The voice clearly said
Bring your guitar and sing them the song.
And she shook her head, thinking, No way.
But the voice repeated
Bring your guitar, and sing them the song.
They went back and forth a few more times,
until she acquiesced.
She brought her guitar, she sang them the song.
And then silence…
So she asked the voice
Why would you have me sing
if they didn’t even acknowledge the song?
And the voice said,
It’s not about them, darling,
It’s about how you relate to yourself
when you step outside your box
and let your voice be heard.
Now, keep singing.
Insert something inspiring here:
And then something motivational:
Something that’s going to get you really excited about your life:
Something that makes your heart dance:
Sit quietly with these questions.
Go deep and go strong.
Fill in the blanks with answers that ring true.
Then stand at the mirror and look into your own eyes,
and give yourself permission to believe
that your answers are valuable.
Because they are.
Never forget this.
I keep writing these poems
because it has become a habit
to write one poem every day.
It has become part of my practice
to concentrate my thoughts,
to choose a few words,
to express a sliver of what is alive in me.
Sometimes a sliver is all that is needed
to let in the light the world needs.
Do it now.
Draw a picture,
sing a song,
do a little dance,
tell a story.
Plant a flower,
This life isn’t just about toil and strain–
it is also about connection
and simple moments of clarity
There is an essence in you
that is unique to you,
and we want to see it.
Do it now.
Today I danced.
It was an ordinary moment
just after lunch.
My son was (thankfully) napping,
my daughter was drawing,
my husband was watering the grass seedlings
and all was quiet.
Yes, just an ordinary moment,
except suddenly it was extraordinary.
Maybe it was the
the brightness of the spring afternoon sun,
the way the flowers were blooming vibrantly,
the way my daughter’s light step
reminded me of one of the fairy folk
who has flitted through my dreams–
and suddenly I needed to dance.
Outside on the patio
next to pots of blooming pansy,
alyssum, begonia, and impatiens
I put on my favorite Scottish band,
the Tannahill Weavers,
music bursting out
from a little Bluetooth speaker
perched on our high brick wall.
The pipes, the guitars, the drums, the vocals
stirred my heart
and then my body
and suddenly I was leaping and swirling
and spinning and whirling
and remembering why I love dancing.
My daughter looked up at me
with such love in her eyes
and told me as I danced
You are my sunflower.
This means I love you.
I kept dancing,
and I felt free.
It is so glorious to be alive.