I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar...

My Beloved.

It is fascinating to me the real beauty that can be experienced in moments of pure surrender. Never has that been made more abundantly clear to me than on Thursday 27th May 2010 when my beautiful chubby cheeked boy finally made his appearance.

I sat on my birthing ball in my study, perfectly at peace with the 'what is' of my situation. I was uncomfortable and 6 days past my due date, I had half heartedly tried some of the suggested ways to augment labour and had really reached a place where I knew with certainty that I didn't want to do anything else to try to hurry this pregnancy up.Though I was barely sleeping, often in pain and still, at times, worried about coping with two children rather than the one, rather demanding, kidlet that I already had, I knew that when the baby and my body were ready, then I would know. I called my doula to let her know that nothing was happening but that I was ok, truly ok, with how everything was and that I was now just in a place of total acceptance. She smiled as she heard the change in my voice but reminded me that she was actually flying out to Adelaide the next morning and therefore wouldn't be around for the next 3 days. I actually laughed out loud. I was simply sure, in that moment, that whomever was at the birth was meant to be at the birth and if that wasn't my excellent friend, then that was as it should be. I knew, I don't know how given my previous birthing experience, but I knew that I would be ok, come what may. I promised to give my back up doula a ring just in case and she was laid up in bed with Tonsillitis, her uncle had just died and she was due at a funeral on the Friday AND the two women for whom she was primary doula still hadn't gone into labour! I laughed again. I told her what I had told Bhava, all would be well. I had simply reached a place where I didn't care when it happened or how it happened, I knew that it simply would happen and all in it's own good time and in it's own perfect way. And so it did.

I felt good. Truly. My little Beanie was with her nanna for the day, so I took mum for lunch. We yomped through a delicious lunch of chips and vinegar and gravy (well i did) and I enjoyed a lovely mug of chai. Part of the way through my chippies, I suddenly realised that the sensation of my baby doing what felt like downward dog in the middle of my belly was, in fact, coming at regular intervals. I asked mum what the time was - it was 12.30pm. Mum asked me if I was timing contractions, I said I wasn't sure but that I would see how regularly these sensations came. I was calm and smiley and continued to eat my lunch. They were coming every five or so minutes. That's when I knew that my baby was on it's way.

We left, popped briefly into a shop on the way home and then hopped into the car and drove back home. Mum was concerned about me driving the car but really, it was completely fine. I wasn't panicked, I wasn't in pain, I was just in labour. I rang the hubble and said that I thought something was happening but, as I wasn't sure if it was labour or just pre-labour, I would call him back in an hour. 45 minutes later I told him to come home. I then went upstairs, finished packing my hospital bag, dusted my shelves, put together the changing area and got it all baby friendly and then went downstairs to watch Anchorman. Michael came home to me occasionally standing and circling my hips during a contraction but mostly chortling away to anchorman whilst sitting on my ball. I called my doula, who was ecstatic that she would actually get to be at the birth. At around 4pm we decided that, though it might be early, we should get to the birthing centre just to ensure we had a room and a chance to birth in water. 1 hour later my doula arrived to me deep in labour and 3 more hours later I pushed my not so wee boy out into the world. I was, in fact, only one push away from birthing him in the birthing pool but his heart rate dropped and I only made it one step away from the bath before his head was out and the deed was done.


I did it. I DID IT! I was/am so ecstatically happy that I managed to birth my Finlay Gabriel MacDonald Skarbek (or Finn as he is known) naturally and on Buddha's birthday no less! I so proud that I did it without drugs - it was my deepest wish to have a natural birth. I didn't get to birth in water but I did labour in water and in the end, he was born in his amniotic sac, so he got to have a water birth even if i didn't! Apparently, being born in the sac is the gentlest way for a child to be born but it's also quite rare. Michael caught him but had a hell of a job hanging onto him because he was so slippery! And we found out that the reason his heart rate dropped was because the cord was wrapped around his neck once, but he was plump and chubby cheeked and, amazingly, silent. He was passed through my legs and up to me to hold and I yelled out in surprise, "It's a boy!" Finally he let out a yell and he hasn't been silent since! And when I found out I had birthed an 8lb 10oz  baby boy naturally, I was even more proud of myself. You cannot imagine the joy of doing something that you simply didn't know you were capable of doing but sincerely hoped that you were. I knew this was likely to be my last pregnancy and I so wanted to do it my way. and I did. I breathed and surrendered and breathed and surrendered and roared and surrendered as my body did amazing things. As I opened and moved with the waves that undulated through me. As my mouth said 'No!' but my mind said, 'Yes. This is what we want. Yes.' As my husband and my doula let me squeeze the life out of their hands and whispered words of comfort and strength to me. As I remembered the women who encircled me and held me in this precious space of birthing. As I chose, each moment, to let go and let it take me in a way that I have never been able to before. That is the magic of birthing. It is the work of birthing. It is a path of life that could be taken every day, if we could but remember to breathe and let go. It was truly magical.

I won't lie and say it didn't hurt in places. It did. But you know what I kept saying to myself? "It's not pain yet Kitty, it may get to pain later, but it's not pain yet." And it got me through the hard parts. I birthed my beautiful boy in just 8 hours compared to the 40 hours and massive interventions I had with Beanie. I felt I took my place among the tribe of birthing women and felt I finally I belonged there. Now I know there are many ways to birth, many choices and many women who birth. I simply know that for me, this is where I wanted to be, this was the choice I made and this was the path that I followed. And sweet Jesu did it ever make me happy. And so, here he is getting a cuddle from his awesome big sister. My beautiful indigo eyed sleepy-boy Finn, who looks just like his handsome daddy.

*In the background you can just see the black and white striped sock monkey I made for him in the days before his birth when i went sewing mad! The monkey looks like a bandit, which I kinda love and we named him Chester, though Beanie calls him Chesty by mistake which makes my mother laugh like a drain.

PS. I put together this totally awesome play list for the birth and at some point during my labour journey I heard Wendy Rule singing 'Breathe....breathe'. It was pretty amazing. Check the track on her 4 Elements album (can't find a link, sorry). Oh and also enjoy a little Ashana who brought much peace and

Buddha love to the room.

Feeling Disconnected

Just discovered this amazing new voice (new to me!) and am being spirited away by it's ethereal beauty as we speak. Anyway, just wanted to share.

And speaking of sharing. Is anyone out there? Whilst I don't write for anyone but myself on the whole, it's nice to get the occasional comment and recently there's been a howling empty void with not a single nice cyber-voice to fill it. Uh-oh, am I getting needy now? Just wondered where everyone had gone?

Things have been pootling along as normal recently except for an increasing sense of disconnection from everything on my part. I'm 28 months pregnant (somewhere around 7 months or so) and have yet to really drop into this pregnancy in any discernible way. It's not denial. I KNOW I'm having a baby - he/she is kicking me quite distinctly as i write but I just haven't had the time, (or perhaps found or allowed myself the time) to really connect with what's going on in any real way. Lily is, as always, the centre of my Universe. Everything I do seems to orbit around her and her needs and I don't say that in a resentful way (well, not today at any rate!). It's more that a demanding, curious and energetic three yr old is difficult to ignore, even when I try really hard. This new bub that grows more energetic by the day has had short shrift when it comes to my attention. Maybe that's just the way with second children, I don't know. Certainly there are times I am concerned about how I'm going to juggle the demands of two very different and very needy little people at the same time and not lose the plot. I remember how much time I had for my pregnancy with Beanie. I talked to the bump all the time, spent time meditating and preparing for her arrival. The most I've been able to do is spend one weekend in an insane amount of nesting - which is surely a little early given that I've got at least another 13 weeks to go. Lots of cleaning and bad tempered planning and nagging the hubble to get things out from under the house and buy me a new chest of drawers etc.

I have even been interviewing Doulas (people who are there solely for the emotional and spiritual support of the birthing woman) and that has been bringing up some interesting emotions for me. There is one woman I like who I think I could work well with, but I'm wondering how I'll let anyone behind these tall walls I tend to erect when I feel unsafe. Sol-y-Luna could tell you what I'm talking about I'm sure. She's been with me on this journey before. However, there have also been several big 'No's' for me too. All these different energies that are around birthing women and all of them do the same job essentially - their blurbs are the same, they all offer the same services with the same platitudes. It's a little like fishing in a vast ocean and trying to catch a specific type of fish. The right fish for our little birthing aquarium. Right now it feels a little overwhelming.



Still, there has been precious little space in my heart, mind and soul created for this new little being that's already over half way to arriving. It concerns me a fair bit. I don't want to go into shock when the baby arrives in the physical, feeling like I am not ready. It's not so much a practical readiness, we still have all the stuff from Beanie's early days. I just don't feel present with any of it. Like it's all happening to someone else and I'm just the one experiencing the extreme discomfort of late pregnancy. Hoh yes! It's bloody uncomfortable. I'd forgotten how much. Perhaps, on second thoughts, I AM in denial? It seems so huge, to be bringing this new life into the one that already seems crammed with life. Lily is such a huge character and I'm often such a reluctant mother. Not for lack of love. The love I have for my girl is more than I can bear sometimes, it's so intense and sometimes a little scary. It's more for lack of understanding or time or my ability to be present with 'what is' and not fight the process of mothering and being a mother so much. I fight for peace and calm where none is to be found and that is the source of all my suffering. Struggling to be somewhere other than where one is, is the source of everybody's suffering according to Buddhist philosophy. But the acceptance, that elludes me. Often. Like, every day. Surrender. Well, we've already been there and not done that, haven't we? I don't do surrender. Oh, i want to. Really, I do. But it's just so hard to let go and trust. And maybe that's where this disconnection is coming from. I can't seem to let myself go into it and trust that wherever this next part of the journey takes me, all will be well. Because, will it? Will it really be ok? Will I cope? Will I be held in those moments when I most need to be held? More importantly, will I LET myself be held when I most need to be held? Will I be able to show up and do the work of labour and birthing and mothering this most precious of bundles? Can I do this again? Give myself over to the absolute power of birthing and raising another independent little soul. Can I take on that responsibility and not fuck it up?

Disconnection seems an obvious option now, doesn't it? All these huge questions. All these undulating nebulous queries that will, if I let them, take me deep into this pregnancy journey and into this child's life. No wonder I'm road runnering in the opposite direction. It feels heavy just to write about them and have them there in black and white for me to look at. I don't want to fail again. That's the God's honest truth. I don't want to fail myself or this child like I feel I have failed Beanie. And yet, what choice do i have but to be my flawed, unfinished, unsure self? There is no-one in here but me. Now THAT's a scary thought. Or a liberating one, depending on how you look at it.

See what comes of self-reflection?

Buggar.

Zen-ing Out

I am holed up in bed. It’s two in the afternoon and it feels peaceful if slightly decadent. After the dark shakiness of this week and the rather long nights talking things through with the hubble, it feels like the best place for me to be. It’s actually the only place I want to be. Safe and secure in an oasis of snuggly white warmth. It’s raining heavily and the air smells metallic and dirty - wet earth and rain, a smell I love - and its peaceful. I'm listening to this album. It's lovely.

This morning I took the cat, who seems to spend most of her time annoying the shit out of me, to the vet for her yearly jabs. I do feel for her, having a thermostat shoved up her bum at every visit, then being poked and prodded and jabbed with needles. She has a lump on her back that needs to be kept an eye on but apart from that, she’s healthy and a good weight for a big furbag. She’s happily sleeping on a huge pile of my Indian imported floor cushions like the princess and the pea. After I dropped her off at home (yes, I came all the way back to the house to drop the cat off home), I did what I always do when I’m down, I went shopping. I bought the Beanie some new PJ’s, soft and fleecy and a book called The Owl Babies, because she’s my little owl. Did I mention she can count? Yup. My two year old can tell you how many lady bugs or bees are pressed into a piece of play dough – she can do up to four. I’m pretty amazed by that I have to say. And then I took solace in my local bookshop coming home with Zen tomes (one called 'There is nothing wrong with you.' which made me chuckle) and a little book called 'Lessons of a Lakota' by Billy Mills because I have an interest in Native American everything.

I’m currently listening to The Painted Drum on audio by Louise Erdrich and it has been quite entertaining. I’ve also just picked up Buddhism for Mothers by Sarah Napthali on audio. I have read the book but I thought it would be good to have this in the car. I love listening to stuff in the car – it’s where I do most of my learning I think. I most often have Wayne Dyer with me or Louise Hay or, my favourite, Oriah Mountain Dreamer. I love her combination of spirit and honesty and her earthy yet lofty blend of Native wisdom and Buddhism. It speaks very deeply to me. She makes me feel peaceful just listening to her. Yesterday, when I was deep in the tremors, I opened ‘The Dance’ and from a chapter called Choosing a Joyful Dance, this is what I read,

‘Don’t tell me how wonderful things will be…someday,
Show me you can risk being completely at peace,
truly okay with the way things are right now in this moment, and again in the next and the next and the next…’

Are you willing to be completely at peace with how things are right now in your life? Are you willing for just one moment to let go of all your dissatisfaction, all of your suffering about how things are? Are you willing to let go of all the worry and tension in your body and simply breathe?

Am I? The thing that I struggle with (among many others) is the feeling that to accept myself as I truly am, in this moment, in this day of motherhood, is to accept something intrinsically wrong. My mothering is wrong. My discipline is wrong. My anger is wrong. How, I could ask, could one ask a murderer to accept how he is in the moment? I’m not really comparing myself to a murderer but I think that it’s somehow flawed to ask of myself, feeling as I do about motherhood, to simply accept that this is how it is. How I am. I don’t want to accept that this is how I am. I don’t want to be this. I want to be something different. Something better. How do I come to a place of acceptance about something which feels wrong in my heart? That is what I am struggling with today. I want to sit with my discomfort but I don’t. I chew over the fact that I fail every day to be the mother I wish to be, the mother my daughter deserves. I know that she chose me and on some level what I offer her is necessary for her journey, as well as mine, but I also believe that my desperate desire to do better, to be better, is also part of this journey.

When I look at my anxious, frustrated, impatient type of mothering, I am struck by how much like my mother I am. I grew up nurtured by a woman who would rather walk for 5 miles than wait 10 minutes for a bus. She pushed me, like a real stage mother, to win, to be better than every other person I could be pitted against, especially if it was in an area that she believed I would do well in, or an area where she herself wished she could have played. I was a smart and capable kid. I could do anything pretty well. I was adaptable and gifted in many areas (though not maths!) and so I did pretty well all round. This led to many difficult and stressful times for me, all brought about through my mother’s love for me and her desire for me to do well. I understand now that this was perhaps not the way to handle things but she didn’t know any different. She was motivated by many things, guilt and fear among them. She was by nature, a highly stressed individual, probably from living through the war and evacuation and poverty and then with my violent father for 26 years. I know that living with him would put anyone under severe stress and so its not really surprising that I have inherited, from pregnancy probably, the same traits of anxiousness and fear. I was born into fear and have lived most of my life with its shadow snapping closely at my heels. It’s not that it stops me from doing most things – it doesn’t. I am both fearful and stubborn. But I suspect that it stops me from doing many things that I don’t realize. Probably because I am unable to truly let myself break apart. Like last night. I cried but could not let go, not truly. I was worried that I would wake my baby girl. I hate crying. I both felt and wanted to break through the door that separates me from my true emotions and could not. I pulled back because it seemed less painful to remain where I am than to push through into that empty darkness that waits for me in the room beyond. I couldn’t move through that doorway because I don’t honestly know how to. How do you let yourself break apart? How do you give yourself over to the sorrow – to anything without holding just a little of yourself back?

And so today, I meander quietly through my life, seeking for something that will make sense of my experiences. Something that will give me hope. A book I picked up today is called, ‘That Which You Are Seeking is Causing You to Seek.’ I liked the title. The author, Cheri Huber, is a teacher of Zen. The explanation on the back of the books says, “What we are looking for is causing us to look. That’s why we need not go anywhere, do anything, learn more, figure anything out or worry about going wrong. We need only to stop, sit down, be still and pay attention.’ Easier said than done for this restless, mangled spirit. But I will try.

I will try.

May your caravan be filled with the music of silence.

Come As You Are

"If you surrender yourself to your essence,
the whole world surrenders to you."
Come As You Are ~Rumi

So, I have changed the name of my blog and in doing so, I have changed its reason for being. In the beginning The Dark Mother was upon me, with me and working her shadow magic through me. I believe that I am emerging, blinking, into the light of a new day. It is as much a decision as it is a process. I no longer wish to dwell in darkness. I no longer wish to mother through shadow. Who I am is splitting open and I am more ready than before to face the discomfort and joy that this journey will bring. I am ready to face that which I have previously turned away from and to sit with it. In this change comes a promise of peace.

It's not that I expect that my life will continue onwards without darkness. I know that it won't and I don't think I would enjoy it if it did. I appreciate the dark. I love the night and the end to striving that it brings. I would not more be without the dark as a balance to the light as I would be without the night as a balance to the day. I still hit the edges. I still struggle with my vulnerability in motherhood and my anger but, despite this, I simply want to refocus my attention on the possibilities for awakening that are present in this journey. The new title comes from a book I'm currently reading by Pema Chodron called Starting Where You Are (see What Mummy is Reading). She refers to Bodhichitta which is the awakened heart - the art of living in our wounded, softened heart. I don't know why but it spoke to me. It is a journey I feel I have been unknowingly working towards all of my life. My spiritual journey, though sometimes confused, has always been towards this state of Bodhichitta. I long to soften and awaken my heart and begin the process of unravelling those places within me that are battered and bruised. Not because I want to wear them as some sort of badge of honour - 'look what I have survived' - but more because I simply want to let it all go. Those who have visited here before will know how hard I find it to surrender and it is precisely because of that that I am walking, head down, into its powerful wind.

What I love about this idea of the awakened heart is the capacity for joy it contains. I have been inspired over and over by *Erin from Bluebirdbaby and she refers to this state of unadulterated joy for the simplicity of life in her recent Butterfly post. She is another woman who, like me, struggled with motherhood initially before learning the subtle art of surrender and the joy that it contains. She really has 'got it'. She explains her experience of it better than I ever could, so please pop over to her blog and enjoy her own words on the subject.

It has taken some time but I have finally begun to understand the true nature of the statement 'with our thoughts we make our world' ~Buddha and, this being so, I needed to step voluntarily out of my own shadow and into the world of lightness once again. I am someone, who despite a natural tendency to be sentimental and soft-hearted, leads with my extremely sharp mind. I am not a scientific type or a maths and numbers type, I am a creative sort who is held hostage by my overly analytical brain and because I am so soft-centred, it often leads to unhappiness with the way things are. I punish myself severely for all perceived mistakes or wrongs and I never give myself any credit for the things I do right. I am not tender or kind or compassionate to myself. I am not patient or understanding of my faults. And so I am here, at this strangely quiet internal crossroads, not walking but waiting until the path becomes clear to me. I am here learning to be compassionate and kind to the only person that really matters on this journey. Me. It sounds terribly selfish doesn't it? I know. I have a hard time putting myself first in any situation but its true. My spiritual journey has nothing to do with my hubble or my child. It is only about the unfolding of my Self. Sure it may impact on them - positively or negatively - but it is not about them. What they think or experience is not the focus of my spiritual journey, only awakening my heart and following my soul's guidance is important here. In this place I am more present and therefore more able to love well than when I wear myself weary to the bone trying always to put them first. In the place of the awakened heart there is joy in every moment if we are awake to see it - how could that not benefit them?

I am beginning a new type of meditation this week - *Shamatha-Vipashyana - just a conscious watching of the breath and an awareness of my self-talk which is simply labelled as 'talking' and let go of. I'll let you know how I go. My meditation has been sporadic of late due to my daughter's somewhat unpredictable waking and sleeping cycle. She's been waking up at my meditation time again recently and crying out for me. I am powerless to resist the pull of those sad little 'mamma mamma' kitten cries. I think i have been a bit stagnant of late actually and reading Pema has put me back on track once more. I am not a buddhist, nor do I have any aspirations to become one. I am simply drawn to the simplicity of that way of life and wish to try new things. I will always be a daughter of the Goddess because my wild green heart demands it of me.

So - I will leave you with a poem from Rumi to contemplate. It is one which I think perfectly describes my state of being.

Come as You Are

Where is Islam's accent
when it comes to the language of love?
If you surrender yourself to your essence,
the whole world surrenders to you.

Every day spent in separation feels as long as a year.
But when you come out of separation,
where does the day go?
And what becomes of the night?

On this pilgramage, removing the dress
of your existence
is the cloak you must wear.
But who will be able to comply
with the conditions of this cloak?

Village and town, near and far,
the changing seasons,
all are on this side of the sea.
But on the other side, where is the town?
Where are the seasons?

Man's mind and reason have created
the cold loneliness of separation.
But when he warms up with that wine,
where is the mind? And what becomes of reason?

A bird in the cage
is under someone else's control.
But when he breaks the cage and flies away,
what becomes of the control?
Where even is the bird?

When the mind is confined to the head,
it tempts the body to commit sins.
But when the mind of minds explodes open,
where are the sins now? Where is the body?

If you drink,
go swaying to the land of secrets
without your feet.
If you're already drunk, then come as you are.
Where has your mind gone?
And where is the need to be something
you are not?

*Erin and I share quite a lot in common - particularly books and ideas.*
*This link is to a page with an excerpt from the aforementioned Pema Chodron's book which tells you how to do this type of meditation. Very simple.

The Stillness We Seek

I was lying alone on the huge sofa in the living room of my boss. He was overseas doing what Shamans do and I was taking care of his house and looking after the business. I had built a fire in the huge hearth and, as he had no television, had been listening to Kind of Blue by Miles Davis. The CD had finished some time before and night had fallen but I had been too busy staring at the theatre of fire to notice. It was so quiet. I became gradually, dreamily aware of a strange sensation growing within me. It was unfamiliar and yet not entirely so. I felt calm in a way that I had never experienced before and yet I knew this place or at least, I did once. This vast stillness expanded inside me until I knew only peace, only safety. I felt as if I were lying below the surface of a fast moving river. The surface of the river was covered in dead trees, leaves, debris from the banks and fields around it and I had a strong sense of knowing that life was like that debris. Lifes troubles, struggles and woes were like the flotsam that floats on the surface of the water but our truest nature, our deepest self was like the current that moves strongly but slowly beneath the surface. I knew in that moment that no matter what my life held, no matter what unhappiness I felt pulling at my heart and mind, if I could just remember this feeling of being held safely in the strong, slow pull of the deeper current of my life, all would be well. It was as if a voice had spoken to me from deep within that silence and stillness and said simply,'This is truth. Remember it.'

I'll never forget that experience because it is a place I long to revisit. I had never before and, even more sadly, have never since, felt that peace, that simple reassuring stillness in which I lay that night. Maybe I have simply never been that still since. I know that I am someone who finds it hard to be quiet, I move almost as ceaselessly as I talk. Even when my body is still, my mind is burrowing into ideas, issues and problems like a fat childs hand into a candy jar. I never really stop. Hell, most of the time I never even slow down. I throw myself into bed at night like a big man might throw a dodgy hitcher out of his still moving car. There is no stillness apparent. Yet I know it's there - not even out of reach just out of mind. And, even more frustratingly, I can often feel it hovering on the edge of my consciousness whispering to me, 'Slow down, be present and feel the hard edges of life melting away. Just flow on down stream.'

What was most magical of all about that night was the ease in which I found myself there. There were no months spent meditating, no soul-grating suffering in order to achieve a place of mindfulness which comes before peace, no tearing apart of the fabric of my reality in order that I might find 'truth'. There had been nothing out of the ordinary happening in my busy life except coming to terms with the ending of yet another unsuitable relationship and my tussling with the feelings that accompanied that. If anything, that should have really kept me way off centre and far away from any experience of peace. And yet, doesn't Rumi talk about that 'broken open place' within us and how through simply being with that experience, that rawness of spirit, we might reach God. Certainly, I have learned more about myself when I have been split apart by life, alone and sorrowing into the darkness, than I have by attending any number of workshops designed to enlighten me. All I know is that despite myself, my never ending mind chatter, my ceaselss, restless spirit - I attained a state of grace that night and felt safer in my life than I had ever felt before. There was a feeling of inexplicable happiness that accompanied it all. Not the jump for joy, wave fist in the air type of happiness like one might find on a tv commercial for tampons, it was like the smile of the Mona Lisa - mysterious, yet no less heart expanding.

I think it must have been listening to Oriah Mountain Dreamers 'The Call' again that brought it to mind again. The idea of surrendering oneself to the stillness and the silence at the heart of life. Of actively listening but without trying. Of becoming with all that 'trying' to change. In this place of grace I am loved and accepted, exactly as I am, with all my armour on, with my head a mess and my heart jagged and sore. I didn't have to be anything other than myself and I got there by being just that - me. The challenge is in remembering to be present IN the present. In remembering that 'doing' often prevents us from 'being' and in following the thread of our breath, in and out, until we find ourselves lost in the beauty of an open fire and, ultimately, found again.


This aloneness is worth more than a thousand lives.
This freedom is worth more than all the lands on earth.
To be one with the truth for just a moment,
Is worth more than the world and life itself.
Rumi

May stillness fall softly into your hearts like snow and stay there long enough for you to make snow angels.