Each was a response to a writing prompt.

Feeling Threatened
Safe within her shell
Force is not the code to crack
Freedom is the key

Pursuit of a Dream
Her brined locks fly free
Gulls soar on wings of delight
They dance with the sea

Childhood Joy
Piano arrives
Heart and soul embrace in love
Best birthday ever

Unshielded putty
Might shatter into pieces
Do it anyway

What will happen if
Someone sticks a pin in it
And my bubble bursts?

A Walk in the Wood

I am taking a Carl Jung course that is exploring the Unconscious through writing, image-making, myths, dreams, storytelling, and the natural world. One of the exercises for this week’s class was to write a fairytale, using symbols and archetypes, to describe a feeling of “being stuck.” This free-write today was a fun ride that unfolded with ease. For me, there is nothing better than playing with imagination! To my surprise, this story was reassuring and helps me accept the inevitable discomfort of being stuck at times in life with no clue how to proceed. Something or someone always comes to the rescue:

A Walk in the Wood

Once upon a time there was a young maiden walking alone in a dark wood. The sun had set long ago. The only illumination was a starlit sky. She was grateful for the glittering constellations. They offered a sense of safety in this unfamiliar place.

But the maiden struggled to see. The path beneath her feet was untrodden, uncharted. Rocks, roots, and other obstacles were detected only when stumbled upon. She was cautious to place one bare foot on the rutted earth to find stability, before carefully stepping the other foot. In this manner, she trekked for some time. Darkness remained, but the maiden’s walking became less tentative. She discovered it was possible, after all, to walk without light.

Still, she yearned to see where she was going.

After a while, the maiden succumbed to fatigue and sat down, resting her back against an ancient tree, whose gnarled roots offered a natural seat and footrest. Dozing, in a reverie of sorts, a flash of light snapped her into full alertness. A brilliant ball had descended from the night sky.

As the maiden gaped in wonderment, the star sparkled and said: Hello. I am here to help you the rest of the way. Your journey has been a long one. You have been valiant in your going. I will guide you now. Do not fear. My name is Lulabel, and I come from another galaxy solely to assist you. Come, let us go. You have had your rest.

As promised, Lulabel brightened the forest floor. No match for the sun’s radiance, but the maiden could see with ease where to place her feet. Time passed swiftly, and before long a clearing appeared. Through an opening in the trees, a glowing sunrise emerged, the dawning of a new day. The maiden’s eyes blinked wider, as they caught the flash of Lulabel disappearing, returning to her constellation in the heavens.

Knowing our maiden had arrived at her destination, Lulabel’s work was done. She smiled and whispered softly to the cosmos: All is well now. All is well.



Today’s lesson focused on aspects of self-compassion:

Oblivion now!
Shutter the glaring spotlight
Leave me in the dark.

Rest comes at nighttime
The day no longer matters
Sweet dreams lie ahead

Sandpaper chafes eyes
Unrelenting thoughts harass
Fairy dust, I beg!

Blown about by winds
Someone else’s storm thrashes
Grasping for a cloud

Arms and heart stretched wide
All I wanted was to be
You turned off the light


Haikus 10/10/2022

A difficult situation:
The curtain rises
Melody enthralls my soul
A song no one hears
A frustrating challenge:
You cannot be you
Dagger splits the heart in two
Tail between my legs
Limiting belief:
Why can't this be mine?
Stay buried in the dung heap
Silence is golden
A mystery:
Omnipresent Sun
Surely penetrates my heart
Burns away the dross
Something ineffable:
The bucket plunges
Dark, cool water caresses
Filling me with Grace

Ireland. There’s No Place Like Home.

This morning’s exercise was to write about a place I love. I visited Ireland for the first time in the winter of 1978. I was forever changed by that introduction to my ancestral home.

I felt “it” the moment I debarked Aer Lingus. It was not a physical sensation but an inexplicable knowing. A soft internal whisper: This is home. You belong here.

These silent words hummed throughout my four-week visit to the lush and barren island. Ancient ruins and stone monoliths were a landscape of ancestral tethers. Turbulent, thrashing weather creaked my bones until the sun emerged to radiate its warmth, and the sky grinned its upside-down multicolored smile from ear to ear.

So many magical memories. The feral cry reverberating in the Fairy’s Glade near Blarney Castle. That eerie vision of a wooden ship sailing away from the Cobh coast toward the misty horizon of hope and freedom. Singalongs in the Dublin pub accompanied by my first taste of good beer. Invisible fairies impishly vying for my attention, insisting I acknowledge their playful antics.

I was enraptured, enthralled, utterly in love, and forever changed by the lure of these family trees and Celtic culture.

The whisper echoes still: There’s no place like home.


Writing Haikus

So, I signed up for a new writing course that focuses on using Haiku to express feelings. A haiku has 3 lines of 17 syllables: 5 syllables, 7 syllables, 5 syllables. I didn’t spend a lot of time overthinking these. I had 5 different themes to write about. This is what came this morning.

Molecules collide
The teapot blows its lid off
Spews volcanic ash
Breath gasps, what is this?
Peering into the abyss
The pupa transforms
The dark noose tightens
Eagle wings cannot fly free
Mummified remains
Acids permeate the pit
Regurging its bile
Decay guaranteed
Buds unfold their radiance
Life is beautiful


A message for today

For the past year or so I have been practicing a writing style called “automatic writing.” Which simply means writing without rational thought. Just putting pen to paper and allowing words to come. I thought this morning’s message was quite interesting, so decided to share it here. View it as a creative foray, perhaps. I don’t claim it as Truth. But I will say it FEELS true to me.

“You feel things shifting, gears slipping into gear, momentum gathering. Not so long now. Not so long. Release release release. Release all impulse to judge, condemn, reject. Accept whatever is being projected in order to be healed. It is just a kaleidoscope of imagery to lure you away from your true center.

All is accelerating, speeding up, colliding in the super collider. What is the debris that will spin off from the collision? The dross of what is not real. Only what is true remains bound together.

Time itself is changing from linear to eternal. The illusion of linear time is being reformed into the infinity of the present. You feel it. You feel the speeding up, the collision, the spray of debris flying away from the core. It is such a powerful centrifugal force. You feel part of it, caught up in it, yet observing it like an outsider, too. All this collision seems destructive, debris flying everywhere like shrapnel, with collateral damage. Everyone feels they are on a collision course, a roller coaster ride from which they cannot disembark. It is thrilling, terrifying, powerful. A trajectory that cannot be stopped.

But it WILL stop when the ride is over. And something new will emerge. Something never born before. Something utterly new is coming.”


Why can’t a weed be a flower?

Dandelions. A harbinger of summer.

Aren’t these blooms lovely? Bright yellow wings destined to transform, like a caterpillar becomes a butterfly, into fluffy white feathers the softest breeze soon will cast to the four winds.

Blossoms labeled weeds, as if they are repulsive, unwelcome intruders. Shameful blemishes on the perfectly manicured green veneer.

Who made that decision?

Maybe dandelions can never be daisies. Still, I played “he loves me, he loves me not,” plucking each golden talon one by one, forever fearing the answer. Countless garlands made to wrap around my throat, stifling its inner cry. Remembering that tacky ooze from freshly snapped stems, stinging my eyes with their bitter tears.

Pesky, those dandelions. Tenacious. Roots running deep into the earth. Refusing to budge, they seem to say, “You can’t oust me from my home and toss me away with the garbage. I belong here.”

What if we ceded the will to dominate, to vanquish the recalcitrant invaders? Embraced their right to exist, no less valued than our cherished blades of grass.

Doesn’t their sunny disposition cheer up the place?

I say, let them live.


By the Sea

By the sea
How can it be
This wondrous display
Is solely for me

Sparkly diamonds
Spray-kiss the sky
As swift moving breakers
Sing God’s lullaby
Gulls page their cohort
Awaiting reply

And still, no passersby

Oh, what pageantry
Flows into me

As I sit
By the sea



Wow, it has been months since I posted here. I have been very busy with online courses, creative play, visiting friends and family, and enjoying the beautiful spring.

At last, a new composition to share. It is quite short (just over two minutes) but says all I want to say on the matter. I can’t believe it took several months for it to come together, and for me to be able to play it without one mistake. My hands must jump around the keyboard a bit on this one. Arthritis (and memory) seem to be more and more challenging with every passing day. But no excuses!

Please overlook fidelity baubles, if you notice them. I dearly wish I had better recording equipment, but right now this is the best I can do. In any event, I hope you enjoy the tune.

Despite its brevity, it feels complete. Perhaps we can only withstand a modest helping of “Pathos” in our lives these days?