when the call comes . . .
Twelve days of attending to what happens at twelve o'clock in your sanctum leading to the discovery of omens to weave a year with . . .
A coddiwomple with paint, brushes, new painting surfaces, and Rumi turns into . . . . whirling with wonder.
let yourself be brushed by amaranth or spicebush while you wander wild allow yourself to be smudged even when there is no smoke
"The sound of salaams rising as waves diminish down in prayer, hoping for some trace of the one whose trace does not appear.If anyone asks you to say who you are, say without hesitation, Soul within soul within soul.There is a pearl diver who does not know how to swim.No matter. Pearls are handed him... Continue Reading →
Reading the Maulana's poems grounds me, provides comfort, and also opens doors to contemplation. They are a source of awe, wisdom, and inspiration that ever inform; that centuries after he lived his words are relevant today I find breathtakingly marvelous! I've been wondering: if he lived today, what would come forth? Following the thread from... Continue Reading →
“Every flower holds the whole mystery in its short cycle, and in the garden we are never far away from death, the fertilizing, good, creative death.” ~May Sarton
“She is so bright and glorious that you cannot look at her face or her garments for the splendor with which she shines. For she is terrible with the terror of the avenging lightening, and gentle with the goodness of the bright sun; and both her terror and her gentleness are incomprehensible to humans .... Continue Reading →