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When Have You Been Courageous?

Yesterday, we had a national holiday in the United States for those who are abroad. Thanksgiving.

Where we meet to share food and celebrate each other, reflect on what we are thankful for and break bread.

I have a lot to be grateful for… So much… too much to list in a quick post…

But I do want to say that I am grateful to all of you.

There is a special bond that comes from sharing our stories. By really seeing and hearing, in this case, reading, about each other. Becoming more human in that exposure.

I see and hear from you in the comments or your emails sharing your experiences and emotions back. I feel so grateful for the beauty of that connection. Dropping the masks and showing who we are. Our triumphs and failures. Our hopes and fears. Our blessings and curses.

I feel extremely lucky to be on this crazy journey I’m on. I’m grateful I have reached a place I can share it because it allows you to come along with me. And I’m so beyond grateful you have decided to do so.

So, I want to wish each and every one of you, both outside and within the US, a Happy Thanksgiving.

I’m grateful to each of you.

I see you. I hear you. I feel you. And, I thank you. Xx

I sit here on the couch. Warm from the fire crackling Across the room. The cool wind grazes against the rattling window My aging dog softly snores beside me on my right A candle lit, flickering on my left. This paper on my lap. Feeling the taps of the pen against My thigh as the ink spreads across the page. Her voice reciting David Whyte’s poem. When have you been courageous, she asks. As I sit snuggly against my soft cushions. Behind my locked door. In my dimly lit room, where the morning sun is Just beginning to peek through the closed shutters. The soft blanket brushing against the bare skin of my feet.

Right now... I think to myself As the ink continues to spread Across the page Taking this action Of pen to paper.

Of uncovering

While tucked beneath a blanket Not knowing “What words will be written next” Honoring that pull inside me. That spirit, that knowing, that creative Being beating inside me. That calls me forward. Whispering this is who I am. What I am supposed to be An artist, a communicator, By written word Pulling me by mumbles and tugs From somewhere beyond

Guiding me To share my stories, my voice My experiences, my shame, my fear, My love, my passions, my yearning, My heart break, my lust Myself. To be touched and to reach back To touch another Through my fingertips against their skin Or the gripping of this pen Caressing with my words Creating a connection That keeps me alive Honoring this calling of who I am What I am supposed to be Unveil the naked truth The soft underbelly The vulnerable reality

So another can see, hear, relate Realizing none of us are alone All of us bonded by feeling or previous mistakes A warmth through understanding That could only be reached Through story of those courageous enough To share That is me. Right now. Curled on my couch Exposing my truth, my imperfections For another to read, to feel, to touch.

To run their finger along Every crack and fissure Being witnessed Experienced by another That spirit calling me Pulling, tugging me forward

I step into The uncertainty of what will come Open and welcoming to whatever Is next.

As I whisper back,


Meeting that courage on the page Becoming what I am meant to be Out in the open Carried in the breeze Outside my window

Rattling, reminding me it is there

Waiting, wanting me to Continue disclosing myself

For you to see Just as it is meant to be.

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