At the sudden realization of my error, my heart sinks; my face burns hot and red.

Has there ever been a moment when everything in you said “shrink," and instead you expanded?

You can't see beyond the next step, but you know what it feels like to let go — to move with Mystery.

Every single day,
a call to connection arrives on my phone.
The task is simple —
take a selfie
and then hold still
for one more photo —
the view from
where I am.

Is there a place one can go...

It’s easy for me to say
“I want people to feel loved.”
To argue for more space
at the table.

Is desire even meant for quenching?
I’ve looked in all the usual places
and still, I burn.

Here's a poem I wrote from a grounded place -- wisdom from myself to myself. I'll keep these words as an anchor to guide my home.

I didn’t fall down a slippery slope, I kept climbing to escape it.

Listen for your inner wisdom through the prism of poetry with Mary’s Olivers Leaves and Blossoms Along the Way.

Helena Bonham Carter reads Rumi’s The Guest House. What does this welcoming poem stir in you?

What does this short “visual poem” stir in you?