these wings




in tandem or alone. little machines.

things of fairytales -glass like starches and intricate veins deliver mosaics, light and thin as a crisp. strong.

dreams spill out in wisps.

elevate. hover. move in any direction you like – special mechanisms take you the highest.

tiniest of helicopters, majesty of insects – you cruised earth before she birthed t- rex.

there are kingdoms in you … belief in unseen realms.

#raiseyourfrequency #dragonfly #beauty #poetry

junk drawer

Her mind was a junk drawer.  She knew better, but things just piled up.  Some useful, most not.  It interfered as she would forget the littlest thing going from room to room.  Circling, wearing a path into the floor – one might see her limited movements and mistake her for a captive animal.  No bars or locks, just her mind and her fears and the element of complacency.

The birds freed her mind from its trappings.  From inside she adored them; she watched them through the pane (they came closer this way).  Her eyes seized each one like a prize. Over and over she saw perfection in their small beaks and smooth feathers. Always a moment of magic – they existed only for her.

Her childhood was similar, she recalls, getting locked on to things (things of freedom) though never feeling free. Listening to cassettes on repeat while she searched each song for its longing; she found certainty in the repetition and familiarity even at a young age.

Her head burned, begging for fresh air.  She felt immobilized -like chains held her to this space.  What was this behavior?

Self afflicted bondage? A retreat? It had grounded her, yes, but she no longer had wings.  She abandoned them somewhere along the way, clipped them off in haste and was feeling the pains.

It was a lifelong effort growing them back and taking flight again.

Excerpt How To Grow Wings:  Awareness by Angella Meanix

the angels are preening

I wrote this (and a few others) years ago after my brother died when I was in a lot of physical pain (a separate journey altogether).  We, as a family, were fortunate to be with him -by his side, though many constraints were placed on us before this day.  Constraints that still inspire anger in me.  I’ve never been one to protect and shield. The requests to “not cry” around my brother were not only ridiculous, they were vain and inauthentic.  I will never do that again.  Never.  Finally, the day came when David took his last breath; I’ve never experienced something so significant (except the day my son took his first; that’s another story).  I cried.  I still cry.  It was an honor though to be there.  I will be lucky to sit at the bedside of every loved one I know who dies before me.

it slips in and consumes me.

i thought it was over.

but, it’s a tight grip that wants me to be true.

what’s true is unclear and deep feeling.  it’s overwhelming and constant.

i’m reeling – if my mind turns it off, my body takes it on.

i have limited space inside me.


the pressure builds, i can’t seem to break a new dawn.

i reach the crest and see the path, but my footing won’t hold – i’m gripping the past.

no longer upright, along come crows – they swoop and caw.

the awe of it distracts me.

a quiet unfolds.

and steeps in me, wisdom behold.

it’s not the end, it’s the beginning.

i am a newborn to death.

the angels are preening.


Anything born out of fear has an undeniable birthmark.

Insidious, fear will steal your true self, bury intuition and scrap your good nature.

You struggle for sure as it grows … as it reveals it’s limited disposition, but keep it close just in case.

It’s kind of a way out every time you give in; denying possibilities, forfeiting the reigns.

Just be sure to appreciate your hard work of holding it tight and revel in all the ways it’s keeping you down and holding you back.

she dreamed of antlers

all grace and connection, like spiritual antennas – sky, then eyes, then ground

Be mindful – a dream is process and premonition.

Her skin broke at the crown.  Curled under pines- sweet smells and needles, the bones kept coming to breach the usual space she held.

Fed by velvet, they grew; best -nobody told them what to do.

Breathing and alive they boasted of health and healing, strength and esteem.

So much heavier than she could’ve imagined, she lifted her head to reveal them. Tangled in threads of light, she emerged.

Great receivers, they magnified and made her nauseous at first. A few deep breaths brought relief.

Everything she saw was crystal clear; unveiled secrets, no lies concealed.

Her worth was born.

Grace ousted fear.

the strength of form | i ask Rumi …

The mountain leads the world in form. A place to start and end.

The Strength of form

Rumi says: Listen to this story: When the soul left the body it was stopped by God at heaven’s gate: “Alas! You have returned just as you left. Life is a blessing of opportunity. Where are the bumps and scratches left by the journey?”

I ask Rumi …

They say think positive, let the vision be of yourself as if it is already. Trust. Let go. Be clear.

My hands hold each plate with marked sadness in the bod. Have I envisioned that a thousand times plates would pass through my hands? That I would stand and weep with gratitude at such a simple pleasure – admiring a singular part of my form -holding on to such wares, letting the warm water move around the thing while still making it wet?

I must have.

I ask Rumi, “What if my bumps and scratches heal before my soul leaves the bod and a quiet, gentle walk – hand-in-hand with simple pleasures – feels like a blessed opportunity? And why are there gates?”

the ocean touches my tongue

The earth in its glory speaks to me -surrounding, following.  Stepping only forward, my body brings with it the back and sides – morning sun, dirt, sky.

Brisk“, I state out loud.

Working on that deep breath, I smile and look up. Cold wind and my eyes soak. Filled- they let go. My taut skin redirects the wet, pushing a downward path … and the ocean touches my tongue.

Back to

done is better than perfect

In applying this simple idea – I aim to move forward and make at least one thing a day and share it to my Instagram, Tumblr, FB. Here, I will post each Friday.  I am practicing “doing”.  Sounds simple, I know, but we all have areas of life we can be better.  This is one of my areas.  Hesitation is common when I go to share any kind of creative post.  I am, however, a creative.  Until recently, I didn’t believe I was meant to – or needed – to show the personal work I was doing, but more and more … I do.  Connecting through the choice to share a little part of myself is a step forward.  So here goes …

Have you noticed it’s the littlest of things that usually hold you back?  What could you make a decision to do as a practice that would open up a door or perhaps shift – even slightly – a way that you view something … or yourself? 

Back to