(I look for) Beauty in the midst of.

If I should

die,

before

I had hoped

to.

Remember

me

as one who

listened

for the nightingale’s

song

in the darkness.

— (I look for) Beauty in the midst of.

Choose (your) peace.

Do not use

the stones

that were

thrown

at

you,

as

ammunition.

You,

can be

a strong

and

peaceful place.

If

you

choose

to be.

— Choose (your) peace.

Learning to live unafraid.

To live, unafraid.

Surrendered.

My heart at peace.

My future,

yielded.

Just breathing in

this exquisite

gift

of now.

— Learning to live unafraid.

The last few weeks have brought me personal reason to step back — quiet myself within and listen.

Listen for that still voice showing me (once again) what really matters. And how I need to fight — really hard, for these things, because they don’t come to us easily.

Living unafraid is not our natural state, is it?

Anxiety and fear about things beyond my control — important life-and-death things, are threatening to rob me of so much.

I am surrendering.

Learning to live unafraid.

It’s big, and bold, and unreasonably brave.

On healing (from the past).

I am

seeking

out

all the

places

where

my voice

was

stolen.

Leaving

poems

filled with

flowers,

in exchange.

— On healing (from the past).

Facing your giants

You cannot

do

the hard work

of

healing,

until you have

grappled

with

honesty.

About them.

About yourself.

Until then,

you will

forever

return

to a place of

brokenness.

Honesty, is the key.

To healing.

To freedom.

— Facing your giants.

.

.

It has been a hard, hard week for me on so many levels. And this… this is where I am. Facing my giants.

Healing is hard work.

It’s dirt-under-your-fingernails, relentless work. And it requires a deep commitment to honesty.

About the ones who have hurt you, and about yourself — particularly if you have tried to escape past hurts by addictive behaviours.

It all starts with honesty.

On mourning (that which was never given).

You

are allowed

to

mourn

all that you did not

receive.

As a child.

As an adult.

But,

do not

dwell

there

permanently.

Grief,

is both

a gift

and

a jailer.

Loss, has made me fertile.

All

the things

that were

ripped

from my hands,

have found their way

back

to me.

As words.

— Loss, has made me fertile.