Find Your Rage, Your Intelligent Fire of Wildness.
Rage is not hate. Hate emerges from rage not recognized, responsibility not taken, the projection of blame for one's own suffering onto others who are not to blame.
Browsing Tag:
soul
Get Wet: Crash with Force into Your Purpose.
I often envision catching the tears of others in a beautiful bowl, and when the crying is done, I throw the tears to the heavens. They fly like diamond-drops to the angels, who grasp them and transform them into light. The angels beam that light right back into the original hearts. The heart is ...
Feeling My Emotions Was an Art I Had to Learn How to Embrace.
When you give yourself permission to use your gifts, and to stand in your own power and feel your emotions, you give everyone else permission to use their gifts and stand in their power and feel all their emotions, and to me, that’s what the world needs: more people expressing everything, their ...
A Birthing Day Reminiscence.
It was only a few days later that I would see my mother for the last time, gasping for breath, hooked up to machines. My sister was there. And she had a friend with her, a co-worker who neither I nor my mother had ever met. As I sat bedside with my mother, holding her hand, this stranger tells ...
I Am A Soul Archaeologist. {poetry}
I am a siren, a witch, a soul archaeologist, I move my eyes purposefully, passionately. I crawl across muddy waters, knowing that my salvation is near, digging through the misty confusion tattooed on your memory, I drink the waters of your washed-out roads, your uneven terrain, your collapsed caves.
Get Dirty: Lessons from the Wildest of Souls.
Find that cliff, stand on it and then fall harder than you ever have. Run to something with wild fear, with fierce love. Run to yourself. Stomp your hooves on the trail, and say No to anything that attempts to bridle your life force fever. Honor your herd for their desperate, steely support and ...
The Truth Beneath The Masks We Wear.
Have I become so comfortable in my discomfort, so accustomed to dying in my daily living, that I now embody a midnight mask to replace the false cheeriness of my childhood's plight? And what if I am not either or, but both, strands of black and gold that weave the web of my spider's heart?
My Climbing Rope Binds Me To The Power Of Your Wild Heart.
My love, you are Mount Everest. Some who dare climb to the heights of your frequency risk life and limb. Others — true athletes and adventurers — see just another mountain to be conquered. I, on the other hand, am an explorer, a seeker, not a conqueror. I am not averse to hanging ...
A Holy Rhythm. {poetry}
To age he finally cries
Cruelly, he limps atop time, crippled only in the throes of its touch
Fighting and fleeing the throngs that have descended into its cold and callused crypt
Under The Dream Tree. {poetry}
My favorite work of art,
is you in my embrace,
Is us, together, in this ecstatic form, under the Dream Tree