Skip to main content


I want to know your story.

I want to feel your story.

I want us to sit in silence and let the exhaustion of this endless pilgrimage wash over us.

I want us to share our many roads traveled, where we saw endings and beginnings--and realized we were no judge of which was what.

I want to know how you've felt through it all, what moments stood out for you, and why-- what golden threads you may have found woven through your experience, that seemed to be leading you somewhere--those times you felt this close to finding home.

Those times you shut down sure you were just another cliche--those times you were sure you weren't--that nobody was.

I want us to meet in that place where our humanity collides.

I want to know how you felt tethered to the spot by your mistakes and outrun by the monster of success, mostly of a nebulous 'Their's'.

I want to know what you believed in that made you truly suffer, and I want to know how it grew you, how it made you yearn for freedom, or strive like mad to be the right brand of animal.

I want to know how the pressure changed the shape of the mold and birthed aspects of you, that you had not idea could exist.

I want you to face your humanity like looking in a mirror.

I want to read all of you, without you scrapping the messy, scary, hurt or hurting parts, those times when you were sure you or someone close to you had failed beyond repair.

I want to know how you got through it, how you shined, or how you gave up and coasted on angel wings.

I want us to high-five about that fact that we are still alive, and our hardest moments revealed a big fat comma, and no periods in our experience.

I want us to live to tell, and really tell.

I want us to remember the first time we felt off, like we weren't doing it right, and meet that little one within at that point of agelessness streaming into infinity.

To hold that child, and nestle cheeks, recognizing the same look of pain in heavy eyes, and how even then we were tired of pretending.

Tell that child of all that we would learn, about the moments we'd stopped pretending, the moments we hadn't, the times we'd found a good fit, the times we'd walked away shaking our head.

Tell the little one of all the heartache coupled with joy, the doubt interspersed with moments of clarity and confidence.

Then tell that little one, how he had always been right. Right to want more from his human friends--right to want more patience, understanding, unconditional love, help climbing out of holes, and more recognition for the times he had worked so hard overcome.

And then tell this little one what we'd learned in our journey from acorn to towering oak, that it was never about finding a life of perfection that ran like a day at Disneyland, but that it was about being the consummate character in our own story, and that each step into the unknown, every little act of courage, every experience of joy, along with every disappointment and deep sorrow, made for the most amazing suspense and resolution.

Dear Little One,

You should see us now! We're the hero in our own story! We got it! We arrived at the point of seeing that the life was happening all around us, and we could finally see that how it was happening wasn't as important as seeing it happen!. And WOW! This new vision is rich and interesting and challenging, and soooo blessed! And the best part is sharing it with others! It isn't as scary anymore! They carry their own story on their backs too! 

Sometimes,  I even imagine us as walking books, with wonderful titles slapped across our hearts. We link arms and Do-si do together, and on our pages shows up their story, inextricably linked with our own! It is cool!!!! And sometimes we sit on the curb and cry. Sometimes we feel like fighting. Sometimes bad things happen. Sometimes we compare and judge our covers. But the good news, Little One, is that it is ALL good! I now see we were always waking up to learn how to love and to be loved, and sometimes it's been the most challenging characters who've woken this ability up in us the most! 

But we never gave up, even when it looked like we did, even if we were had stopped playing the game all together, or made the biggest heart-wrenching mistake. See, kid, sometimes we had to fall so hard and so bad, that we could let ourselves be helped up, and let in the first drop of sunlight we may have ever experienced.

And that is the most important thing we learned, is that our crying out, our anger, our sadness, was a call for love, and that was the case for everybody! Which makes it so simple. And I don't know how it happened, but there came a time when we could hear each other, really hear each other! And even when there were wars, they dissipated in laughter, sometimes stubborn laughter, but laughter all the same. 

We are golden--always have been. 

So, keep telling your story to anyone who will listen, and be patient, because you might not always get a welcome ear, but they are just waiting for permission to tell their own story, even if they don't know it yet, but they have long forgotten how, and long given up that there is anyone who wants to hear it. 

You are Loved, seen, heard and honored on your  journey. Never forget that. Never.



  1. Oh Brooke, this is just perfect. The stories—the paths. All of us, little and grown, walking, running, breaking and healing. All of us together. The same, yet different. All of us seeing and honoring the process of living. The messy, bloody, happy, process of living this life.

    I thought I knew many times over, only to discover that I knew very little and that most of life was still a huge mystery. I felt a victim to life—ill equipped and off track. And then back to normal, feeling good, knowing my way—until the next shit storm hit and scattered my cards. My beautiful cards.

    But now I see the connection between all of us beauties. I have turned my face from some old stories that no longer serve me. Foundational stories that I felt supported all of life. I'm careful about believing stories now, running a background check before I invite them in. LOL! Yeah. Trusting myself. My intuition. Me.

    Brooke, there is so much I want to say to you. You are so full of liquid gold—spiritual manna to be given away. The more you give the more you have to give.

    I believe we are ready for a phone chat. I started an email to you four days ago in response to yours. There is so much I want to ask you.

    Love to you, my gorgeous soul-shining, spirit talking, life lifting, sister of the heart. I love you!

    1. Dearest Leah,

      I am left speechless at your comment. Liquid gold. That's it! Thank you so much for being you and for taking the time to connect here! I can't wait to spend time communing! So exciting about what the future holds beyond the wounds! XO

  2. Brooke, this line really speaks to me, "...but that it was about being the consummate character in our own story, and that each step into the unknown, every little act of courage, every experience of joy, along with every disappointment and deep sorrow, made for the most amazing suspense and resolution."

    Oh, yes, rather that perfect Disneyland kind of life... you expressed this all so well!

    Part of me still tries for the Disneyland idea, but the real, true me, uncovered by our experiences in the class, knows better.

    How grateful I am that we shared this together. I hope we can continue sharing our journey and what we learn along the way.

    Sending you hugs...

    1. Awww, Deborah. Such an honor to have you here! Thank you for putting your resonance here! I am so glad that we have shared this together and I thank you for your willingness to show up and engage and share of yourself for all of us to witness and behold the beauty! Thank you, and yes, there is always part of us striving for a Disney world, but hopefully more and more, we will be distracted by the beauty along the way. Today on our rush to summer camp, we saw a Mohawked bird, and I think we all woke up to see it and become enamored by it, and we didn't even have to pay admission for it! XO

  3. "I want to know what you believed in that made you truly suffer, and I want to know how it grew you, how it made you yearn for freedom, or strive like mad to be the right brand of animal."

    Brooke dear, this sentence so speaks to my condition right now. Thank you!


Post a Comment

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

Popular posts from this blog

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, mag


Photo by Ben Herbert on I’m standing on a cliff overlooking the water’s edge. The sky is present, hanging there in its vastness, holding this moment with symphonic strains of gray and electric buzz. Watching, suspended, sensing. I see to both sides of me vast white cliffs carved out by relentless grasping of the ocean extending down the coastline. The earth where I am standing up above gives just the right yield and welcome, with its soft grass and dainty yellow flowers, falsely giving the impression of delicacy, when anyone can see that they are hardy to withstand the harshness of forces here. There is an undeniable tightness of gravity here, pinning me down, tugging at me, slowing down my step. I feel as if this force could just sweep me away with the littlest of a flick, like an ant off the table. It screams danger while it beckons. My life had been recently taking on new grander design dimensions when this place and I met. Dating a new man, after being a singl

I want to remind me...

My thoughts drift back to when I was a child. I had a little toy kitchen sink and stove, no nouveau riche set, à la pottery barn, but very basic and snap together. It was set up in the unfinished basement on top of orange Muppet shag rugs that covered some of the cold concrete. There was a giant TV that looked like it had been built in a giant dresser. One top of its console lifted to play vinyl records and the other to play LP’s. Look it up. My kitchen was set up in the corner by the window well, where I could see cobwebs and spiders filtering the outside light shining through. I don’t remember playing much as a kid, but I do remember cleaning up the toys stored in giant Tang cans down there--organizing and reorganizing them at my mom's bidding, to rest the perfectly sorted toys in glowing metallic green cylinders, on pastel yellow metal shelves, the quiet yellow that sort of softened the Muppet rug domination, but added a utilitarian feel to the unfinished basement. I shoul