Sunday, December 9, 2018


I walked on fire again last night. 
Surrounded by women I may have never met.
Except for our shared searching in the dark 
for the light of fire, 

still burning in our bellies.

We’ve always gathered in circles,
cycling back through ages.
But every time feels new
as I stare into the shimmering, crackling coals.
I try to tap into that ancient wisdom,
the retelling of stories
until each woman’s voice blends into one.
And we toss them all into the flame
through tears and laughter and pounding drum.
Burning the illusions and agreements 
that no longer serve us,
wondering if we too 
will be consumed by heat.

But a funny thing happens 
as I step out the other side,
as my foot touches the cool, moisture of grass.
The sensation of heat and cold lose their meaning.
And all that is left is a sense of tingling with life. 
The old fears, sadness and pain rise like smoke,
leaving me giddy and light and 
ready to face whatever comes next.  

Sharpening the Knife

Here we are
Eye to eye
And thirsty
Tenderly testing the waters
Of this deep, crystal clear pool.

But we are no longer young and foolish
We can still hear the sizzle from the last time
We let such enchanting water 
put out our roaring flame.  

We are sweaty and weary
And wear our battle wounds with pride.
We are warriors not unfamiliar to the weight of a sword
We’ve slashed ties and built a fortress
And guarded it fiercely to raise our young.

So we dance carefully around each other
Stealthy and alert
We poke and pry
And make careful notes of each response.

But allow ourselves to be curious 
of the shape taking form in the stone
As we each chip away at deceptions,
mirages, and alluring sleights of hand.
Our machetes drawn, we are determined 
to clear out the briars of our own illusions.
The taste of salt and blood rests soothing on my tongue. 
And we find scars braid stronger where the skin was torn.

So I let my mind sharpen against you 
like a knife against leather
No need anymore for anyone to validate me
Your power feeds my fire.

And your yang gives space for my yin to finally breathe.

Wednesday, December 5, 2018

The End is the Beginning

Starting over 
is an eternal beginning.  
The bruise of night bleeds seamlessly 
into the rosy pink of dawn.  

Standing up too quickly 
from the amnesia of sleep, 
leaves me dizzy.
Like the swirling, spiraling, somersaults 
of a snake consuming its own tail.

Lifetimes merge when I look at you.   
How many times have we stood 
before this reflection?
Like stacked shadows of past lives.
New stories unravel from your mouth,
but your eyes still feel like coming home. 
And when I put my trembling hand to your chest, 
I cannot tell where your heartbeat ends 
and mine begins.

We reset at center.

Eyes wide open,
we step resolutely into each other’s arms.
Every time you touch me,
and respect the sacredness of that act,
I open a little more.
Every time we dare to dance 
in forbidden spaces
and find the other 
still holding our gaze,
we learn to trust.  
And stripped bare, 
with nothing left to hide,
we fall a little deeper in love.