Cry with me, Mother, and let our teardrops turn to rock. You can strike me until I shatter into a million pieces: I will become the sands

I could dive into the depths of your mind and watch the vivid world  underneath your surface, those whale songs unspoken and unsung

I see the forests worshipped in their tall grandeur shading families from the scorching sun... From Colombia to Lenapehoking, this is Home 

Take me back to North Beach so I can float on the waters, my body forming a bare cross... surrendered to the All Powerful 

The deep clouds have brought their storms, both destruction and nourishment bring about change, for one must die to be reborn

A ship that spends its existence anchored in place will never fulfill its destiny, never to set sail on the wild tides... Will you

We are told to bend but never break. But shattering into pieces allows us to rebuild ourselves in ways we could never imagine, rendering

I follow my heart and it shows me things I never knew was possible, because the heart is far more intelligent than the mind

The silver hairs and lines in their skin make them even more beautiful, knowing we have shared all these years together

The wind sends her whispers... Traveling through time itself to speak wisdoms and fill our hearts, we stood there listening to this language

The Rain Dancer and the Fire Sprite, the most perfect duet: our feet kiss the Earth, the wind sings in our ears, rain drops dance on the

If words are your only vessel, then I am beached. For I live in a wealth of intuition, of which the world has become impoverished

Do not ask me to choose between the sun and the moon, between night and day, between earth and sky and water... for I could never choose...

I stand at the point of no return... I have outgrown and outworn my beloved shoes... I can choose my shoes but I cannot choose my feet...

There is no greater inspiration than an empty wall, I will give away all of my paintings so that the world may become my gallery... My joys

Sometimes we mistake what is comfortable and known for being a choice

Birth is beautiful, it is bloodshed and membranes spilled out on the floor... Do you see beauty in process and creation, or does blood...

I say goodbye to my beloved sweater - my skin - outgrown and outworn I shed, bittersweet... You who have carried me all these years, you...

Anarchy: the moth emerging from its cocoon saying, "This is me."

Give me humid warmth and sunlight with occasional mists and I will grow without roots or rains, asking for little, giving everything