I doodled a smiley face on the breakfast tracker sheet half an hour before life gave me a reason to google the biological processes of death. I wanted to know how long he’d been there like that before I found him. I’m now in a vicious staring contest with grief; the pulsing risk of my vocation, more of a guarantee than a risk, really.

Much of this journey has been about slowing down, and completing tasks in small, incremental steps. It is driving me nuts. My baseline is a hyper one. I want what I want when I want it. But cultivating the earth doesn't work that way, so like I said, I wasn’t going to plant a garden this year, and then I watched Zach Galifianakis’ gardening show on Netflix and now I’m here to tell you about my peas.

A prayer for National Poetry Writing Month. "Awaken our emotions and senses. Align our writing hands with our hearts and minds - our holy trinity - so we may pour poetry onto the page."

What I know for certain is that stillness can heal.

Stream of consciousness: sometime in the time after I hit my head real hard, I promised myself to be unhinged as often as possible.

Can I really earn passive income from organizations that contribute to social injustice? The truth is uncomfortable.

All the right spices for a maddening depression. Restorative however, is my belief that God redeems; makes Holy what was Horrible.

Today's wildflower is reclamation; the sacred work of detaching from harmful energies through realignment with our soul & purpose.

a river valley, addiction, and divine love.