I begin again, this stripping
down, this remaking of myself,
each season
something old falls away,
and something new unfolds.
Who am I when I burst this shell,
opening petal by petal,
in the glorious sun?
My heart is the blossom,
brimming with joy.
Who am I when my leaves turn
scarlet and gold, igniting
a fire of hope into the
the liminal dusk?
I drop, I fall, offering
myself as nourishment
to the slumbering seeds.
Who am I underneath the frost,
the shining crystal stars?
Something stirs in the silence,
the dreaming emptiness.
Who am I when I awaken
to the warm kiss of dawn?
Fresh and devoted, I push
through the dirt to rise again.
Each leaf a testament to
what has died and been reborn,
this season, this day, this breath,
Who am I today?

Deep underground it travels unseen,
carving its course through mineral
and moss, descending and rising,
it bestows the land with life.

Inside a secret copse of trees,
it springs, crystal cold and clear,
encoded with an ancient memory
of when the land was whole.

No division, no borders,
no mine or yours,
a wildness sang through the land,
where everything belonged.

Can you hear the voice of the water?

It’s calling us back to the land,
back to the roots
that feed us and breath us,
and nourish us all the way through.

It is asking us to live in balance,
in sacred reciprocity,
to plant, to harvest, to celebrate
each season and cycle,
to remember
the circle of kinship is wide,
it touches the soil, the stars,
the rivers, our eyes.
Live in the circle,
for the earth needs us to rise.

Who will drink at the holy tobar?

This poem is inspired by the book Land by Maggie O’Farrell, a wonderful novel that weaves time and story around a holy tobar (spring) and the land that holds us all. It is also inspired by my visit to a tobar in Ireland, called St. Coleman’s well; a truly magical place. One walks across the stony burren and enters into a small copse of trees where water springs up and there everything has turned into a green fairy land, bursting with life (my photos are from here).

Beauty way

you come to me

in dappled sunlight

and the sussurus of leaves

in the choir of birds at dawn

and the quiet patter of deer at dusk

in hollowed out trees still growing strong

and devoted sunflowers turning towards the sun.

The beauty way unfolds with each grateful step and hands

held open, giving and receiving, being with the unknown,

seeing with soul eyes - the Great Mystery touches

everything, treasuring this body, this earth,

and starry sky, this beating heart inside

my chest that says yes to to this day,

this gift, this wondrous

Beauty way.

(Photo by Adrien Tutin on Unsplash) 🙏

I feel a field of grace
wrapping you tenderly
between this world and the next,
you dwell in no-time, entering
into ephemeral space, where
the splendor of the Mystery
cannot be denied.
You let fear and faith
walk side by side,
there is no right or wrong,
just the light that shines
through the darkness, and
the preciousness of dawn.

I feel the weight of this world
lifting as you soften
into trust, surrendering
your home of flesh and bone
to return to the home of One.
Bowing to this incarnation,
all of life’s stories
transform into love.
I see the radiance of liberation
shining in your eyes as you
summon a holy courage
to unfurl your wings and fly.

Dedicated to a dear friend who is teaching me the grace of surrendering to both life and death.🙏 (Photo by Soraya Silvestri on Unsplash)

I look back upon my life
amazed at all the versions of me,
I see beyond the doer,
a golden thread that carries me,
steady and true,
a light that shows me
how to find the way.

I see my life woven into everything,
alive to the fragileness
and tenderness of every thread,
each intersection,
a sacred meeting place
between you and me,
the sky and sea,
each connection weaves
the web stronger,
a holy communion between
the singular and everything,
the particle and wave.
No thing stands apart, for
we are truly woven.

(Top photo by Gatis Vilaks, bottom photo by Torbjørn Helgesen on Unsplash 🙏)

Inside the fear, an ember burns
a yearning to trust, an ache to never end.
The face of death is at the door, and
we must not turn away.

It is asking us to enter
the darkness together, to trust
in the power of love.

The flowers do not refuse to bloom,
and the sun does not refuse to shine,
can my heart learn the way?

We live on a planet with the miracle of life.
Truly, this is no small thing -
we are part of a miracle every day.

Still the darkness draws near, a heaviness
that weighs on our hearts, we feel the pain
of a world divided and diseased.
It is asking us to listen, to be with,
to open again and again.

Let us not forget the gift we are given,
this life, this body,
this promise of impermanence
and the ache to burn with the certainty
that we are part of an inexhaustible
source of light.

(Photo by Chang Duong on Unsplash)

Who is it that knocks upon my heart,

who sees the broken cracks and

doesn’t turn away?

I look this way and that for someone

to fix, to repair, to make me whole,

but each time I do

I am left with less of me, not more.

So I turn to the wild things

that grow in freedom with

no shame to bloom or guilt to rejoice.

I find myself reflected back,

imperfect yet held, and I am filled

with hope, that I too can heal -

right here, right now

simply by loving every

broken part.

(Photo by Milada Vigerova on Unsplash)

My path unfolds one step at a time,
moving in circles, ever outward and
always in, my heart
a pebble, that sinks and sings
expanding out in reverberating rings.

How will I touch the world today?

Each day I wake,
my feet upon the earth,
each step a layer falls away.

A pilgrim of the heart,
I long to see divinity in everything
and everything in me.

I keep asking, what is my holy destination
and when will I arrive?

Could it be here, in this moment,
when I meet the sacred in your eyes?
Here in the trees that reach for the sky,
here in the buzz of honeybees
and a baby’s first cry.

We are all part of the mystery, the cycles,
the journey, I learn to surrender,
to follow the flow, the path is revealed
when I trust the unknown.

(Photo by Kris Tian on Unsplash 🙏)

I cannot help but envy the acorn,
so clear, its destiny
wrapped up tight inside the seed,
just waiting for sun and rain to burst
its shell and become what
it was always meant to be.

Could it be that I too hold the telos
of my being deep inside my core -
waiting so patiently for me to awaken
to the purpose of my soul.

The vision of an oak unfolds in roots
and sprout, each ring grows in devotion -
her canopy becomes a haven, her branches
a leafy home, her seeds a gift of sustenance.

The longer I live, I wonder if my purpose
could be that simple -

to live a life of devotion.

The butterfly dwells inside the caterpillar
and the river within the raindrop.

Everywhere I look nature follows its
course, could it be that
I too am becoming

the fire within the spark.

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(Entelechy – a term Aristotle used to describe the realization of a thing’s inherent purpose, already alive within it.)

I paddle down the river, letting
the current carry me, rushing in places
and still in others, every surface
glistens with incandescent light,
I soak in its glory, nourished
all the way through.

We float around the bend and spy
a secret cove, lush and tranquil,
a heron perches like a guardian
at the gate, asking us to pay a toll
with our earnest wonder.

The surface is ablaze with a field of
golden lilies, each bud a glowing gem,
opening in perfect symmetry.
Dragonflies flitter in sapphire wings
dipping and diving in drunken delight.
Along the banks, turtles commune
in rituals of contentment.

Encircled by ancient cypress, this
enchanted cove flows like a dream
where everything hums
in the frequency of splendor.
I am overcome with awe
for here I feel the presence
of the holy.

This is where I will meet
my god, emerald and resplendent,
amongst the golden lilies.

Top photo Lucas van Oort on Unsplash,
Lily Photo Nopparuj Lamaikul on Unsplash, Turtle photo David Adamson on Unsplash

The edge is alive with potent possibility,
where forest meets meadow,
and rivers pour into the sea,
here a new alchemy is born.

Yet we keep drawing borders,
standing on opposite side, holding
tight to our fear and opinions,
here no solutions arise.

Could we soften the boundaries, and
remember we walk on united ground,
like the mycelia that run underfoot,
we are woven together, not apart.

Here on the edge, the deer come
to graze, in the shelter of trees and
richness of grass, out of the dusk
fireflies emerge, carrying light
from one threshold to the next.

Each ecosystem thrives in communion,
each mind has an edge to expand.

Along the sandy shore, tides crash and
rivers flow, here they meet in
an architecture of wonder, carving
out quiet estuaries where
blue crabs burrow and regal herons
perch in serene contemplation.

Each place of meeting sculpts the land,
reimagining margins, reshaping
the edge again and again.

All flourishing is mutual, this I feel
in my bones, each edge, a doorway that
that opens to a another way, where
we leave behind division and give
rise to something whole.

Dear Readers,
This poem was inspired by Robin Wall Kimmerer’s book The Serviceberry, that beautifully portrays this essential principle of interdependence, that “all flourishing is mutual.” I highly recommend this book as it is so important for our times to shift from a competitive economy to a reciprocal gift economy and way of being. This poem also emerged from the permaculture principle that demonstrates how edges, where two ecosystems overlap, create thriving and biodiversity. May we learn to soften our borders and meet at the edge to create a new path of mutual flourishing.

Warmly,
Laura

These photos I took at a beautiful estuary on the coast of Mexico.

The first kite soars like a holy
rite, a harbinger of blue skies
after a season of relentless rain.

The air expands, seasons turn.
What is left after the clouds have wept
and the storms have cleared?

A radiant sun pours down, painting
everything in gold, she transforms
the black beach into to a galaxy
of shimmering stars.

Tides crash and waves retreat, etching
a map from shoreline to eternity, here
the horizon sighs in crimson and peach,
embracing the sun in divine revelation.

Who have I become,
stripped down, raw and shining
like a polished stone?

The ocean speaks in timeless
tongues, urging me
to release it all,
the past the future, it no longer
serves me. All there is emerges
from this moment
now -

I taste the salt mingling with my tears,
It’s time to let my lungs fill up
with light again. I breathe it in,
brimming with the glow
of the glorious sun.

I step into the rushing current, looking
for my reflection; I see that
I am everything and nothing,
the ocean and the sky.
Water courses through me,
around me, alive
with a fierce softness, that
gives rise to fresh hope, born
out of blue skies.

Each step becomes the path, towards

truth I am moving, like water turning to mist,

I surrender, I surrender,

from matter to spirit,

I rise with the sun and flow with the river.

I do not know where it will take me, so

I listen, deeply, truly, bowing

humbly to the air in my lungs and the blood

in my heart, what a miracle this body is,

moving me from here to there, and yet

nowhere, for the light of my heart knows

no timeline, no destination,

only the eternal now.

Each step a remembrance of this holy life,

the sacred gift, the mystery -

little doorways open everywhere,

what a joy to

enter.

Top photo by Joshua Sortino, Bottom Photo by Tony Williams on Unsplash 🙏

Don’t hesitate

Yes there will be heaps of rejection and
heartbreaks, and all those terrible
dating swipes, when you wonder if
there is anyone sane that could love you?
Yet the sun keeps rising, and the iris return
each year, blooming in regal resilience.
Each winter I curl inside myself and wonder
if I will ever emerge, yet the heart keeps on
pumping, keeps on beating, waking me
from the caverns of my soul. I hear it
knocking, don’t hesitate, it whispers,
it shouts - step outside, step into the light,
open that tender heart door.

Keep On

In every heart, there is love,
not the sappy kind in fairytales
but the purest force
that makes of me
something brave and true.

Even at the threshold of death,
love is there, blooming and surging,
ready to be set free.
It keeps on
long after the body is empty
and crumbled into
dust.

I look up to the stars,
and feel the immensity
of being mortal
and yet

somehow not, for
maybe there is no endpoint.

Maybe this current pouring
through my heart
is the same as the sweet sap flowing
through the maples,
and the ardent wind carrying
the eagle’s wings
high into the heavens.

In every heart,
there is sorrow and despair,
and dark corners of aching fear, but
still the heart pumps and beats,
with a current of love,
that keeps on,

and on,
giving.

Thank you for the writing prompts inspired by Mary Oliver’s poems Don’t Hesitate and The Kookaburras 🙏
Photo by Chandan Chaurasia on Unsplash

the feeling that wells in my heart
when I look upon you
and the woman you have become.
I see you dear daughter,
your spark, your resilence,
your heart,
the way you shine and light up a room,
the way you show up for others,
the way you love, the way
you dance with all your soul.
I celebrate you,
your struggles and your triumphs
your dreams and perseverance,
for all that you are, and all
that is yet to come.
I see your courage and your kindness
your strength and integrity,
and I am so very grateful
for you,
each and every day.
Go forth and carve your own path,
not anyone else’s.
Trust your inner voice, and let
your heart lead the way.
Treasure all that life brings you,
and know that wherever you go,
whatever you do
I am so very proud
of you.

This poem is dedicated to my beautiful daughter Jasmine, on her graduation from The University of Utah with a BFA in ballet.
Keep shining the beautiful light that you are! ✨♥️🙏

I sink in the fertile mud,
dense and thick, it holds me.
I will rise, when I am ready,
beckoned by the sun.
Nothing in a hurry… slowly,
a stem, a leaf,
a bud.

Bound up tight, a whole
universe inside me.
I wait in patient devotion
to unfold in perfect splendor.
The lotus path opens, as
each sharp edge
in my heart
surrenders.

The heavens look down, and
I look up, I grow into the expanse
between fear and love and
hold it all like a holy offering
in my tender palms.
The answer is given,
the path is here, arising
in this moment,
on each
blooming
breath.

top photo by Danny Trujillo , bottom photo by viswaprem anbarasapandian on Unsplash

Could it be we are made of fallen stars?
Each atom created and never destroyed,
rearranging into creation after creation,
from star to soil, to wing, to leaf,
to bear, to turtle, to you and me,
to pebble, to river,
to mountain and mist…

This miracle never ends,
the cycle is a circle weaving
through space and time.
We are moving orbs of light
that come to rest - here,
in this body, this breath,
this wonderment of being.

Can you feel it, can you enter the “Wow?!”
Can you be fully alive to this intricately
woven universe, where everything belongs?
How could it be any different,
when every fiber of your being is born
from ancient song?
Each moment new, yet eternal,
each breath a birth and death.

Never let the miracle of You
slip from your mind or heart,
may it fill your mouth with thank you,
may it fill your life with meaning.
Each day, a remembering.
each step, an awakening,
bringing you back to the beginning,
again and again,
a journey of becoming,
we are birthed
from star and soil and breath.

(Photo by Greg Rakozy on Unsplash)

Each day a stirring, the longing
for this life -
my life, to matter.

We move in a sea of separate bodies,
forgetting how spirit flows,

inside and outside, could
it be we are one in the same?

All longing for love, all
longing for truth,

all longing for the faith
that will carry us home.

Who am I inside this flesh, where
do I end and you begin?

I look for my reflection in the trees,
the river, the wren.

You too, my friend, come
sit by the hearth of longing,

where we can kindle each ember and
remember
how spirit moves inside and outside,

transforming my meager life into
a burning, brilliant flame.

(Photo by Paul Bulai on Unsplash)

The bud, bound up like a gift, waits
for the soft kiss of sun to unfold.

The fiddlehead, curled up in a spiral nest,
takes time to unfurl from its slumber.

The snake slithers out of its old skin and into the new,
and the slow snail grows its shell like the rings of a tree.

The dragonfly emerges from a watery home
and the caterpillar dies to be born again with wings.

Who am I inside this skin?
When will I trust enough
to lay down this shell, this shield,
to surrender and shed,
unfold, unfurl,
into something raw and true?

I creep like the caterpillar,
consuming this world as
I was taught to do,
yet I feel my true ember burning inside.
I weave a cocoon of darkness and dream of taking flight,
listening for my heart truth to sing louder
than my wounds -
Now, no fear.
Listen, the answers are already here.
I step into the light, and ride
a current of grace,
this is my time
to unfurl.

(Photo by Karen Davey on Unsplash)

It’s time, I think to myself, to walk on the earth again, and feel it,
yes, actually feel the firm ground caress the soft soles of my feet.
The bristly new grass sprouts up with a bright boldness
that makes me want to cheer for the
simple proof of life after a season of death.

I squinch up my face as I step on the rough hickory hulls,
scattered like a wreath in tribute to my favorite tree, fallen.
My yard is barren, yet life springs forth and
I listen to the tiny gurgle of water that
emerges to the surface with a whisper of hope.

I pause and take in all the dead leaves that I never got around
to clearing, but they have served the flowers well,
tucking them to sleep as the earth lay frozen.
I don’t shame myself for that, though maybe for my absence
from simply being here in my yard, barefoot and awake.

The daffodils are waving like a golden flag alert,
shouting their joy in undeniable whoops.
They shoot up even in the cold dregs of February,
ambassadors of the spring, full of courage and enthusiasm
they taunt me to open my heart again.

Everywhere I look death and birth are coupled together,
a marriage of opposites, yet they seem to fit together as one.
Can I too live like this, balanced between light and dark,
holding both grief and joy in my cupped hands,
and living as though there is no beginning or end.

(Photo by Antonio Janeski on Unsplash)

Dear Reader,
I wrote this poem a year ago for Spring Equinox and I felt the call to revisit it. It was the most intense season of death for me, surviving the wreckage of a terrible hurricane and then the death of my partner. It was a winter of grief, and I held my breath, waiting for spring, for life to return; and it did. 🙏
May you also feel the renewal of Spring, offering gratitude for all that came before.
Warmly,
Laura