these wings

higher.

higher.

higher.

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

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already the heart

poem and bird


More alchemy than words …

raw & tender – they enter.

Gently forward, gently in, gently back.

I tilt towards the place in my chest.

Letter, then syllable – they slide – mixing in with the airy stuff around me & the gooey stuff inside.


To this day, I think this poem – “already the heart” by A.V. Christie- is one of the most beautiful and well crafted I’ve ever read (the poem is to the left of the green bird and my response -in a few words- is below it).

#alreadytheheart on Instagram 


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she dreamed of antlers

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.

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the strength of form | i ask Rumi …

The-strength-of-form
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?”

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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.

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