Skip to main content

Heart Attack/Letting Go

Heart birthing
with no one to call
hours worth of
war waged

beating outside of time,
false rhythms
too fast
for too long.

How much can the heart take?
How much can it carry?

split down the middle
one side says
inhale deeply now,
the other obeys

ribcage expands
to make room for the
untempered organ

contraction confused
with Expansion.

How much can the heart take?
How much can it carry?

bearing down
Breath whispers its
Proof of life.

Making room for

to worse
case scenarios

to death.

to realizing you
never had

but had yet
to understand what
that meant

even after all this time.

Heart sways in and out
cold limbs
more pacing
more racing

How much can the heart take?
How much can it carry?

Breath still
Proof of life

Stranded between
rock solid sensations and
something in the midst


one hand extended
holding All within it,
the heart its mighty symbol

How much can the heart take?
How much can it carry?

Sweet release

Riding breath

that carries even the
most untamed heart

needing no beat
for its song

stands lovingly aside
as assumption exalts heart to

rise and fall

contraction and expansion

the whole



becomes the waves that carry
the dying heart


  1. You are a woman of such courage, my friend. I should have added you to my "getting lucky" list...I am so lucky to have you in my life.

    These words are beautiful & deep.

    I love the way the words "How much can the heart take?
    How much can it carry?" keep repeating. A work of art you have here, a true expression of your beautiful self.

  2. Brooke, my heart resonates with yours and asks the same questions. Thanks for openness and courage of your heart, the sureness of your breath.

  3. "breath carries
    even the most untamed heart".
    this is good news.
    thank you. xo

  4. I am blown away by your words. They are beautiful and deep. You are brilliant and connected and full of love, depth and heart. thank you for this. It should be published in a book.


Post a Comment

♥ Thank you for taking the time connect with me here. ♥

Popular posts from this blog

RIP Poltergeist

After over ten years of an incredibly intense journey as a seeker, I find myself lying fallow. Taking a rest. When I first discovered this uncomfortable fact — threat to the hamster wheel that was my spiritual rat race, I surrendered for dead, but something wouldn’t let that fact sit as truth. I was lying fallow, but this implied that after a good rest, fruit could follow. This had nothing to do with death.

I am humbled at the courage it takes to write. For many years I kept a blog read by only a handful of very supportive people, and you’d think that after sharing writing for so long with perfect strangers, writing would have gotten easier. Actually, it got harder. In fact, at one point I was so paralyzed, I just stopped writing altogether. It was just too vulnerable. There was no trust there anymore, and I attributed any courage I had had to my youthful ignorance.

However, life continues, as it inevitably does, and there is still this pang to write, and it grows stronger and strong…

Here With You

Photo by Daria Obymaha on
Sinking lips into your tiny round cheeks, I'm home. Holding your tiny head to my heart, caressing my chin to your downy baby 'chicken fluff' we'll come to call it later, I'm home. Taking in your baby magic scent, I'm home. Pressing nose to nose, forehead to forehead, staring wide-eyed into each other's eyes, I'm home. Toting little bum and dangling legs around my middle, I'm home. Filled with purpose as you point where to go, what you see, I'm home. Your eyes, new windows to a world I thought I knew, I'm home. Holding you with fever, picking you up when you fall, I'm home. Navigating the years between, boxes of your firsts, every paint brush and pen stroke a miracle, I'm home. Saving pottery penguins, turtles, shiny red roses, a burrito with all the fixings immortalized in clay, I'm home. Kid sister fruit and craft stand on the corner, change clinking in coin purse, magic for the neighborhood…


The other night I had a vivid dream that my youngest daughter had died.

There is a time when I would have been unable to even bring this to consciousness, let alone write about it. It has always been my deepest, darkest fear, to lose a child, and this fear has always been there prominently with my youngest.

In the dream I could conceptualize her under her grave, which happened to be in a dark, jagged cavern of colorless rock and stone--no lush lawn, no flowers, just a gaudy gravestone, that glowed, like a tacky neon sign in Vegas. I found myself digging frantically in the earth under her grave marker to retrieve her little bear, so much loved by her in her five short years, that it is no less 'real' than the Velveteen Rabbit.

I found the bear mixed with rubble above where she was buried, brushed it off, and clasped it to my heart, as if it was the last part of her I could keep with me. I pressed the little bear hard to my nose, sniffing for remnant smells of my daughter. The smel…