It’s amazing how quickly the memory of pain fades if we allow ourselves to be present before, during and after. I like the unconventional shape of my story, that I can make myself laugh during a panic attack, forgive things society calls unforgivable and be playfully sarcastic with god in the midst of an existential or endometrial maelstrom.

Here we are again, bleeding out generations of horrific, unprocessed memories which, for better or worse, are encoded in my DNA. But not ‘till death do us part’ because I fearlessly plunged into every shadowy corner of my head to repeatedly divorce myself from the grooming of death until all that remained was this beautiful life.

In spite of all the things that attempt to steal our joy, or maybe because of them, I love people, traditions and breaking them…down comforters, buttercream frosting, animals, countries, the ocean, moss and morning coffee…even though it’s decaf now. I love tea, clothes, my bed, music, dancing, naps, old doors, my sister, scented candles, yoga, crystals, costumes and staying up too late to write. I love art, feeling, thinking, dreaming, the sound of your breathing, healing and letting my soul use this body to play.

I am surrounded by hope and optimism.

I am divinely guided and protected.

I am born in Providence.


4 thoughts on “44

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