmental learning, creative expression, and opening to new perspectives. I like this quote from Phyllis Klein (Women’s Therapy Services.) “…poetry gives rhythm to silence, light to darkness. In poetry we find the magic of metaphor, compactness of expression, use of the five senses, and simplicity or complexity of meaning in a few lines.” Why not try it out? Let your creative juices flow. Perfection be damned! Express yourself.
Learn the one essential skill that allows you to face any challenge with confidence, sturdiness, and inner calm.
More than a technique. It’s a game changer.
Three months ago, I unexpectedly entered into a relationship with a horse.
I met Zor during a visit to Liberty Stables in Florida, where I had gone to spend time with a friend’s horses. I had no particular expectations. I have no background with horses, no training, and no experience in equine-assisted therapy. I simply met this magnificent Friesian, and something quietly familiar unfolded between us.
I fell in love.
The women who arrive in my classes, retreats, and therapy sessions are sincerely looking for healing, expansion, clarity, or sometimes just a little room to breathe.
They are thoughtful women, deeply engaged with the people and work they love. Rarely do they arrive because they want another spiritual philosophy. Most are carrying something much more ordinary.
A life that has become full. Beautiful in many ways, but crowded.
About twenty-five years ago, I was driving with a colleague to a local conference. As we approached the hotel entrance, I noticed an open parking spot near the front door.
“There’s a spot,” I said, pointing to the right. He drove past it.
A few seconds later, another one appeared. He drove past that one, too. Then I pointed to a third. “There’s a spot.” Without the slightest hesitation, Dan replied, “I’ll leave that for someone else.” And he calmly parked much farther away. As we walked to the entrance, I asked about that statement.
During the Seeding the Light Gathering, I had the privilege of hosting Pascual and Jose Tomas in our home.
They feel like family as this was their second visit to New Jersey. We’ve also spent a week together in Damanhur and the Temples of Humankind in Italy. I’ve sat in many ceremonies with Pascual in Peru’s Sacred Valley. His flute playing often carried me up mountain trails in the thin air and hot sun.
I planned to work a bit, complete some projects, and enjoy slow days with plenty of relaxation.
All of that certainly occurred, but beneath it all, something else began quietly inviting my attention.
The plane had begun its slow fall toward the earth when a sharp ache pierced my ears. Half-dozing, half-aware, I surfaced into the moment just as the toddler in front of me woke with a scream that broke her open. The sound wasn’t defiance or misbehavior. It was pain.
I felt her small body struggling to make sense of something she couldn’t name.
Her mother bent over her with the tenderness of someone trying very hard to be a good parent. But her soothing came dressed in urgency, in the quiet pressure to behave, to use words, to be okay, to not disturb those seated around her. Her voice shook with the effort of managing her child’s distress and her own rising shame.
