Category Archives: Uncategorized

The Silk Worm by Rumi

Cultivate Clarity

tom killion Usal Beach, Lost Coast. Woodcut by Tom Killion

Here’s the awesome thing about telling people that you’re all about love: They start sending you pictures of found hearts and quotations about love and poems about connecting to the whole fucking universe! It’s awesome and I’m so grateful to all of you who send me such things.

I’m thinking about this in this particular moment because I just got a card with a print by one of my favorite artists in the mail from one of my workshop participants, and along with a welcomed check was the awesome Rumi poem below. I am so filled up.

But first, I ask you…. what do you want to declare to the world that you’re all about?? What kinds of images, words, and experiences do you want to prompt others to think of YOU? Try shouting your most heartfelt delights out into the world and see what echoes back! xoxo Bex

The Silk Worm

found heart on ice Found heart…

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from A Morning Offering by John O’Donohue

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IMG_9070May my mind come alive today
To the invisible geography
That invites me to new frontiers,
To break the dead shell of yesterdays,
To risk being disturbed and changed.
May I have the courage today
To live the life that I would love,
To postpone my dream no longer
But do at last what I came here for
And waste my heart on fear no more.

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Sparkly Threads to Freedom

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IMG_4986Late last winter as I was rising out of the grief and groundlessness that my big breakup left me with I made a hell of a lot of individual-sized pizzas for my mom while watching a live Michael Franti concert on my computer. I danced and got flour all over my apron and my face and felt new waves of brightness exploding into the spaces inside of me that had long been cloudy.

And I instantly understood why. Cooking makes me happy and so does kitchen dancing, but the reason I suddenly surged with joy was all about Michael Franti. That man and his work in the world is all about being and spreading love, and I knew in that moment that that was exactly what I wanted to do: Hold space for myself and others to tap into the vast sea of love we’re all swimming in and let it flow in…

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Blessing for a New Beginning

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The most popular post on my blog to date is John O’Donohue’s Blessing For a New Beginning. So since it’s the beginning of a new year, I thought I’d share it again for all to see! May your new year be full of brave new beginnings!

For a New Beginning

IMG_5507In out-of-the-way places of the heart,
Where your thoughts never think to wander,
This beginning has been quietly forming,
Waiting until you were ready to emerge.

For a long time it has watched your desire,
Feeling the emptiness growing inside you,
Noticing how you willed yourself on,
Still unable to leave what you had outgrown.

It watched you play with the seduction of safety
And the gray promises that sameness whispered,
Heard the waves of turmoil rise and relent,
Wondered would you always live like this.

Then the delight, when your courage kindled,
And out you stepped onto new ground,

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We Are Already Here

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IMG_5543Maybe I’ve mentioned how much I love Portland a time or two. One of the things I love is the preponderance of sidewalk poems encased in plexiglass and, in the case of the poem below, churched up with all kinds of flare.

A few weeks ago I came across these words on a Sunday afternoon walk and it reminded me to simply be here. Curious. Open. Willing give truth the space it needs to reveal itself.

When I feel lost, it says to me, stand still for a beat or ten. I will discover that I am already here.



Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you

Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,

And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,

Must ask for permission to know it and be known.

The forest breathes. Listen. It answers.

I have made this place around you.

If you leave it, you may…

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All Goes Onward and Outward: Whitman on Death

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IMG_8562Since the 19th anniversary of my dad’s death a couple days ago, I’ve been thinking a lot about death and what that really means.

Earlier this summer, the friend of a good friend of mine died suddenly. So from the edge of my tent porch, I scribbled some lines of Walt Whitman for him and drew a section of the nurse stump I stared at day after day.

Out of the crumbling remains of an old tree stump sprang a vine maple at least ten feet high and mounds of furry mosses, lichens, and fungus. I think one of my favorite things about these Oregon woods are the ubiquitous reminders that life and death are so deeply intertwined. Just as Whitman says:

I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women,

And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their laps.




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A Toast to Larry

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IMG_9536Nineteen years ago today my dad died. I was nineteen. That’s half-life without him, and my ENTIRE adult life. And until I got a text from my brother this evening with the words, “We miss you!” and the cutest selfie ever of him, my sister, and my mom, the significance of this day hadn’t crossed my mind once.

My dad’s death was the first terrible thing that ever happened to me, and remains to be my greatest loss. The last time I saw him was in the early morning humid haze of late-August Chicago. In a photograph taken just moments before my sister, our friend Liz, and I jumped in to my mom’s Toyota Corolla to begin my westward journey, my father rests on the open trunk, arms raised high, embracing it all. His signature stance.

last day dad My dad was the kind of dad we called by his first name–Larry. Or, more often, Lar

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Airing out our Wounds: A Mindfulness Practice

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IMG_9504I’m witnessing a friend going through some serious heartbreak right now. And ohhhh, my heart aches for her. Over the past several months I’ve watched her bravely give herself to love, surrender to the sweetness of togetherness and the hope that it would be of the sustainable sort. I watched her stick with it longer than it felt comfortable because she wanted to make sure that she wasn’t just running out of fear or ancient programming.

And I watched her be honest with herself and the man she was smitten with. She was courageous and vulnerable and let him know that she was not receiving what she wanted from the relationship. That the effort felt really lopsided. Hoping, of course, that he was invested in it enough to unlopside it. But for whatever reason, he wasn’t.

[We may not know the reason he wasn’t motivated to step it up a notch, but we…

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The Sea that Nearly Swallowed Me: Writing Prompt Wednesdays

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IMG_2893Last fall, shortly after I returned to Chicago with a shredded heart, my dear poet friend sent me the first stanza of Belly Song (below) by Etheridge Knight. POW!

It hit me in that place that shoots out little pieces of glitter inside when you collide with something undeniably real. In a few short lines, Knight articulates what I hope to be able to articulate in my lifetime: the truth that we will all be nearly swallowed by the sea at least once. I think I’ve brushed against its sandy bottom at least four times. And the question, each time we come eyeball to exoskeleton with sand dollars and crabs, is–should I stop swimming altogether or shall I become be a wiser, stronger swimmer?

I think a lot of people decide to stop swimming. Just stay on the edge and call it good for the day, week, lifetime.

IMG_2836But I like to swim too much to…

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