I welcome you into the first glimpse outside of my window, upon awakening that first morning of my arrival here. The sun rising over an undulating sea of mountain. Breathtaking, isn't it?

I've since learned it is the Mt. Heaven range.

I've been told not to leave my room, but rather to rest up.

Apparently there is a lot of energy on this land, and my body must slowly become accustomed to it.

I've been ever so sleepy, and somehow content to just eat and drink, and then return to a deep sleep, to a land of dreams.

In my dreams there's a dusty Wild Road. There are two little girls circling about me. There is a sense of something that needs to be done, but what is it?

Then I awaken here, something gently stirring me each morning, just in time to watch the sun rise up and out of the heart of this land.

Photo by Lyn

It is the wee hours of the morning. The moon is full and bright.

There is the promise of a new day, a new dawn, and the familiar pitter patter of little feet, who will be getting up and getting ready for school.

This is on the surface.

Underneath, within a deep sea of being, there is something else taking shape, and signaling itself ready to be born.

All I can do is breathe deeply, and listen--feel into the movements, the sensations, and wait patiently for my understanding to join my intuition that says ever so clearly, it is time.

The energy is very patient--merely waiting for my readiness to grasp the form.

It is the third morning in a row, where I have woken with a deep knowing--the kind I've learned to trust.

And it tells me that Wild Road is now complete-- the journey has brought me to a destination.

An arrival.

I have come up against the gates, the moonlight as my guide, and I am welcomed in.

A place of rest and renewal.

I let myself be taken in. I receive food and drink.

I …

Photo by Lyn

Yesterday a respected enterprise cropping up on the web asked for people to join. It was so easy. Fill out the online form and send a letter with what you had to offer. I sat there in front of the computer, knowing that this particular creation was something that deeply resonated with me, and that this might be a chance to participate in more direct ways in helping people to become free, to become more of themselves, to open to love in deeper and more meaningful ways.

However, I couldn't bring myself to fill out the form. Sure, there was fear, but mostly there was an inability to honor what I have to give, or at the least to feel clear about what exactly that would be. The inability to step outside of my comfort zone, and give of myself in the most powerful of ways. To stand up and say, you know, I seem to be good at this. I believe in this. My heart sings with this stuff, and I'd like to take a stab at making a difference.

Through the night, I felt a sense of ang…

This feels like an important post to me. Something, that in order to write it, I have to drop into a deep place of trust. I have to let go of needing my words to express the depth of my experience, knowing that everyone is at various stages of receptivity anyway.

I must let go, knowing profoundly, that words simply stop at a certain level, and feeling takes over. And even though the experience keeps deepening and deepening, the words remain the same. And you find yourself repeating the same descriptors over and over, but they are inadequate, because the experience is no longer the same. It has blossomed even more. But wait, wasn't it already in full bloom? That is the enigma, and the challenge. Expressing the promise of this.

This past year there has been much heartache, because I allowed the little girl inside me to come out and play. It might be more accurate to say that she was beckoned out, and took glorious first steps into the sun's rays.

It was rather a leap of faith, be…

Hello Dear Ones,

I am very grateful to have writing featured over on such a beautiful and kind-hearted site, Kind Over Matter. Hope you will all join me over there for a little jamming session!

Sending sweet love to you!

Brooke

I just held her, my daughter, when we got home from school today.

I've never seen so many tears piled up on her little cheeks. Little eight-year-old's tears, releasing the pain of ten-thousand years of heartache. The reasons laughable to the rational, but a pain of eternal proportions to an empath. Thank God.

Wanted just to be held, but not too tightly, to be taken care of, to release this pain--someone to help her hold her heart-- sure it was broken and that she was losing the pieces through the cracks.

Oh, little one, I felt every wave of your pain. I felt your simple request for me to just sit with you, to open to you, to become you, as you let all of it fall out, until you were empty, until the pain became light enough to float away like bubbles, until we could let in the laughter.

You opened my heart, that I could sit with you and hold you, and not be afraid for you, just witness to your release.

A mid-wife to your birthing freedom--

for as long as it takes, I am there with…