Skip to main content

Let the magic begin! 12-12-12

DeathValley, CA
Photo credit to my mother Lyn

You are so young, so much before all beginning, and I would like to beg you, dear Sir, as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.
Rainer Maria Rilke, letters to a young poet, letter #4

What I've learned during my mini-blog vacation:

It is okay to take vacation.

Blogging is more than just blogging.

A lot happens in a short time.

I always come back.

What I am glad to finally be accepting as gospel truth:

Self-expression isn't narcissistic. Self-expression can be a/the way to learn to relate with ourselves, and to extend that relating outwardly to others, which fosters more meaningful, deeper and fresher ways of interacting and engaging!

It is cool to blog.

I am taking my finish lines seriously.

What I am glad I am finally feeling in my bones:

Life is short.

Leaping into the void is a given.

I am not alone.

What makes my heart full:

People who live the question...and take the time to tell me about it.


  1. Beautiful, Brooke... I am doing my best to live the question too. I've missed you blogging.

    Much love on 12.12.12 xxx

  2. I love having you back here in this sacred space. Loving you dearly.

  3. Brooke, I was so excited to find you here today, sharing your soul through your magical words, and it really is magical how I can sit in my office over 2 thousand miles away and experience the essence of Brooke. It is such a gift.
    Living the questions.... Yes. That is what we do. And we on keep walking even though we're not sure where we are going, why the road looks the way it does, why we feel so happy—so sad—so nothing at times. Picking up clues along the way and pocketing them, hoping perhaps we'll be able to piece the clues together and create a picture of what life is supposed to look like. But we never do collect enough pieces of the puzzle, leaving gaping holes in our absolutes, while we continue on with a pocketful of questions jangling like loose change against our bruised thighs...and yet we continue to walk, and to smile and believe and love as we walk straight into our graves. If that's not magical nothing is.

    Welcome back my beautiful sister.

  4. My friend--what an honor it is to walk beside you. I love your words. I love you.

    Thank you for gifting us with little bits of you...what a treasure they/you are.


  5. A soul marathon! I love it. You go, Brooke!


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…