Dream Life

                                                  The healing is not the destruction. It is not the day you know it is finally time to uproot your life. It is not the moment you tell someone they are no longer welcome, it is  not the hours you spend decluttering, it is not the minute you walk away. The healing is how you gradually allow your soul to drip into your days again. It is how you show up more fully now that the debris is cleared, and the roads  are unblocked, and your life is once again renewed and  refreshed and freed. It was never about whether or not you had the courage to light fire to what was, it was  whether or not you were willing to plant a seed in its place, and to grow what was always meant to be.

                                                                                   I am slowly learning what it means to be human. I am slowly learning how to forgive the past. How to accept that sometimes beautiful things end, that sometimes the timing isn't right, that sometimes the messiness of life gets in the way, I am slowly learning that endings aren't something to be upset about, but rather, I am slowly learning how to appreciate how damn lucky I was to experience something real and hopeful and light in a world that sometimes fails to be soft. I am slowly learning how to be alone. I am slowly learning how to wake up in the middle of the bed. How to make just one cup of coffee in the mornings. How to hold my own heart, how to take up my own space. I am slowly learning how ...

                                           First snow! The flakes, So few , so light, Remake the world In solid white. All bundled up, We feel as if We were fat penguins, Warm and stiff. The toy-packed shops Half split their sides, And Mother brings home Things she hides. Old carols peal. The dusk is dense. There is a mood Of sweet suspense. The shepherds wait, The kings, the tree--- All wait for something Yet to be, Some miracle. And then it's here, Wrapped up in hope--- Another year!

                                       How beautiful is the moon, glowing brightly in the night skies. Hiding herself during noon, So you'll never know if she cries.     Alone she sits in the sky,     guiding those who need her light     Warming the hearts of those who cry,     But always keeping herself locked up tight. Though surrounded by many stars, In solitude she would rather be. A consequence produced by scars, Shh...can you here her silent plea?      Away from people, away from pain,      She hides herself, in plain sight.      I've told you once and I'll tell you again,      The story of a beautiful moon         whose light glows brightest of night.