Composting what has been to feed whatever is coming

Capturing a single memory from the vastness of our story is like holding a drinking glass under a waterfall. 

We are all instruments for divine love. It’s music that’s easy to recognize.

We get in our own way by trying to figure out what we already know.

Now I get what the Buddhists are talking about when they state, over and over again, that we are going to lose everything.

I’ve spent so much time fighting you, Life, and I am truly sorry about that.

We can only spin narratives for so long before they become overworked and threadbare.

What if I release my vice grip on all that I cared about? Stop choking it with my crushing concern?

It’s not about grammar rules. It’s about beauty sourced at the wellspring of the soul. No refining, no polishing, just aliveness.

Your internal critic is brilliant—because you are. Empty silence is one of its favorite platforms.

If we’re going to walk heart-first through this time of destruction and rebirth, we have to find ways not to be immune to the moments of pain, but to let them re-shape us.

Let's keep expressing, keep reaching for the truth, keep holding each other in kindness and love.

Metaphor turns out to be a magical swiss army knife for the creative soul. And it is far more available to us than we realize.

Even after I spent my whole long life trying to take her down

Having no idea can actually be a powerful practice.

It’s hard not to look outside ourselves for answers - especially since the world keeps inviting us to.

When our mind, heart, body are in sync, often the writing can more easily pour through.

Facing the now is asking so much of us. Surrender. Grief. Community. Forgiveness. Creativity. Patience. A new kind of friendship with the earth.