Purple Hyacinths

I am the purple hyacinth

I am the terror

I am the forgotten

I am the remembered

I am the song

I am the breath

I am the struggle

I am the air

I am the rainbow

I am the waves

I am the whisper

and I am forgiven.

Gratitude expands

Thank you Mother

thank you Father

thank you sisters, brothers

thank you for teaching me

to love myself with gentle kindness

thank you for teaching me

to set healthy boundaries.

Thank you for showing up

when I could not.

Sadness Illustrates Gladness Through a Filter of Madness

For a bit without wit, the murky stench of unworthiness crept through and then dissipated as the mayflies fill the sky and then die.


Benevolent Beings, be with me as I brave the cavers encasing the waters of filth and murk. As I trek through the sludge and find gems throughout. May the gems be one with the muck and not be established as better or worse. May I know that the muck is the same as the flower. Even the poisons make way for beauty as if beauty were better than the poison. The poisonous bliss of eternity flickers in the night forthright coming through and through. May the sadness illustrate the gladness through a filter of madness.

And so it is.

This writing comes after a day of fearfully consuming material possessions so that loved ones might feel welcome. And at the exit of the opulence, there sits a man pleading for life. Ignored and then I turn back to offer him a bottle of sparkling Perrier and 20 bucks. The tears flowed as I recognized him as my brother and my son and that those that plead for life are but a reflection of us all. The malnourished parts of us torched by the elements.

This writing comes after the tales of blessings shared. Of being mutilated by an industry created and creating fear through the promise of healing. The poison that promises those who have brought illness into their lives but then seek love as they decide to live. To live out of fear of creating an atmosphere where loved ones not longer feel welcome.




Tolerance of the most cruel

Why are we tolerant and nice to those that are most cruel?

The answer that comes flowing through: Because, sometimes, we feel what others feel. And as a survival tactic, we do not want to feel more pain and sadness than we already do. Fearing further abandonment from the safety and love of which we are worthy might completely paralyze us.

Instead, take action to know the truth. Take action to halt the cruelty for the action is acute and the sadness is imaginary.

Most likely the cruel someone, is unable to feel compassion or any kind of sadness for what they inflict upon others. Embrace the long term and know that is where the safety and love is given and received by all.

Sure Hits Intermittently Twist

The space exists, all you have to do is move into it.

The concept of moving into existing empty spaces came up several times this week. The first time was during a conversation regarding the houseless. “There are so many empty homes. Why are there so many homeless people?” I responded with, “They are not open to receiving.”

Which has been true in my life over and over and over again.

The other instance was with open office space. Recently the company I work for combined with another company and for a few months, the people from one location have been crammed together in a space much less desirable from a lighting and physical comfort perspective than the other floors. An observation was that the people in the smaller quarters have built up a cheerful comaraderie. Working diligently as needed but also taking time to laugh and share stories of both sorrow and joy. There is a group that gathers consistently for lunch almost every day. And as the moving days come closer, we all look at one another and say, “I hope we can continue this.” And we will.

With regard to moving into the existing space. The lighting is calmer, the views are beautiful, the conference rooms abundant and the decor pleasing in the other spaces. There are welcoming new neighbors and an expansive space with which to grow and create.

The space is there. Move into it. And take with you the creative energy to receive that which you are worthy.

The Iron Door of Confusion

Between the layers

lies a collective confusion

about why we’re stuck

in a place where we know

to go

up or down.

Behind the iron door

in a space where there is no place

for joy or terror

in a place where we know

we should go

up or down.

Where the walls replaced

the once brilliant views

where there were no walls

there are now caverns of confusion

in a place where we know

to go up or down.

We move, we follow,

we express our sorrow.

But what do we do?

We pry open the iron door where we know

to go

up or down.

Laughter subsides

and we all arise

awakened to the choices

awakened by the voices

of the childrenĀ  playing

and the trees are swaying

away from the collusion

and much confusion

form the place where we know

to go

neither up nor down.

— Wendy Who Walks With Wildflowers