Tag Archives: joy

When your pulse tugs, listen.


If you could hold it in your hand

Like dust tied down in space
And time, paused for the occasion

Would you?
The heart of your whole life,
The culmination of what truly mattered in the end
In the right now

If you could, would you?
Stop striving, leaning into the noise, pressing into the rush in that non-thinking way
And hold dearly whatever it is you hold dear?

Can you pinpoint it if you try?
And in the finding, could you revel in it deeply enough to feel alive?

We don’t, that’s my conclusion
Open-ended yet certain

I see a consortium of forests
With no trees
A pavilion of hearts
With no beat
An ocean of eyes
That can’t see
And nobody anywhere is dancing


I want to hold you in my hand



Waxing Poetic

Waxing Poetic

I sat in the sunshine today
And heard the taste of laughter

It was one of those moments
When nothing else matters

Kind of like the time
The sirens went off in the middle of the night
For no reason whatsoever
Over and over, the incessant beeping
As an unwarranted warning
That life has its own sense of humor,
found in the sense it refuses to make sometimes

But then again, one plus two is blue
The sky’s reflection
Is the water’s reflection
Is also known as one plus two. Seriously. This is how everything, all of it, works.
The answer of the universe,

Finally, I get it.

Time hurried up and slowed down today.
And this time, I let it.

Funny how much peace lies in the not resisting.
I rested today too.
But it was lonely there in that feeling,
Silence, whose echo goes by a name I’ve long-since forgotten.

In the sun’s shining, there was anti-matter. I found some; it’s real.
Rather surreal, but you’d have to see for yourself to believe it. Kind of like the man on the moon. You should go there too. I hear the seasons are mild.

It is quiet again. Less lonely somehow. Children sleeping crickets with that cacophanous non-stop chirping distant dog barking and literally hundreds of locusts longing to mate. I hear them all: the dreams, the joy-noises of the night, the nature-made lullaby of earth and her lovelies. It feels so much like heaven in this instant. Trees. Leaves; I hear too how the wind makes them move. Moonlit twilight rendezvous.

I once felt sad, for I had no shoes.
Then I met a man who had no feet.

“Perspective,” wisdom whispers, “is everything.”

Breathe! Breathe in the air…

Breathe! Breathe in the air…

We run circles around ourselves in attempt to maintain order amidst the increasingly chaotic and overwhelming responsibilities that govern our existence. We chase our to-do list into a perpetual tomorrow, as it snowballs itself into a mountain of unsorted papers of things we should have taken care of but couldn’t seem to manage to find the time to complete. We invariably waste hours of our lives attempting to sort through these paper Mount Everests hoping to eliminate the impending sense of dread and failure by minimizing the amount of random lists and consolidating them into one giant new list, but then we remember all of the things on today’s list that also never got taken care of because we were making an enormously pointless attempt at litter-reduction — which manages to accumulate into a deepening feeling of doom on our heavy hearts and frazzled minds. It’s a circle-jerk, for lack of a better term.

Being low in the attention span department myself, this is highly autobiographical and yet I know without hesitation that it speaks on some level to us all. With the million gadgets and trillion sources of non-stop stimulation, we have become (collectively speaking) a species of Now-or-Never. The to-do lists are less literal than metaphorical, but it seems notable that our brains have acquired the capacity to perform best when overworked. While that sounds appealing, I’m not actually convinced it’s true. I think our brains were made just fine to begin with, and we’re all lying to ourselves if we claim that overkill is a necessary factor in our own ability to process information and effectively conduct all of our affairs in the most optimal fashion.

I think you should give your synapses a break from the ongoing madness of when you were supposed to get what done at which place before whoever needs a ride to that one thing and then the world falls apart because you forgot everything except the list consolidation.

I think you should join me and turn your phone off, leave the emails for tomorrow, put your mind on pause and go for a walk. Go take a hot bath. Read a pointless book, for no reason other than soothing the soul. Make some real food, with fresh ingredients, take three hours to cook it if that’s your thing, with some perfectly ridiculously wonderful music playing while you do it. Barefoot. Naked. Whatever.

Take a moment (or five-hundred and fifty-seven moments, consecutively) to let your spirit remember what life is supposed to feel like. You know; alive.

I promise, the to-do lists can wait one more day.




Open Your Eyes

Open Your Eyes

Many people are tamed by the realities they believe they are “living in.”

Many people are dying, not living.

Many people are lost in a world they perceive to be inhospitable, lonely, and full of evil.

Many people have grown into the very thing they spent every moment of their youth fearing and resisting.

A huge percentage of the people with whom I’ve crossed paths is convinced that life is something that happens TO them…

When did everybody fall asleep? And how do we wake them up? How do you convince someone that the very peace they feel abandoned by is SITTING RIGHT WITHIN THEM?

Life is not by chance. Your life, specifically, has a purpose. If you’ve lost your sense of wonder, or you feel like nothing is meaningful enough to work hard for, or exciting enough to feel motivated for, let me ask you: what are you still doing here?

If you suffer from clinical depression, I understand that words and ideas may not cure your indifference. This post is not for you.

For everybody else, SNAP OUT OF IT!!! Look around you. Where are you? What brought you here? What keeps you here? Life is a perpetual motion, initiated by the very frequency–that is, vibrational ENERGY–of our spirit. What happened today is a direct result of what thoughts and feelings we allowed to dwell within us yesterday. If you spend your day in REACTIVE mode, waiting for things to happen, good or bad, so that you can decide if you enjoy the life you’re living, then you will never enjoy your life.

I compel you to step outside the box for a change. Get up, go outside, and walk around for awhile. Think about what matters to you. What your talents are. How you could use them to make a difference in this world. Absorb its beauty as you walk through it…

When you do that, your core energy shifts from a place of waiting to a place of manifesting. Be the change you wish to see in this world. Make something beautiful. Listen to music that moves you. Get up and dance to it. And then re-learn the sound of your spirit’s voice. Listen to it, act on it, and watch your life unfold in perfect harmony before you.

Human BE-ing

Human BE-ing

Imagine if you will, a day much like any other, in which you wake up and feel differently than you ever have before… Has this ever happened to you, without a specific reason to pinpoint the shift in how reality appeared before you?

In the days of our youth, we wake up once a year with the expectation that we will somehow experience that very moment in time. We go to sleep on the eve of our birthday with wide-eyed anticipation for the sun’s first light bringing with it some tremendous, unknown change in how our life is going to feel to us. Over the years, of course, our excitement for this magical moment grows dim as we slowly discover what life’s all about. We lose our sense of wonder as we’re taught that magic isn’t real. The older we get, the less fantasy and awe we come to expect from our birthdays. In fact, we grow so complacent about life’s predictability that we create a world in which life is merely just that: predictable. Unchanging. And we slowly morph into the same boring grown ups we swore that we’d never become. All those years of being told, “Just wait; someday you’ll see what I mean, kid.” …They were, admittedly, right.

This will be the first year I’ve ever had to remind myself that it’s almost my birthday. And then, once I remembered that my birthday is almost here and I remember that I didn’t remember my own birthday, it suddenly dawned on me… Holy crap. I’m getting old.

My birthday is the last day of this month. (Hoorah.) I’m not feigning some sort of nonexistent contempt for my swiftly approaching birthday; I’m also not repressing some kind of hidden excitement about my birthday arriving… I’m honestly completely ambivalent. I could take it or leave it. I have no plans, really. And I kind of enjoy it that way. Until I realize, with the urgency of a derailed train five yards in front of me approaching at terminal velocity, that I am officially one of those foggy-brained grown-up people who forgot what magic feels like because life is more about deadlines and worries and responsibilities than it is about the EXCITEMENT of what comes next, well… The feeling is truly quite sad.

I’m not old at all. I consider myself to be foolishly young, with a significant road before me that I must travel (barefoot, uphill, in the snow) before I will have earned the right to wedge myself into the esteemed and respected category of “old;” however, I’ve also hiked my way (barefoot, in every direction, as far as I could go) all on my own… I distinctively remember a conversation I had a few years ago with my tree-hugging granola-eating barefoot and starry-eyed group of friends, about the notion of being a “grown up” and how we could never in a million years imagine ourselves calling each other that. Granted, we had no children then; no burdens, no worries, no obligations or responsibilities… We drank coffee with dinner and read books at midnight and took frequent and spontaneous road trips to random and undetermined destinations hundreds of miles away for a week at a time, often for the sole purpose of competing for the most elaborate and varied assortment of truck stop bumper stickers; we were carefree and footloose and driven by the wide-awake wanderlust compelling our souls to go and see and live and BE… We existed in a constellation of inter-galactic wonder and cosmic philosophising; unhampered by the weight of real-life encumberments and all that adult-type nonsense. We were alive. We understood the notion of forever, and we reveled in it daily. We were gypsies, meandering through the world with reckless abandon and purest joy. We were unstoppable in our curiosity; unshakeable in our conviction that reality is what happens when you stop living and ask why. We were never that kind.

This was only a handful of years ago. It feels like yesterday to me. And yet, it also feels like seventy-three lifetimes ago… I am a mother now, to five beautiful boys. I am a wife. I am a lot of different things to a lot of different people; not just a college kid living on dreams and an insatiable desire to see the world…

But when it occurred to me (and to my own dismay, quite frankly) that I have seriously reminded myself three times now that I’m about to have a birthday, I understood–in that tiny little moment–that I am, officially, a “grown up.”

The thing about it is, however, that I see now why I never expected to fit in to that title. Because all the grown-ups I ever knew were perpetually bummed out about this whole ‘getting old’ thing, and constantly stressing out about some mundane obligatory aspect of their daily life (which, of course, they were postponing and dreading and expected to fulfill), or complaining about how birthdays aren’t special once you’ve had a whole bunch of them… Well, I get it now. And I totally agree with my younger self. I’ll never be one of those people.

I wake up expecting to experience some kind of magic in my day… Every day. That doesn’t mean I always wake up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and following my every whim and fancy. It actually means that I’ll usually feel content and satisfied if nobody spills the milk on the table or nobody wakes me up screaming incoherently between bloody-murder sobbing about how their brother was mean to them three days ago when they stole the yellow transformer toy and then broke it so it was gone forever, or no one tramples all over mommy’s brand new flowers in the garden, or nobody pees on the floor or bloodies a random body part or has a total toddler temper tantrum in the middle of isle 5 at the overcrowded supermarket… You understand, don’t you? Magic doesn’t have to maintain the same premise, you know. Sometimes magic is simply looking at your alarm clock–before it goes off–getting out of bed–before anyone else–and enjoying a fresh cup of really strong coffee while the sun rises to the melody of love singing in your heart. I don’t have to go on any certain adventure or blind road trip to get my kicks these days. The places that give me the deepest thrills aren’t places at all, so much as they are ways of seeing exactly where I am.

Today, I am twenty-eight. Soon, I will be twenty-nine. I know well enough that I won’t wake up feeling any older on the 31st… But I will wake up feeling different. I will awake with that familiar–and yet NEW–magical feeling. The feeling of simply BEing. Magic.