Remembering August 22, 1970
Fifty years ago this week my mom nearly died in a terrorist bombing in St. Paul. Just weeks before my senior year in high school. I want to tell the story, to mark the anniversary, to make sense of it after so many years. But I’m not sure I can make sense of it. Mom...Brain Jam, Spilled Emotion and a Butterfly
Joy is the gift of love. Grief is the price of love. Anger protects that which is loved. And when we think we have reached our limit, wonder is the act that returns us to love. Valarie Kaur, See No Stranger My...An Art Path In a Pandemic
Oh my, here we are. This painting is several years old, but eerily it makes me think of the virus, its stealthy infiltration of our systems and our cities. The last week has been a hard one for me because I have been awash in fear and grief. Not...Images of Insecurity
Until a few days ago I was at a retreat center in upstate New York. Twenty women and the facilitator, Jalaja Bonheim, came together for a week, experiencing the powerful geometry of the circle, allowing sacred space and silence to fortify us and help us move from...Lesson from a Horse: Part II
Last year at this time I went to a daylong personal growth workshop with horses. In these workshops horses are not ridden; participants touch, lead and observe them. Powerful, gentle and extremely sensitive, horses are excellent mirrors because they attune to what our...Share This Post
Welcome to Whisperings
“There is a place where words are born of silence,
A place where the whispers of the heart arise.”
— Rumi
I will ponder here what whispers to me in the silence. I’d love for you to whisper back; maybe we will all get clearer—or maybe, like in the old kids’ game of “telephone” we will end up somewhere else entirely (which would be fun too)
