the meadows we could grow

What if every woman planted herbs in her cracked pots,
added something green to barren shelves,
filled the empty corners with trees,
pressed a few seeds into the dirt outside her door?

Small acts,
multiplied by many hands,
turns stale space into lushness,
brings bright nourishment to hollow hearts.

Together,
we are the power and the beauty
that could wash over the wreckage.

Think of
the meadows we could grow.

                                    * * *
			   Mary Beesley

Love, Mary

CLICK HERE FOR MARY’S NOVELS

In church they say to, “Stand ye in holy places and be not moved.”

It’s good to be in and create physical spaces that are nourishing and peaceful, but to me, the phrase can come off a bit ridged and judgmental. So, I’ve edited the phrase.

Stand you in the whole place. And be not moved from the present moment.

I’m not talking about the places outside, but the places inside our souls that need holy-ness, wholeness.

You are your own holy place. Your own whole place.

These days I’m worried less about where my feet are and more about where my mind and heart are. Am I wholly present and connected?

Where are we standing spiritually? When we go against our own wellbeing, we can feel bruised, guilty, perhaps even broken.

And it’s so easy to do. To consume that which makes us feel icky or ill. Or simply consume too much, too much junk food and screen-time, gorging on cheap dopamine until we’re bleary, dizzy, and depressed. Or hypnotized by our phones until we’re blind and dumb, can’t look away long enough to drive without checking. At the end of the day, can’t remember the hours we’ve spent of our precious lives. Our memories slipping through the disconnected scenes. We spend energy running from our feelings, a game of hide and seek with our souls. So much busyness.

I mourn the hours we spend outside ourselves.

That’s the unholy place.

Think of all the pieces of our lives, ourselves, we give to scrolling social media, to other’s opinions, to invisible judges and juries, to unhealthy habits, to jealousy and comparisons, to money and fame, and maybe worst of all, to feed our fears, self-hatred, and self-abandonment.

Stand you in wholeness, connected to Mother Earth, to divinity, to your heart. Stand in your sovereignty, feeding yourself peace, safety, and self-respect.

Now when I hear that phrase, I close my eyes and imagine myself.

I’m covered in holes.

Shredded by insecurity, mistakes, judgments, grief, anxieties, weak boundaries.

As I breathe, I fill in each hole, one by one. Slowly and with whimsy and devotion. Glittering rubies, wildflowers, starlight, feathered wings, cotton plaids, and snowflakes.

Compassion, love, forgiveness, courage, kindness.

Each time I do this mediation, I build myself up with different delights, but every time I imagine myself whole and magnificent.

Love, Mary

CLICK HERE FOR MARY’S NOVELS

Subscribe now

i can breathe underwater

I could barely keep my head above water,
treading,
treading,
fighting the currents,
blinking back brine.

Until I let go

and sank.

It’s cool and quiet down here.

The dappled light at the surface,
a mirage of unreachable gold.

My body slackened.

Surrender.

I flowed like kelp, weightless,

and inhaled.

I can breathe underwater.
I always could.

                                    * * *
			   Mary Beesley

Love, Mary

CLICK HERE FOR MARY’S NOVELS

Dear black widow,

Thank you for biting me.

You didn’t inject enough venom to destroy me or send me to the the hospital—thank you for that.

But you did wake me up.

Your bite snagged old, toxic webs. I did not realize these invisible tangles entrapping me since childhood until your venom tore them down. I had unconciously, unknowingly believed: when a bad thing happened to me, I was bad. Harm was my fault. I deserved my injuries.

Your bite, scary and shocking, shined a light on that poisonous programming.

For days your transformative, feminine power tore through my lungs and stomach like acid, cleansing and hot and scary.

Anxious and childlike, I retreated (ibuprofen in hand) to my shadows as your medicine dug up old wounds and destroyed old beliefs.

And then with curiosity and hope, I watched you, queen of transformation, emissary of the Mother, lovingly and intentionally weave new boundaries for me.

Suffering is not my fault.

Pain is not punishment.

The bad things that happen are not a reflection of my worth.

I deserve protection—including inside my own mind, from toxic thoughts and false beliefs.

I love what you’ve done with the place.

Sovereignty, self-compassion, and courage the anchor threads. Strict boundaries in supporting layers. A silky retreat for me to rest in.

Ten represents the end of a cycle and the successful mastery of a life lesson, a return to wholeness. Today, ten days after you bit me, I feel renewed and empowered.

I walk with more confidence through my mind, and therefore the world.

Love, Mary

CLICK HERE FOR MARY’S NOVELS

Subscribe now

dark as stars

I sleep under the protection of roof and walls,
blocking cold, fear, danger

and starlight.

The night reveals its treasures
only to the bold.

Be brave.

Lower the shields.

Step out.

Navy, purple, gold diamonds,
a wonder of mystery and promise.

The heavens reach down,
a glittering river,
showing the way,

exposing truth.

Beyond the fog, 
my sky is bright.

There is darkness all around,

but my life is full of stars.

                                    * * *
			   Mary Beesley

Love, Mary

CLICK HERE FOR MARY’S NOVELS

I’ve posted a personal essay or poem every Tuesday for a year. Fifty-two weeks of vulnerability and exposure and growth. Each week I felt hesitation and contraction. Fear. Sometimes shame.

And each week I hit the SHARE button anyway.

I shined a light inside my soul and then served it up to be witnessed publicly. For me this kind of expression has taken courage. It was a lot easier, more comfortable, to write these personal explorations and musings when they remained buried in my hard drive instead of exposing myself to be mocked, misunderstood, and disliked.

It was a year ago when my inner guide urged, dared me forward, to strengthen my voice and empower my thoughts. To connect with you.

I listened, believing that I needed to act for the growth I asked for. I needed to do something scary and possibly a bit rebellious. I dared to write to my own rhythm and be witnessed in my honesty.

Thank you for reading with kindness and love. And for allowing me to ask questions and guess at answers.

After a year of committed courage and openness, I have stepped through the shadowy fear. And though I’ve not totally shaken off my inclinations to hide, to fawn, and to seek outside validation and acceptance, I’m stronger, my voice clearer, inside and out.

In the baring of my self on this public platform, I have come to know, accept, and love my self more honestly and deeply.

I have found a community of subscribers who resonate with my words and want more—unbelievable, I know! I am honored and grateful.

I will continue to write because I feel the calling still. I will write because I am able. Because you are there listening with interest and kindness. Because I believe it’s important to continue to use my voice and share my message of tenderness and curiosity. Because as far as I’ve come this year, more growth and adventure beckons us onward.

Because although my spark is tiny, together, we light up worlds.

Love, Mary

CLICK HERE FOR MARY’S NOVELS

Subscribe now

alas, i walk on

Strange fits of curiosity do I suffer

when walking down the street, 
or through an airport corridor.
 
People,
fellow travelers on this land.
 
I want to stop each one,

ask them how they fare.
I’m not interested in good or fine
 
I want to know exactly what’s under there,

peel back the layers,
see the gears.
 
Feel what I will when I hear their tale,

see the colors of their eyes,
the shape of their stare.
 
Alas, I walk on,

my gaze sliding away,
letting manners and propriety rule the day.

                                    * * *
			   Mary Beesley

Love, Mary

CLICK HERE FOR MARY’S NOVELS

The older I get, the more I value sweeping vistas and natural views. I want to see as much of this beautiful earth as possible.

A neighbor up the street has well-tended, lush landscaping. In front stands stood the most beautiful Strawberry Marina tree. It was twenty feet tall, round, full, and glossy. It exuded pride and satisfaction. I marveled as I passed it every day. It stood fat and happy. I still marvel as I pass it, but now my awe is of the shocked variety.

For they have chopped it in half.

It’s hard to look at it, this sliced specimen. I don’t know what to say to its gaping wounds and blunt, semi-spheric shape. It feels so sad and hurt.

The neighbors built a room above their garage, and the window is high enough to see a sliver of ocean—if no magnificent tree blocks the view. They hacked the red-barked queen to get a small slash of blue.

The ocean is majestic and beautiful. I understand wanting to see even a tiny glimmer of aqua.

But I love that tree.

They had something glorious right in their yard. But they wanted something else. Something they didn’t have.

I hope they are happy with their choice. It’s their view and their yard. My perspective is not from the high window, but from the street, from the base of the topless tree. And their decision makes me think. Every day I drive by, I remind myself to look with gratitude and joy at what is right here.

I need this reminder.

I spent a week in Montana, drooling over the forests and lakes. The grass is greener there. The pines taller.

I live by the ocean, and I want to live in the woods. It’s not quite the time for me to live in the trees, so instead of whining about what I am perceive to be lacking, I invite myself to enjoy the view I do have.

I have ocean and roses and cottages, blooming succulents and briny air. I have seagulls and hummingbirds. Every shade of blue.

It’s incredible here.

I’ll enjoy my view, exactly as it is.

Love, Mary

CLICK HERE FOR MARY’S NOVELS

Subscribe now

to my first born

How could I be the
mother you deserved,
abundant and secure,
when I was a 
child myself?

How could I pour milk
into your bones
from an underdeveloped breast?
How could I nourish you to fullness
when I was starving?

I raised you alongside
my wounded inner child.
You were the unwitting companion
of a frightened shadow.

I didn’t see her either,
siphoning off scraps of affection,
clawing at you for my attention.

I’m bigger now.
Expanded heart.
Longer arms.

There’s room for everyone
at my hearth.

If it’s not too late,
come sit by the warmth of my love,
sip from my cup of companionship and courage.
Together we'll beat the drums
and dance until dawn.

                                    * * *
			   Mary Beesley

Love, Mary

CLICK HERE FOR MARY’S NOVELS

“Getting what you want out of life largely boils down to (1) the story you tell yourself and (2) where you direct your attention.

What story do you tell yourself about what has happened to you, what you’re capable of, and what you hope to achieve?” James Clear

I’ve caught the bug spreading over the United States. World Cup Fever.

I played soccer through high school. I still love the game. I’ve enjoyed previous World Cups, but it’s different this year. Having it here in my country. All the games are in my time zone. In familiar cities and stadiums. I am into it. Watching game after game is my current therapy.

But the most unexpected consequence has been the international visitors loving the United States.

According to the news I’m being fed, the foreign fans are delighted in America.

They are awed by so many things I take for granted. I think nothing of friendly strangers, ranch dressing, cowboy hats, drive through carwashes, air conditioning, and wide roads.

My abundance and safety.

The beautiful diversity in culture, people, and nature.

America is fantastic.

I already know this. I love America with my soul. But I guess I needed the reminder.

Seeing it through all these new eyes. See it through the perspective of a fresh foreign lens. All these people coming here and experiencing the land of the free refills and the home of the brave cowboys, made me see my wonderful home anew.

I have World Cup Fever. But I think it’s the cure to my complacency and complaining. I am delighted in my country along with the tourists.

And so as I celebrate the 250th birthday of my dear United States of America this weekend, watching soccer, playing at the beach, and eating tacos with people I love, I ask myself: What else have I been taking for granted?

What wonderful blessed privilege do I criticize for no other reason than my comfort crisis?

What areas of my life might someone else experience with pure wonder, gratitude, and joy? And if I just changed my attitude, my lens, I would too? What is actually the very best ever? How did I get so lucky?

Love, Mary

CLICK HERE FOR MARY’S NOVELS

Subscribe now

i named my brain becky

I named my brain Becky
so I can call her by name
when anxiety and fear
grow too heavy
for one mind to carry.

She keeps watch in the dark,
one eye on the alarm,
one hand on the trigger.
 
Thank you, Becky
for keeping me safe, 
from this threatening
and confusing world.
 
For dreaming up
a magical place to explore,
a Pegasus of my own
to carry me away.
 
Stand down now, Becky.
I’m not a child 
anymore.
 
I am strong,
our castle holds,
my wings have found their span,
my wit and weapons, sharp.
 
We are safe today, Becky. 
Rest now, dear protector.

                                    * * *
			   Mary Beesley

Love, Mary

CLICK HERE FOR MARY’S NOVELS

Since December 21, the days have been lengthening in the northern hemisphere. The last six months have been a ratcheting up of the planet’s light and therefore fertility, growth, energy, and abundance. Flowers are blooming, birds are singing. The north side is celebrating.

The spring sun has brought life out of the dead winter.

This Sunday June 21 is the summer solstice. As a northern hemisphere resident, my half of this planet is tilted at its sharpest angle towards the sun, 23.44 degrees. On Sunday the Earth will hit that farthest tilt.

And pause.

The word solstice translates from Latin to “sun stands still.”

This Sunday, the day of the week named for the Sun, the Earth will hit its deepest bow, will kiss the feet of the Sun, our source of light and life and fire.

And hang there for a moment.

Before it begins its six month swing toward the dark.

It is midday in 2026.

And so on Sunday, for this day of the sun, I will pause with all the lights on.

As the source shines bright and full, I will look and see what all this energy and illumination has to show me.

The other day I asked my daughter if she wanted to go through the front of her school pack. “It’s really heavy,” I said.

“Honestly, I think it’s just garbage.”

“But you’re carrying it around.” I thought of her narrow shoulders, her spine trying to grow. There were things she needed in her backpack, her lunch box and school binder, but the rest of the weight was just that, weight. She couldn’t be bothered to clear it out so she hauled it around all day to her own detriment.

This weekend, in honor of the light, I will ask myself what unnecessary weight am I lugging around on my tired back.

I will face what has been hiding in the shadows. And I will invite my monsters in for some lemonade. I will radiate love to all the parts of me, recognizing in this moment of clarity, that I am whole.

Some ancient people believed the soul was made from a bit of sunlight contained within. This Sunday solstice, I will enjoy the light within and the light without.

The sun signifies joy, authenticity, and a great sense of the beauty of life. It is a time of optimism, energy, and wonder.

Summer solstice is the longest day of the year, but not the hottest. Like an oven, the planet has been preheating. The oceans absorb heat slowly, which it will continue to radiate over the next increasingly hot months of summer.

The earth moves slowly. Change takes time.

And so must I.

Love, Mary

P.S. THE SECOND TIME AROUND is on sale this entire month! It’s only $1.99 for the kindle edition. If you want to do a good deed and enjoy a fun book, head over and drop $2. Bonus karma for a kind review. Thank you and happy reading. xoxo

CLICK HERE FOR MARY’S NOVELS

Subscribe now

apple addiction

I feel myself reaching
for no conscious reason,
nothing important to see,
or timely tasks

Just a dark little niggle,
an itch
I pretend I don’t have.

The meal before me is fragrant 
and nourishing.
My belly satisfied with spinach and cream

But my mind is a glutton
for blue light and double hits of
dopamine. 

When the technology hit
twenty years ago,
I didn’t recognize
the drug
lurking behind the shiny screen.

The worst kind of addiction, 
it takes my most precious assets,
my time 
my presence
my peace
my opinions.

I wasn’t bored 
before it taught me otherwise.

I wasn’t escaping my daydreams
until it hooked me with 
apps and AI.

The algorithms attack
the territory of my mind.

I battle to remain sovereign
of my own ideas and beliefs.

Every morning I swear it off,
and by evening I’m hours deep,
giving my life to its endless hunger. 

I want it.
I need it.

I despise it.

And even now,
as I cry evil and war,
I’m writing this poem on it. 

                                    * * *
			   Mary Beesley

Love, Mary

CLICK HERE FOR MARY’S NOVELS

Mary’s All-Purpose Prescription. Especially good for a tender heart or an anxious mind.

Apply liberally, as needed. Don’t rush. This remedy is weakened by hurry.

Read more

clouds make the most beautiful skies

They say to look for the silver lining,
the gliding of light at the edge of a storm.

It is the clouds that make
the most beautiful skies,
a softening of the sun’s harsh intensity.

I crave the shade.
 
Endless washed-out blue
doesn’t hold my attention,

but a sky of rare and dramatic asperitas
pull…

Read more

I share a story from last year:

I don’t feel like writing my novel. I do, but the words aren’t coming. It’s too much work to excavate them from beneath the heavy layers of sadness and stress. It’s not so much my own, but Husband’s. A rock bottom.

A couple weeks ago Husband and I hiked the trail at the top of our neighborhood. The ocean …

Read more

I want to grow up to be like Mother

I was aimed away from Her womb,
   shedding childhood
      in the noise and pain of school

         chasing ego, logic, and prowess,
            learning the philosophies
               of men
                  but never measuring up

                     climbing in the heat,
                     …

Read more

Two weeks ago an Allen’s hummingbird flew into my house. I opened all the doors and turned off all the lights. It flew around my vaulted ceiling and failed to find purchase on the smooth wood. It buzzed and flailed and pinched at my heart. I held a broom up as a stop sign. Go the other way, little birdie. Freedom was right there. I did eve…

Read more

Baptism

I swam in the ocean today.

The waves were rough and churning, 
a mirror of my mood.

She did not coddle me with softness
or warmth,
but forced me to my knees,
bowing low to the seafloor.

Her power crashed over me,
great and terrible.

She cooled my arrogance,
washed away my whining.

I crawled up the shore
rebuked and reborn.…

Read more

My existence started in the way galaxies begin. With a big bang.

Or in the human case, a microscopic bang. Big from my perspective, at least.

When a sperm successfully fertilizes an ovum, the egg releases billions of zinc atoms in an explosive burst, creating a literal fluorescent flash of light.

The first day of creation of a new cosmos.

A d…

Read more