There are mornings when a thought arrives whole, before there is time to question it. This morning brought one of those curiosities: what is it that happens in a museum that feels so close to what happens in a cathedral or temple?   Silence.   Holy air enters the body like a blessing.   […]

This week, Soul Echoes: Poems on Being and Belonging becomes a book.   For a long time, these poems lived quietly in notebooks, in moments of noticing, and in the spaces between ordinary life and the deeper questions that call to us. Now they have gathered themselves into pages. Soon, they will leave my hands

  Looking at the plants in my garden makes me realize that …Even though I know their names, in Latin and in English, I don’t really know them. Even though I planted them, they do not belong to me. They belong to the earth. They  belong to some mystery my eyes cannot see, my words

  One of our family members has a devastating disease. Witnessing their struggle has led me to a surprising discovery, one that has quietly turned a long-held professional conviction on its head.   As a therapist, I spent decades gently walking people away from denial. Helping them see the situation clearly. Face it. Name it.

For a few years, I was fascinated by nests. I made them out of wire and cloth. I made them out of twine and material. The one pictured here I made out of clay and beads and feathers. Each one a symbol of a safe place — one that nurtures and protects the young and

    When I think about the need to lean on someone, the redbud tree in my yard comes tomind. One of its branches has begun to split—not completely broken, but no longer able tocarry itself in the same way. Beneath it, another branch has grown at just the rightangle, quietly taking on some of

We’ve slipped into another world with unseen bonds.We feel them. Nothing seems separate.We stay silent. Words might break this spell.—from Unfolding.     When women stand together, feet grounded around a central flame, something ancient awakens. The space between them begins to take shape. A mandala is formed not of paint or stone, but of

  We are now in the midpoint between the winter solstice and the spring equinox, a time often called Imbolc. We stand in a season of quiet faith. Days are growing longer, yet winter still surrounds us. Much of what we long for remains unseen.    This threshold invites trust in nature’s cycles.    I Trust is written from

    Today, I am thinking about what it means to be held. That phrase, to be held, passes from my lips with such ease. Hearing it, the cells of my body relax. I feel safe enough to allow my heart to be seen. Protection. Shelter. Nurture. These words string together like beads on a

  In October, Don and I lost a dear friend, Roy Quiriconi. Sue, his wife, lost her soulmate of more than fifty years. If you saw our documentary Showing Up, you caught a glimpse of Roy and Sue. He was a man who explored life with passion and heart.   Since his death, I have