On the Way.

Right now, I am sitting in Dillon, MT at one of my favorite coffee shops. It seems like it’s been three years since I’ve actually stopped here and had a coffee and a cookie. I’m a cookie fiend…it’s one of my demons. My sweet tooth is one of my demons; I always play it off like I am an undeniably unwavering healthy eater, but that’s just a front and a lie. I love baked goods, I’m addicted to them, and anyone who loves me and knows me well would tell you that.

I forgot how comforting it is to roll into a small town where nobody knows you and just sit down at a coffee shop or a whiskey bar and write. It also seems like my head hasn’t been clear in a few days. Small town time is good for that. That’s why I’m headed for Idaho and family to ski and play in my favorite mountains. Take some ballet classes and guitar lessons. Just be. I had to stop here to be on another Google+ interview for my dream job as an editor. Karma is funny…something has to suck in order for something better to happen. Unless you’re on a karma roll…then it might seem as if everything is awesome for a really long time. I was on one of those until this weekend. All you can do sometimes is acknowledge how you feel, hope others are happy, love and be compassionate, and of course, eat a cookie.

And since last year, thanks to someone who is the most special and sacred love in my life, I have been reading–no studying word for word–poetry by Michael Blumenthal.

So yesterday, I gave you a poem that churns my heart like butter. This one does too. It will always mean the world to me and remind me of the purest love I have ever felt–still feel and always will feel–and the most beautiful places we ever explored together and will explore together in the mountains and within our souls. Here you go:


Inside the hollowness that is bone 

and that hollowness that is us, blue 

is how it has always been and how 

it always will be: the blue acres 

of flesh we have traveled in search 

of the propinquitous night, the blue 

hours of morning before the mist rises 

over the lake, the blue gaze of the sycamore 

over the empty fields in February. Now, 

it is dark and my bones open over the blue 

sheets of the bed to welcome the night. 

I gaze into the pale green of your eyes 

and see that I, too, am turning blue like

the graceful dead in their blue parlors 

of silk and sweet dreaming. Last night, 

the swallows prancing over the fields 

were blue, and in the star-swift glide 

of sky over the clouds, I realized

we end as we began, and moved along: 

blue baby, blue sky, sweet blue grief, 

the deep blue of no more breathing. 

Tempera on paper or oil on canvas, 

it is the blue envelope of the voice 

that says I love you, and when the bones 

open out into their pelvic dust, the blue 

that is always blue is always there. 

I love you. 



2 thoughts on “On the Way.

  1. Hi – I don’t know you but I began to follow your blog just a few days ago after reading an elephant journal article that touched me. I decided to receive your emails as I admire the life choices you have made and the grace and humor you use to describe them. There is also a bit of soul tugging because you are writing from your soul. So I wanted to thank you and celebrate that. Just how we can touch each other by connecting to our deep sources. I look forward to reading more and I wish you strength, love and wisdom as you follow your path.



    • Hi Gabby!
      Thank you for your kind words. I truly do appreciate the connection I have with my readers. Blessings to you, and may you have a wonderful week full of light and love!



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