What a strange and sometimes very difficult thing it is to be a human being. And perhaps no period is more difficult than the time of grief

Another song--it could be a modern psalm to the mysterious, the unfathomable, the achingly beautiful unknown. Tender beyond hope.

Never really listened to the words for any Grateful Dead songs. True statement. Never listened to or looked at the words, fool that I was.

I never thought it would happen to me. I know that's trite but there was some secret part of my mind that never believed I would get old.

Sometimes I slow down enough to tune into a tree, enough--perhaps--to hear the trailing notes of an ancient song.

A fearful thing to love, to hope, to dream, to be–to be, And oh, to lose. A thing for fools, this, And a holy thing, a holy thing to love.

Today I just want to share a few poems that have touched me over the years.

No one could discern the roots of that terror. It was strangely elusive, perhaps from a time or place where there were no words.

Something has been pulling on me, calling me to simplify, ease down, clear space to make room for something...new? different? re-focused?

The essence of mindfulness. When I am here, I can feel my feet, feel my breath, feel my beating heart--notice in this moment that I am okay.

Over the past week I stumbled across three short pieces of writing in different places. And noticed a few things that made me ponder...

I didn't feel good there, but sometimes I felt a little less bad. A tiny shift, but it was a start.

This is a good sequel for almost all of the tools I've shared over the last year. In fact, it is probably the most important concept of all.

I'll never forget the train ride home after Christmas that year, as every clack of the wheels pulled me further & further away from her.

"And when I dreamed my dream I awoke and came swiftly....I heard the stars singing as I came and felt warm wings about me..."

A lighthearted song...I hope it brightens up your day, bringing back some good memories--your own or maybe your kids' or grandkids'.

I let the pictures whisper, or call out, so they become like dream images, leaving more room for revelation, for mythic or mystical meaning.

I love to play with words & to read others who do that well. Here are three lighthearted--and cat-intense--poems. For fun!

Could this silent darkness be one of winter's gifts? Asking us to bow like the grasses, acknowledging our own bare and basic shape?

It is early morning winter, cold and starlight turn to gold. Slowly I awake to find you standing where I saw you last...