My Monhegan

I am currently working on a painting My Monhegan, an island off the coast of Maine. Monhegan is a place that encompasses 95% of my spiritual thought while a mere 3 days and 2 nights were physically spent there. It amazes how much an impact the place had on me. A healing calm took me over and i only have to slip on those hiking shoes to feel the embrace around my soul.

At least the ones i have conquered.

In the meantime, while rushing from one idea to the next, for the past three days, i realized something important. I don’t hear the rattling noises in my mind. At least not as often as i use to and only when invited in. The loudness has abated with a new found courage. I have tamed the angry heart that broke and mended the fabric tears. The tears in my eyes have dried.

The scared child that cowered in the corner has found light. She has grown since last spoken to. The sex fiend has retreated and allowed a wholeness to take place. I convinced her sex is nothing compared to spiritual ecstasy. A spiritual relationship, with someone who can read my mind and play off my every mood, move and energy, is enticing. I have a few girlfriends like this. I have yet to make a pact with such a guy friend. I have a few in mind, but they don’t seem to understand the concept as i had envisioned they would. Such a collaboration is still open to anyone. Even long distance. I am open and my heart twirls in excitement to find such a guy. If such a person exists. 🤨

As if a light switch was flicked on and off, on and off, the hurt, which once overcame me, has now been overcome. The chaos inside has relented and been subdued.

I win! I won!
I run! I swim!
I fly away…


leaves behind
wasteland -where

no one wants to be around

the burning house
water scarce,
the world parched.

reach inside
those remaining bones
burnt answers -hidden

visions gone awry
buried by hands
of a savior.

Oh! how i need him now.

Who pleases me
as i answer
to the wrong world

you wrapped around my soul

gripped too tight
squeezing what was left of me
swirling down…

in scented letters -sent.

Crow Caw

Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well lived.

Your silhouette -mine

snow flutters
upon the earth

We stand

our umbilical cord

as God turns His head

I ran away
to never look back
and you got lost

along the way
our whiter than snow -bled.


Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well-lived.

word orgies
leave us naked
empty days and nights

your feasting strips humility
scraps of audacity linger-longer

recognize Christ?

Standing outside, admiring Joan Miro’s outdoor sculpture…

Miro’s Chicago

we were invited into The Chicago Temple by a passerby. It was absolutely beautiful inside. Ornate wood and stained glass warmed the interior and our noses.


Is it the curse of a new year that begs us to introspection and compare ourselves to others? I honestly am having a love/hate relationship with all of life. I am genuinely happy i am here, breathing and writing and reading other’s blogs. I am also genuinely sad at how little i can do to make the world better for those hurting. With every step i take i feel the anguish of this world all the while marveling at each person’s ability to also take another step.

I want to be angry. But being angry does not make me feel much better. Oh! For a minute i feel vindicated. But then realize how little i truly understand. Am i so childlike and as innocent as i pretend? Did i not rue the day my brother was forced onto me? I was perfectly happy until he showed up. Then i had to share everything!! My toys were his toys and actually more his toys because out of anger, i gave them to him. If i cant have them all to myself, then i don’t want them. Lucky for me, he did not want them either. Looking back, he only wanted to be loved.

Material things bring nothing and take everything away from our hearts. Oh! what I wouldn’t do to have my brother back!

My bookshelf

Yes, these friends are finally being packed away. Today. Suffocating, perhaps. I like to think i am giving them a break. And me too. Its been a few years since I read them, but before I stack them, lovingly put aside, i extract a few thoughts to pass your way…

I never promised you a rose garden. But dear, my promise garden flourishes. Even, dead of winter, a bleak despair, seeds believe in miracles.

“Beauty has no obvious use; nor is there any clear cultural necessity for it. Yet civilization could not do without it.”

“My love is something valuable to me which I ought not to throw away without reflection.”

Freud Civilization and Its Discontents

“we are all murderers and prostitutes – no matter to what culture, society, class, nation one belongs, no matter how normal, moral, or mature, one takes oneself to be.”

“Whether life is worth living depends on whether there is love in life.”

r. d. laing

Like old friends, we will meet again. In a new town, the words will take on new meanings.

I actually wrote this a week ago. Its like a memory. I suppose it is memory. Feels a dream I want to wake up from. But the possibility of living in Boston is intriguing. Closer to my love of Monhegan Island and Maine. I can hear the loons call and follow the moose tracks… that is what life exists for me.