Listen how they shine…..

insta 11

Hey, tenderheart.
I noticed you there and felt it to pass you this note.
If it fits,  feel free to wear it;  if not,  toss and hear how beautiful I think you are:)

You know that little breath you hold?
The one you kind of save back for when you’ll finally feel permission
to relax into your place
at the big table.

That breath you suck in tense
until the someday when you’ll actually be enough
where you’re still feeling rather less than.

Can I whisper into that place?

There is something quietly and genuinely significant about you
already.
There’d be a sad, dark hole in this living canvas
without you.
You’re a custom fit,
particular and priceless by design.

085
Walk outside and look up at the stars tonight;
listen how they shine,
winking and nodding and noticing you back,
the whole inky blackness of the vast night sky rolled out in welcome
for,  yes,  that would be you,

the universe extended generous to affirm you
just exactly where and how
you are,
each of the beats of your beautiful heart
prized by the lover of all wild things.

What if you let this love name your value
and let that breath go.
Stand beneath the great wide sky,  all small and mighty and cherished,
and breathe all the way down,
past the dregs of your fear,
and embrace it,  your fit and flow.

I totally dare you:)

DSC00856
“We begin to find and become ourselves when we notice how we are already found,
already truly, entirely, wildly, messily, marvelously
who we were born to be.”
– Anne Lamott

I’ll be sending a little love bomb to Robin of Gotham Girl this week.
Another care package in the drawing for this week.
With big joy:)

 (This is an older write;  I’ve re-worked it and am putting it on the menu again
with some freshly sweetened hope.  Let me know if it speaks)

Living loved or driven…..

DSC09012edited
I wrangled out a post yesterday,
pushed it through the sieve of some sleepless hours
and tried to coax some juice to share.
Because it was time and I wanted to find the lovely
and serve it to you here.

Then I dumped it in the trash
because it felt forced,
driving me,  and then I felt them like a song,
the words I scrawled on the console of my old work truck
in red lipstick,
wrote them down bold so that maybe my heart would hear it stronger
in the wounded place where I sometimes go bloody
in the heat of a small day.

IMG_0023

Because sometimes my hungry places want to carve it somewhere big
“I am here”
“I matter”
“Do you see me now?”
As if only something beautiful or important enough
might repair the holes I hide.

Like the lipstick on my console,
I’ve decided to just leave them to the light.
Let the guy at the garage scratch his head and puzzle:)
Lay my unloved places bare
so that Love can find and heal and fill them there.

It’s risky business,  leaving yourself open to love.
But I’d rather live loved than driven.

IMG_0614
The words scrawled in red lipstick across my gimpy parts:

“You don’t need to justify your existence.”

– Don Miguel Ruiz

(big glad honest sigh)

I’ll be sending out a package of handwritten love to Lisa Moreland this week.
Gonna plunk names into a hat again this week to draw for
another little personal love bomb
from my heart to yours.
Thanks for coming around:)

 

Of treasure and need….

DSC04085

This is for your hungry places,
where  the cold fingers of need creep up through your thin-worn soles,
and you feel small against the bluster of a wind that would slice right through.

For the places where you go mostly alone,
hunted down by fear that raises stiff the hairs on your neck,
the kind of fright that preys on perception
and sends you into scurry
like the monster beneath your childhood bed.

Scarcity.
We all have those places where we feel found wanting,
towered over by a freakish sock puppet shadow
screaming bold and frantic lies.
“Not enough,”  it howls.
Not for you.
For you there’s shortage.
Of provision.  protection. wisdom.  solution.  love and comfort.  health.  belonging.
And whatever that something,  the circumstance lies,
it proves what you’ve always feared:
you’re a failure and alone.
A misfit.

DSC04080

I want to whisper something into that despairing hole of unmet need,
in that very place where you feel the smallest and weakest,
where hot tears puddle in a heart that feels betrayed
by the seeming plenty of those around you.

Things are not always as they seem.
There is enough for you
without cutting into anyone else’s goodness.

This isn’t how your story ends.
There is more,
and there are freshwater waves rushing toward your shores
to sweep away your thirst,
mercy soaking ground gone hard from disappointment
until it’s soft enough to let your dreams break through.

Don’t go bitter
from the spittle of yesterday’s hand-me-down beer.
Dive deep,  little pepper flake,  where the grateful waters flow:)
You’re gonna harvest pearls from these hard,  craggy shells
and find the treasure buried for you there.

DSC04092

“Where there is ruin,  there is hope for a treasure.” – Rumi

(I’ll be sending a copy of my last zine of the year to Susan Troccolo
of Life,  Change,  Compost.
I just read her freshly published book
of essays on friendship and breaking new ground.
Wonderful read!  The Beet Goes On.  Go see:))

Simply soaking……

DSC01067

In all of your tired places,

DSC01074
your wilted spaces,

DSC01077
feeling weary and parched and needing fresh graces…..

DSC01080
I sing your heart the sort of rest that feels like this:)

A good long healing soak.

“I drank the silence of God
from a spring in the woods.”
-Georg Trakl

(It gives me joy,  just so much joy,  to send a copy of my July Ripplesongs
to the beautiful Gwen Lily)