walking the labyrinth.

A racing, anxious mind kept me up last night, elevating my heart rate, making it difficult to be calm enough to sleep. When I did sleep, my dreams were lucid, and I woke earlier in the morning that I intended; now I’m on the couch, cool wind blowing in through the window and the sound of cars on wet roads punctuating the quiet birdsong morning. A candle with a label that says ‘energizing and uplifting’ flickers, a warm contrast to the cool blue of the morning, rainy light.

I made golden chai tea. Shuffled my cards with hands, deep breath, and a prayer as one of the cats leapt onto the windowsill. A couple cards leapt out — a sign or my clumsy shuffling? Either way, I consider them significant, and lay them down along with a couple of others. They tell me that I treat others with so much compassion and strength. That abundance shines down on me. They tell me I have a hard time handling money. And, opposing each other, one card shows that worry hangs over my head, while another says that rest and healing is near after a time of difficulty and exhaustion, all I have to do is heed the call of sanctuary.

All seem to be true. Even the time of rest and healing, I can feel hanging at the edges of my life: a call to withdraw, to eat more nourishing foods, to meditate and write and direct at myself all of the love and compassion I give to so many others. If the labyrinth of life has lead me outwards, it is now leading me back inwards, back to my soul, back to the Self that lies beneath the fears, the insecurities, the anger, the judgement of myself and others. Back to the Self that breathes in the scent of rain and Spring flowers. Back to the Self that longs to bury hands in soil. Back to the Self that finds joy and peace in aloneness. That loses herself in dance and song.

Exactly two months from now, I will be ascending part of the Eastern Cascades in Washington with a group of others who are called to return to the land to reconnect with their deepest Selves. For several days, we will hold space with each other and go for walks on the land. Then, we will send each other off for 72 hours with camping gear and water to fast and, alone, rediscover who we are; we will welcome each other’s return with open arms and open hearts.

I did a similar fast and retreat two years ago, in the mountains east of Ashland. It ended up being a catalyst for many different changes in myself and in my life that I did not consciously predict, but which nonetheless needed to happen. I don’t know what this fast will be a catalyst for in my life; what I do know is that I go to the mountains to Remember who I am and to find a way to stay connected to my Wild Self, to the magic and power and wisdom that lives in my bones, even in the middle of the city. I go to the mountains “to lose my mind and find my soul,” as Muir so eloquently and accurately wrote.

And so it seems that my life is, already, leading me to the mountains. In truth, my retreat does not begin in two months; it began the day I signed up for it, and I have been slowly turning back to the inward spiral of the labyrinth of my life. Already I prepare, not just physically (the gathering of supplies and the giving up of addictions that will make it harder for me up there, like coffee), but also emotionally: I begin to draw inward, and crave the silence and peace of the early morning, before anyone else awakes. I am craving dancing, and singing, and painting, but I am craving the aloneness that lends inhibition and authenticity to those things.

My journey has begun. And it will only grow deeper, more and more lush and complex, as Spring blooms into Summer.


Equinox Birthday.

How is this?
How has this happened?

From the sun-spotted kiawe forest
bordering aquamarine Hawaiian waters
to the windswept douglas firs
lining the streets of this valley city —

you have grown like your namesake,
the moon, which today blooms down on you
like the flowers now sprouting out of the soil
and reminding me of the past.

I am not the woman I was, before you
were planted in my womb
and I began the descent into my Shadow
that led me to the woman I am.

How is this?
How has this happened?

I lost much to motherhood.
But I gained so much more:
your mischievous laugh that keeps me from anger,
your ocean eyes luring me to joy.

I am a deeper woman, a conscious woman
because of the blessing and the challenge
of your presence, in the morning,
sweet soft face calling me to wake up.

You are four today, number of Being,
number of the solidity of the land
from which growth can happen,
the foundation that allows change.

How is this?
How has this happened?

I delight in your intelligence and relentless joy,
I have to hide my laughter at your mischief.
You are my strength.
My moon — light in the darkness.

Once, on a hot Maui morning,
I dreamt of you, two years
before you burst forth from my yoni
in a waterfall of strength and emotion.

Pisces/Aries Solar Eclipse Spring Equinox baby.
Today I remember. Today I am present with you.

I wouldn’t want this
or you
any other way.

rooting deeper.

I’m realizing that my problem may not,
in fact, be an inability to love stillness,
or a difficulty in being who I imagine
I once, perhaps, was.

In fact, it may not be a problem at all,
only a forgetfulness that weighs
on the senses and dulls the taste
of the life that licks my lips.

Who I once was does not exist,
and in fact I question whether that I
existed at all, because now
I am, quite simply, tired,

and rather lonely, but I’m lonely when
I’m being loved as well, so I know
that I’m tired not because of too
much activity, nor am I without company —

no, I believe now that I’m tired
only of complexity, the manufactured kind
that doesn’t realize that nature
is a series of patterns, fractals, repeated

in ever more intricate and beautiful ways;
and I’m lonely because these walls
are suffocating and I want more company
than people with screens acting as a

third-party, facilitating a connection
that, without pixels and data, could
root deeper. I want to mingle with your roots
the way trees do — beneath dark soil,

where, unadvertised, no hashtags, we embrace
and whisper secrets, exchange ecstasies
down where light is the electricity
between my fingers and yours,

where we drew it down from branches
full of activity, and now we’re
grounding each other, feeding each other,
forming a vast network invisible

only to those who look no further
than a mutual reaction to
the illusions projected by flickering blues.

We could be so much more,

and I am tired.

Come root deeper with me.

dream lover. [filed under: manifestation]

You’ll be as good as alone.
as delicious as alone.

Seamless in my days and nights,
the exhale to my inhale,
and I’ll bask in your light
the way I bask in the tired dawn —

alone alone alone, yet not alone
at all.

You’ll be the steam of hot tea
the nutrition of vegetable stew in the winter
(you’ll feed me
with your very presence).

The forest dappled with sunlight
and the ocean with all its moods
quiet my chattering, incessant mind,
allowing the voice of my soul
to speak in its hues of moss
and dusk-streaked clouds;

so it will be with you.
You’ll be Home.

You’ll be where poetry crawls safely
over my hibiscus lips;
you’ll be where my heartbeat slows
to the pace of frogsong,
bare feet on grass,

You’ll be as good as alone,
where loneliness falls away
and light soaks into the soil
of my life,

where I, as the wind and the river,
forever change
and am forever the same.


When I look at the stars
I look into paradox
where the edges of my skin
dissolve into starlight
and at the same time
I am still so painfully human

It’s like my deep DNA
remembers when I was just an
in the infinite density
of the hour before the dawn

and it longs again
to be part of that
quivering with eternity
and possibility.


We laughed
as we soaked in
driving beneath
a red evening sky,

red as the blood that
poured from me as I
birthed our child,

red as the unspoken
tinging the edges
of our guffaws,

knocking on the door
like shadows at the edge
of light,

We left it behind
with the last echoes
of our giggles
vibrating into the night.

the dawn will come,
as it always does.