Category Archives: Healing

New

18 Thursday Sep 2025

Posted by in ancestors, beauty, devotion, grief, Healing, heart, history, home, liberation, Life, medicine, mystery, new, Opening, poems, poetry, question, shame, song, transformation, unlearning, violence, waking, weaving, welcoming, wonder, work, world

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Confusion tumbles out of us,

violence and shame, ever pointing–

over there, over there.

Look in the mirror, friend, we each must

consider our part, the veins of ugliness within,

ignored, denied, pushed away.

Wounds need care,

sunlight and tenderness.

Otherwise, they fester.

None goes unhurt, none walks without darkness

to be held.

Point not that way, and that,

drop the pointer all together.

We are a we, and in it together to reweave

an old, old decaying story into blessing and art,

connection, nourishment and song.

What beauty brings us here now?

What Beauty to be bestowed back to Life?

Ask the ancestors,

they know,

ask the ancestors for help–

healing takes everyone, form and formless alike.

Let the new story begin..

it breaks through already

in the most delightful, unexpected ways.

Wake up!

02 Saturday Aug 2025

Posted by in freedom, generations, Healing, heart, history, honoring, liberation, Life, medicine, movement, new, poems, poetry, prayer, presence, thanks, transformation, undone, waking, wind, wonder

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Wrestling with the ancestors,

shaking their tree–

Wake up, wake up! You have errors

you must correct.

Generations long damage still revealing itself,

this is not solely on the living.

Clear the way, remove the pall,

obstacles you unwittingly erected,

not the monuments you believed them to be.

Pick up a sledgehammer–

face your mistakes,

smash their marble facades,

crack the foundation,

watch them crumble and let wind blow them away.

Your legacy awaits.

Life needs to bloom.

Get on it!

The riotous wind

12 Monday Aug 2024

Posted by in freedom, friends, growing, Healing, heart, honoring, human, learning, Love, movement, naked, Opening, poems, poetry, prayer

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Driving along

and a sudden elevator drop in my chest.

Riding that familiar riversong of sadness a moment,

I understand–ah–

my old, precious friend

is holding a conversation I’ve heard countless times.

Now I can recognize her disguise.

Funny mask, dear one,

but a confusion belies those heavy, tearful eyes.

Stress, strain, the much too muchness of things

brings you here.

Rest, love.

Hide in your cubby hole and come out

whenever you would like to sniff

the riotous wind again.

Burial

29 Friday Oct 2021

Posted by in devotion, family, ghosts, Healing, home, honoring, poems, poetry, prayer, strength, work

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What’s it like to live the lives of the ghosts that inhabit you?

You know it well.

Ask the parts with poison in a syringe

ready to inject each time you step off their worn,

possessing and ever hungry killing path.

They seek–you know this, even without words–all light,

your light,

and they search with senses unimaginable,

like magnetism, or gravity, the tender flame

at the heart of you. And feed.

The very heart of you, the Spirit of you,

the stuff they, while living, could not tend in themselves;

the marrow of their being they nurtured with death ways.

When can the exorcism begin? How can you reclaim

your own Self,

that beauty and gift of which no one else is replica?

That’s in you,

still.

Reach for Her with every ribbon of strength

you thought you’d lost.

You are here, now, with feet on this sweet Earth,

not lost, no, only wrestling

with the ghosts your family left for you to battle.

Some warriors do not carry sword or shield,

yet they walk the battlefield alone, year after year,

collecting back the bones of those who were truly lost,

giving them, finally,

Burial.

From sleep into waking

29 Friday Oct 2021

Posted by in aging, approaching, community, devotion, digging, dreams, friends, Healing, honoring, poems, poetry, prayer, presence, weaving, welcoming, work

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A day arrives

during night dreaming

when you come to retrieve a child, an infant

in button-up full-blue onesie,

from a house expecting you

and, upon entry, you recognize the woman

whose house it is. She rises from a room sized table,

oblong, solid, warm and wooden. An enormous shined egg.

Around its edges sit monks, scholars, drummers–

elders all. It feels better than anything you’ve felt

in ages.

She not only welcomes you, while rising,

but asks you to stay.

Come join us.

She says that. . Come. Join us.

Somewhere, slung between infancy and elderhood, you stand,

at times barely, and then holy invitation is spoken,

warmly.

Keep hollowing out the space,

hallowing the place,

where the invitation can finally cross from sleep

into waking.

Black

09 Wednesday Nov 2016

Posted by in becoming, break out, change, courage, Creating, dark, Healing, listen, mystery, pain, poems, poetry, strength, the road, transition

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Black

is every color

crammed

in space too tight for light.

Our sickness

produces severe symptoms;

Projecting our own shadows on others

will keep us from finding our way through.

With the box now open,

the last of its contents spilled

into collective view,

comes the greatest need yet

for- yes- willingness and

a strong stomach (as it writhes),

but also

a softening of our individual, concreted ways and

an enlivening of curiosity and connection.

Where we go from here

is up

to all of us.