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The Dance


“I want to learn how to hold the paradoxical poles of my identity together, to embrace the profoundly opposite truths that my sense of self is deeply dependent on others dancing with me and that I still have a sense of self when no one wants to dance.” 

― Parker J. Palmer



Ah, this is a big one for me.  I think as an adoptee I have always longed for connection with others to sort of fill a void, a feeling of aloneness in this big world.

I think the past few years have been a process for me of learning to dance alone, loneliness transformed into solitude. That place where you are alone with your thoughts, your emotions, where you’re not running from them but simply ‘dancing’ with them. The movement and flow that comes from that place is something that can only truly be understood when we dance alone.

And then learning to embrace others, allowing them in to our dance as well as leading the dance. The giving and receiving of love, acceptance. Both are beautiful and nececarry for our own emotional and spiritual health I think.

So for me, embracing myself in the dance and feeing my own heart and learning what it means to join in the dance with others who I feel safe with. I don’t have to have a dozen partners, only a few.



I know Why the Caged Bird Sings


Something my daughter wrote last year. She is wise beyond her years. I am so proud of her. So very proud. Thoughts inspire by “I know why the Caged Bird Sings” by Maya Angelou.


Free people enjoy their liberty and make the best of it. They reach high and usually achieve their goals — freedom is very important. But those who struggle in confinement and lack of liberty are hurting greatly. So they sing: they sing of the things they wish they had, things they need desperately but do not own.

They sing of freedom, and their voices don’t go unheard. Free people think of other, far more carefree matters — they think of life’s blessings towards them, which are all laid out in front of them, and are free to explore the world as they please.

The wind through sighing trees is a sound they hear most often… But those who struggle in confinement have only the dead memory of their broken dreams, and the sound of a nightmare scream — so they sing.

They sing of things they wish they had, and things they need but do not own — they sing of freedom.
Sometimes I feel caged in my own mind or thoughts, or just in the confusion of the world in general, or like I’m drowning under the immensity of the world’s issues while everybody else seems perfectly fine.

There’s always a hope somewhere in the future, whether it be for you or the people after you. A life confined is made even more pointless without hope — so just keep hoping for the better ending, even if it seems unrealistic to you. Freedom may not always come easy, but keep fighting and keep singing, because everyone deserves it.



“Much has been said of the aesthetic values of chanoyu- the love of the subdued and austere- most commonly characterized by the term, wabi. Wabi originally suggested an atmosphere of desolation, both in the sense of solitariness and in the sense of the poverty of things. In the long history of various Japanese arts, the sense of wabi gradually came to take on a positive meaning to be recognized for its profound religious sense. …the related term, sabi,… It was mid-winter, and the water’s surface was covered with the withered leaves of the of the lotuses. Suddenly I realized that the flowers had not simply dried up, but that they embodied, in their decomposition, the fullness of life that would emerge again in their natural beauty.”
― Kakuzō Okakura, The Book Of Tea

To Write..


One writes not to be read but to breathe…one writes to think, to pray, to analyze. One writes to clear one’s mind, to dissipate one’s fears, to face one’s doubts, to look at one’s mistakes–in order to retrieve them. One writes to capture and crystallize one’s joy, but also to disperse one’s gloom. Like prayer–you go to it in sorrow more than joy, for help, a road back to ‘grace’.” ― Anne Morrow Lindbergh, War Within & Without: Diaries And Letters Of Anne Morrow Lindbergh, 1939-1944

The Walking Dead


It always amazes me how we as human beings will return to something familiar, whether its a relationship, behavior pattern or abuse as opposed to venturing out into the unknown.

We are walking around, many of us like actors in a big production taking on our roles, dying inside but convincing ourselves that we’re alive.

Like zombies we get through another day, dead, only appearing to be alive. Losing all sense of who we really are over time.

We take the ‘safe’ road and protect ourselves at all costs. Thick heavy walls around us.

Sad thing is, we usually keep the very things that are destroying us in those walls with us. Masqueraded as safety, down farther and farther we go until we have almost completely lost ourselves.

Time to wake up and realize it’s an illusion, time to start living.

I love you


How casually these words flow off our tongues. How deeply us women are touched, are moved by them.

To know we are deeply loved for who we are, imperfections and all. To gaze into the eyes of another and feel that deep connection.

I think it’s a trap.

I used to believe in that kind of love. That romantic, toss care to the wind kind of love.

We are open



Do I now? I’m not so sure. I think it may be an illusion. I think maybe we’ve been lied to girls.


Anyway, this passage from author and phycologist Scott Peck really stood out to me. I will write it down and paste it right next to my end table. Maybe it will help keep me grounded next time ‘prince charming’ comes along professing his love for me.

Love is not a feeling; real love is an action, an activity.

“When we love someone our love becomes demonstrable or real only through our exertion–through the fact that for someone we take an extra step or walk an extra mile. Love is as love does, not as love says.

“Moreover, real love is a choice. We don’t have to love, we choose to love. If we are not loving, it is not because we are not feeling loving; it is because we have made the choice not to love. Real love does not have its roots in a feeling of love. To the contrary, real love often occurs in a context in which the feeling of love is lacking, when we act loving despite the fact we don’t feel loving.

“The tendency to confuse love with the feeling of love allows people all manner of self-deception. Many, many people possessing a feeling of love and even acting in response to that feeling act in all manner of unloving and destructive ways. On the other hand, a genuinely loving individual will often take loving and constructive action toward a person he or she consciously dislikes, actually feeling no love toward the person at the time and perhaps even finding the person repugnant in some way.

“True love is not a feeling by which we are overwhelmed. When love exists it does so with or without a loving feeling. Genuine love, therefore, is volitional rather than emotional. The person who truly loves does so because of a decision to love, to be a loving person. This person has made a commitment to be loving whether or not the loving feeling is present. If it is, so much the better; but if it isn’t, the commitment to love, the will to love, still stands and is still exercised.”

– M Scott Peck, abridged from “The Road Less TraveledImage



I follow the lines along the sidewalk. A seemingly eager escort to that place of safety, my destination laid out before me.

Sojourner , I walk not knowing where I may end up.

Part of me is filled with excitement and anticipation and another part of me, the frightened child  wants to huddle back into the alley way into darkness, hidden and alone.

The daylight shines down on me exposing those things the darkness hides so very well. 

Nothing is hidden and i am paraded down the street, my flaws exposed for all to see.

They laugh, mock me, ridicule until i am beaten down and defeated.

The darkness beckons me with it’s familiarity, offering safe haven from the taunting jeers.

But then, I stand.I breathe in, my chest expanding with air, with life.

I lift my head, throw back my shoulders and parade right along into the brightness of a gloriously beautiful day.

Each step, I am closer to my destination. I can feel it, taste it, smell it.

All my senses are engaged, a beautiful picture before me.

I’m strong, I am alive, the illusion of death and despair behind me, a pile of filthy rags 

I walk in radiant white, clean and new.

Dancing and twirling, I am home


Love allows understanding to dawn, and understanding is precious. Where you are understood, you are at home. Understanding nourishes belonging. When you really feel understood, you feel free to release yourself into the trust and shelter of the other person’s soul.― John O’Tommy Donohue

This really struck me this morning. These are the friendships I find most fulfilling that I desire deeply. I think that’s why I am so very dialectic. I have this deep desire to understand others I care about and feel understood by them.

This equates to loving and being loved deeply, authentically.

Although I realize this can be considered un-realistic at times it is still deeply ingrained in me. To feel understood, to understand, to connect. I have a very difficult time with open-endedness, log periods of silence or lack of closure.

But maybe it’s about learning to understand myself on a deeper level and trusting that process. Trusting the silence and learning to hear through it in a deeper way. The ability to truly listen to Gods voice.

But still anything less then this mutual understanding feels shallow and superficial to me.

And even through questioning, through my messy spaces I share openly with others in the hope that there is something redemptive in this ugly process, that one person may be touched through my birth pains and experience some level of freedom.

Or maybe it’s the connection that brings comfort, or both.

Fill your paper (computer screen) with the breathings of your heart.