these are the days that i want to bite glass. there is a restlessness in every corner of my body. i want to unzip it, open it, rip it out. these are the days that the injustices and the absolutions scare me.

these are the days when i know to move. i walk for hours, on a hunt for mercy. my words are sharp and my thoughts relentless. the assault is unbearable and the only way to avoid destruction is to propel myself through time and space. i close my eyes as i trek toward amnesty.

these are the days when i learn to understand the inquiry required to achieve happiness, when i know that asking, naming, telling, releasing, are the pathways to healing. though they seem to be mocking me, the poets and the hummingbirds show up to tell me that this too shall pass. the right song delivers comfort. the shock of aloe blooms change the narrative. slowly and subtly, i change too.

these are the days that i am keenly aware of the shadows looking through my windows and yet i keep dancing naked in front of them.
perhaps i deserve it, perhaps i have granted an invitation to lurk and haunt.
and still, i will continue to follow the succulent’s wisdom and bloom candidly–even when it appears absurd.
in the name of freedom. in the name of hope. in the name of all that brings us closer.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile, the world goes on.
~Mary Oliver

42. born on this day, this shared dark day when we huddle together, just waiting for the sun to rise.

now i know my place in this world. my home, my heart, my intentions, wishes, and my fears. i know my wounds, i know the potent alchemy of time under pressure–and the diamonds that emerge.

today i know that i would not change a single thing. i feel hope. i feel compassion for suffering in a way that only comes from sourcing to the bottom all things, to the foundation of understanding. i know that there will always be mystery, there may always be pain, and, i am certain, there will also always be love.

as this day began, i burned my prayers and chased the light right into the sea. naked. dophins swam, waves crashed, my toes went numb. it was the most fabulous and normal way to end the world as we know it.

happy solstice. happy birthday. happy to be alive and here. with you.

the realization is that our depth becomes our greatest leverage and, ultimately, our levity. it is when we sink into the under, the encompassed, the clay that surrenders to the fire in the middle–that is when we rise into what looks like contentment.

this is not an experience of unrivaled bliss. rather, it is that collected, textured, felt and known experience of what IS. seedpods that explode in autumn and feathers that find their way to the sand. stuffing acorns into my pockets and painting walls in my home. days of questions and other days of epiphany. sifting through politics and finding the poetry.

it is, in truth, that feeling of rightness, order, timing, and being.

it is fear-driven ambition that is undone, and fallen, into grace.

and, yes, it is loving and being loved. serving and the abundant return.

in the end, it will be the foggy mornings and mountain lion encounters that i’ll want to remember. it will be their arms around me and the images that will speak our story.

i wish only that i will fall ever more deeply into vulnerable, primal, reciprocal, and sensual.

and that i will never miss a chance to walk this earth.

Stand Still.
The trees ahead and the bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be know.

~David Wagoner

i didn’t think it was possible to love them more, to rise each day in service to this love.
i didn’t think i could give willingly, without restlessness. freely, without depletion.

when i didn’t believe myself worthy of figs and the blue moon, there was only sacrifice and doing.
now there is undoing.

what was an experiment in intuition, in claiming toward believing, is now a living resolution.
there is time for breathing in my every day.
there is time to notice the dying moth on the windowsill, and to step back and appreciate a circle of community.

i understand the cultivators and the gardeners now. i understand the holy gasp of a ripe plum.
i understand the chemistry of our intentions meeting our circumstances.
i understand the importance of seasoning.

i also understand how delicate it is, this moment before the dew dries.
even the parts that still twist, rise up, and reinvent the day that i expected.
the tired, the timed, the strained, and the doubting–these too i offer reverence.
there is space now for all of me, mine, ours.

gently submit to it,
passionately embrace
all of it,
wickedly revel in it,
quietly explore new
parts of it, laughingly see joy in it;

with all of you,
be in it,
this gift,

this, your life.

~from the gift of it, by my beautiful friend leonie wise