Nurturing the (Soul, soul)

Often, we attempt to nurture the self. But, the self isn’t the same as the soul. I’ve been considering this quite a bit lately. Here is a poem that arose from from my reflections. Soul, soul. I hadn’t seen her in some time, as she loved her secret space. When she peaked her presence, I delighted. In short order, I took control of her needs. I bought her a Starbucks latte and a new red handbag, but she didn’t seem impressed. I fed her fancy chocolates and poured her a glass of wine. She smiled a bit, but still, something…

Breathable Space

  The soul, the soul — she must be wooed to come out of hiding, to come out from her secret space. She will suffocate under the weight of perfection, crass demands to keep up, do better, try harder. The soul, the soul — she must be wooed by spans of breath to enter into a space of discovery. She will bloom beautiful as she tries and fails, discovers anew, plays for the fun of it. The soul, the soul — are you ready to meet her? Consider the spaces you’ve been in, the ones buzzing with life, ones where…

Where Do I Begin?

Hi! How are you? I have much to tell you. But, where do I begin? Where do I begin after a whirlwind month of game playing, taco dinners and movie escape? How do I gather the nuggets of goodness to tell you when a thousand thoughts scramble for attention? “Choose me! Choose me!,” they clamor in my ear. A moment of clarity about the church; a single line streams about being “liked”; touched by sadness, I wonder about passing it on; creativity is never far from consciousness. All is short-lived, unacted upon. Weeks gnaw, consumed by daily chores, grocery lists…