It's like the window you left open as it rained.
It became a portal for wild things to drift in
and splashes of color to messy your hands with.
Over and over, smearing and breaking open cracks of new space.
It becomes your story, the unfinished one.
The one that longs to be retold...
right by the fireside of your heart flame.
It becomes your practice and you return to it...
Over and over, splashing and whirling new paths towards unnamed destinations.
It frees you.
And holds you in darkness. Asking you to sing your dream to find the way home.
One by one, the steps appear and the flashing light,
gives life to your truth.
And the colors that rise up...
Over and over, stream in with heavy sweepers that clear a way back into the deepest you.
Welcome to my Virtual Journal. Here you will find #fieldnotes of a Medial Woman. I write unabashedly imperfect, mostly short, even one-line word play. I share story. I share- first, my process. I view my life-living as a grand experiment and I am taking notes, mapping a trail by moments, stories and synchronicities.
I write about...