Make love to me

Make love to me with your presence…with your silken gaze and gentle caress of your hand as you pass me tea, gently, gently… make love to me.

Make love to me with your laughter, your twinkly eyes meeting mine in celebration of mirth, of life, of love. Caress my cheek with your gaze, hold my words in your palms, in your heart, like a gentle dove sleeping, caress them gently, gently…

Make love to me with your view. Sit next to me, share time, hold me near, not too close, yet all the way deep inside your heart and soul. I want to meet you there, where feelings erupt and dreams collide and passion bubbles and overflows, where butterflies roam and fields and streams hold the treasures of dreams deep and long-held.

Make love to me with your passion- open up- tear yourself wide open. Let me see the darkness of your belonging, the beauty of your shadowy soul. Let fly your expression, let go of yourself and fall into the unknown, dive deep with me so that we may fly through the heavens of our desires.

My heart is ablaze, my belly soft and full, my breasts abound with passion and delight. Come rest in my bosom. Let me caress your sweet head. Come, suckle me, feel the generosity of of my body against yours, the warmth, the soft, silky skin responding to yours. Feel the generosity of my wetness, expressing desire, acceptance, relaxation, trust. Hold me gently now, for I am vulnerable. I am opening, unfurling, and it’s all very scary, this unfolding. Please, hold me gently.

Make love to me with your presence, now more than ever. Quaking with excitation, apprehension, the falling apart of the rigid constructs of persona. My soul is coming forth, behold it, adore it, let it fly with wild abandon. Hold me close, but let my soul fly free. Hold me gently, softly, with the tenderness you would give a baby bird.

I am a flower unfurling, petals curling open, nectar for the offering, so vulnerable, so soft, falling into myself, into you.

Make love to me with your presence. See me as I am, gently, gently….

Into me, into you.


Haiku 7

Gray, swirling tar pit
Grief over a dream unlived
Simply a mirage



Bathtime Musings #1: The Voice

It’s amazing what can happen in a short bath. I can never again say that I don’t have time for:

  1. a bath
  2. creativity

This all happened in a span of 45 minutes, including a chi machine jiggle after and what I am writing right now.

Listen here: 

  1. It’s so much better than the shower because: a) you CAN hear your voice; b) you can feel the vibration of your voice in the water and therefore on the surface as well as inside your body
  2. I’ve noticed that certain notes feel open on the left side of my face, and in order to open up the right side of my face, I have to go higher. And that, I can go incredibly high, incrementally, with an AAhhhh
  3. EEEs are so much harder than AAAhhhs to go high with




Turn of the Tides

I had my heart opened up.

Just enough to let the light in.

He didn’t try to do it. He didn’t do anything but smile, dance, and then hold me sweetly. My body remembered the sweet grace of a warm embrace, the mutual sigh of contentment, if only for that one shared moment.

And right on the heels of the night, Doubt came galumphing along. Doubt is an insidious character, the elephant that never forgets an infraction by anyone (real or imagined).

Doubt lacks compassion. Doubt assumes the worst. It’s a real downer.

And Yearning also popped in for a visit, which only made Doubt more insidious.

Tired of the chatter and confliction, I went for a walk in the park, something I had not done for much too long.

Walking along the creek, something softened in me. That sound, that rushing, undulating current of water always softens my edges, washes away my crusty armor, and leaves me naked, ripe for the taking, if only I allow it time to work its magic.

The water surged, welling up in my eyes, across my forehead, and deep into the belly.

“What on earth am I sad about?”

And at that moment, it was clear. I was mourning the loss of Nature in my life, of MY nature…..the familiar turn of the tides in me that I have turned from in an effort to be strong, to leave the painful past behind, to turn my intention to the future, toward stability and growth.

I have made it so I don’t have time for my dear friend and confidante. I shunned her because she washes away my armor, she opens up my soul and leaves me naked, bared to anyone who can See.

It’s scary being vulnerable, being true and open and honest. It’s scary opening up after a heinous divorce and then being let down yet again.

It’s scary to trust myself, knowing I have let mySelf down so many times.

My friend, no matter how long I neglect her, is there, reminding me to remain sensitive, to trust in the evolution of process. She is there in my orchids that took 18 months to bloom, and Oh! How they bloomed! And she is in my herbs, and drooping plants, and bright plants, and in everything that grows and dies in my life.

And she spoke to me at the park.

“Stop, and listen. Hear the creek, the rhythm, let it beat upon your back. Let the air rush through your lungs. You are alive as you can be. Isn’t it glorious?!”

And she showed me her treasures….tiny flowers nestled in the knot of a tree, nature’s flowerpot, mini worlds of fungi, lichen and moss, solo flowers standing proud, and then a tall, smooth tree that beckoned me with it’s quiet, unassuming strength.

And I laid my face upon its smooth skin and let my tears fall, and it held me.

No judgement, no expectations, no words of advice. It just held me, supported me and welcomed my tears. And I wrapped my arm around the trunk, so thankful for the unconditional and ever-present love, support and acceptance of my dear friend.

“It’s been too long, my friend, too long.”


I am not what I was

I love how clarity just happens, often when we aren’t seeking it. I was sitting on the couch the other day, pondering the concept of being triggered. It has become more and more evident how our triggers can either block us from living life or lead us to greater clarity and self-compassion.

And it dawned on me. I am not a wounded person. I am whole.

Suddenly, I had flashbacks to so many times I reacted based on a story in my mind, how as proud of being independent and positive I was, I still put myself in the victim role with stories of being wounded. Those stories suddenly didn’t matter. They were just….stories. At that moment, I didn’t identify with them. What happened next was a big, full, ecstatic and life-affirming inhale as my chest softened and let life in.

Does not being wounded mean we don’t get triggered? Hell no! What it means, for me, is that I have another chance to undo a negative pattern and redirect it through truth seeking and self love. I can get triggered, but not identify myself with the stories that caused the patterns.

I am not what I was.

I am.


Feathers bleeding rainbows

I’m tired of thinking.


“Is that true?”

Questioning my thoughts, constantly. Questioning myself, constantly.

Do I really want to do that? Or am I motivated by ….God forbid…Weakness?

I hear myself talk to people and feel I am dominating the conversation. Something in me believes that I am selfish, self-centered. I guess I am afraid of being perceived as so,…to be honest. My parents used to tell me I was selfish. They told a boyfriend of mine I was selfish. Stories.

It all happened then, so why should it matter?


Round and round the chicken coop we go. Feathers flying, words bouncing around and hitting the heart, emotions everywhere. Feathers bleeding rainbow…

I cry easily. I am emotional. I am rational. I think a LOT. I want connection with others….bad. I find myself wishing someone would reach out to me. I have reached out to so many, but things don’t come to fruition often. And when I really think about it, am I seeking connection with others or to disconnect from myself? From the mental chatter, the disorienting constant shift in thoughts? The internal drive to do, and the struggle with not wanting to do anything….

My, how shifty is the feeling of “rightness”, the feeling of wholeness and content. My, how the mind likes to drive me. It takes so much time, it seems, to be quiet with these thoughts, to let them play out until I reach the truth. Perhaps meditation is good for that… a focused exercise in being quiet and still. YET, for me, so much clarity has come from letting my mind chatter and watching it, following it’s thought patterns.

Feathers bleeding rainbows…I like how that sounds.

Heap of Tired

It’s as if the sky is crying for me,

and the thunder wails for me,

so that I may relax into this feeling of despair,

so I may exhale into a comfortable heap of tired.


And the storm will pass, the tears will wash away,

and we will start afresh,

cleansed from the outpouring of our hearts

and the washing of our souls.


143- So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.


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This excerpt of T.S. Eliot’s work from Four Quartets: The East Coker speaks to my need for silence, and the innate uncomfortable-ness of that space between the light and the dark. It is in the anticipation of what lies beneath … Continue reading


138- Marry Thyself


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“A woman’s highest calling is to lead a man to his soul, so as to unite him with Source. … A man’s highest calling is to protect woman, so she is free to walk the earth unharmed.”~ Cherokee Proverb My … Continue reading


137- Who Do You Think You Are?

There is nothing to practice.
To know yourself, be yourself.
To be yourself, stop imagining
yourself to be this or that.
Just be. Let your true nature emerge.
Don’t disturb your mind with seeking.

Nisargadatta …. ♥

“Stop imagining yourself to be this or that”…. to stop identifying yourself as any-thing, which is purely the ego. May we all be the student every day. May we always be humble and trust that the other has their answers within them, and until they hear themselves speak that truth, they will not hear our answers.

We are neither “good” nor “bad”, wise nor dumb, virtuous nor sinful. We simply are as we are, perfect, and right where we are meant to be. Where else could we be?