Poem for the New Moon 2/16.

Who are you?  I asked the stars.

And they twinkled and burned and danced in fluttering patterns against the backdrop of darkness.

And so did I.

Who are you? I asked the clouds.

And they drifted and hung and swayed in lilting rhythms across the silvery sky.

And so did I.

Who are you?  I asked the rain.

And it fell with a heavy sigh in orchestrated unison collapsing to the earth in complete surrender.

And so did I.

Who are you?  I asked the sun.

And it blazed with glory and might, its powerful song arcing across the wide open curvature of the planet, in a single note.  And so did I.

Who are you?  I asked the moon.

And it radiated its beacon of glistening light in undulating waves embracing all of creation with a long slow exhale.

And so did I.

Who are you?  I asked myself.

And I melted into the earth and surrendered to the sky.

And the stars became my eyes;

And the clouds, my thoughts;

And the rain, my tears;

And the sun, my belly;

And the moon my, heart.

And so am I.



on Inspiration

January, 2018

Inspiration. Its whats on my mind this wild wonderful Winter.  Honestly,  its what’s always on my mind.  As an Artist, inspiration is the fire to my soul; what keeps me joyful, enlivened and vibrant.  Someone at the museum after my workshop today commented “you always have so much energy”!  I would re-frame that:  I’m always deeply inspired.  By everything I see, feel, do, create.  It doesn’t mean I necessarily find it all easy or comfortable or even ‘good’.  But this world, this life, my breath, every person I meet, I am most truly inspired by.  Call it living life in a constant state of being taken by happy surprise or in a state of awe. Each moment, precious and new and full of wonder.  The ‘energy’ I have, is from this connection to inspiration.  I live and breathe it.

Consider this for a moment.  The literal definition of ‘inspiration’:

in·spi·ra·tion:  noun

  1. the process of being mentally stimulated to do or feel something, especially to do something creative.
  2. the drawing in of breath; inhalation.

That just blew my mind:  the drawing in of breath.  Inspiration.  to do or feel something, especially something Creative.  Inspiration.

Wow. Did you get that?  Did you feel it?  Did it sink in?

Inspiration IS in every breath, because it IS the breath.  This is available to us all, in every moment, to live a life aware of and engaged in inspiration.  It’s not just the domain of the Artist.  What a powerful understanding and teaching.

This year, I wish you all an inspired life.  And I’m cultivating and creating workshops, retreats, series and classes designed to hold you and guide you to this place of inspiration.

May we walk this journey together, with love & inspiration.



I am shattered.  Into a million tiny bits.  Scattered everywhere at once.   In this space, there is not even an inside to come to.  There is nothing. I am broken.
And yet still, I breathe.  And this breath, well, it must have a container, right?
And this heart?  Well, it is still beating too and so it must also have a body.
But the pieces of myself that are torn to shreds are the ones that belong to my Eternal Being, not this physical one. It is painful beyond words.  It is devastating beyond compare.  I am not sure that I am reparable.  I feel rage, anger, sadness, desperation, sorrow….
until the breath, it calls me.  And slowly with each inhale, I feel a tiny shard of me return.  It may not be much, but it is a beginning, and I’ll take it.  With focus and intention,  I use my breath to bring in more pieces.  and more.  and more. There are so so so many still to collect.  Collect them, I must and will.
I am reminded of a broken piece of pottery my then 6yo son laboriously taped together.  Each and every tiny ceramic shard.  He taped it back to its perfect original form. It took him hours.  I remember looking at that tenderly repaired pottery, now so obviously “imperfect” and feeling a surge of incredible love for him and the time and care he took.  Each piece of tape represented his concentration and intent.  He didn’t give up until it was whole again.
And then he sheepishly presented it to me, wondering if I’d noticed it had been broken in the first place. I actually did not notice.  I just thought how odd it was he decided to cover the small bowl in tape.  When I realized what had happened, that bowl took on new meaning, it became a symbol of what is possible when we care, when we are willing to do something that seems impossible, like taping a bowl back together teeny tiny bit by bit not leaving even the smallest piece out.  And it was more beautiful to me than it had ever been in its original form.  Its function as a bowl long lost.  But its inspiration as a symbol of perserverance profoundly moving.
This image, this memory, of that bowl, keeps me going.  Keeps me searching out more scattered pieces.  Keeps me focused on putting myself back together with tenderness and care and the willingness to believe it is possible.  With the innocence and compassion and willingness of a child who cares… a whole lot, I slowly come back to Wholeness.