Author Archives: Francie

Still, what I want in my life is to be willing to be dazzled — to cast aside the weight of facts   and maybe even to float a little above this difficult world. I want to believe I am … Continued

Go slow if you can. Slower. More slowly still. Friendly dark or fearsome, this is no place to break your neck by rushing, by running, by crashing into what you cannot see.   Then again, it is true: different darks … Continued

There is no controlling life. Try corralling a lightning bolt, containing a tornado. Dam a stream and it will create a new channel. Resist, and the tide will sweep you off your feet. Allow, and grace will carry you to … Continued

When I first set out, there are blazes on the trees. The trail is wide and easy to see. Of course, there are confusing crossroads, boulders to climb over, holes to walk around, but the ground is soft beneath my … Continued

Pause. It only takes a reminder to breathe, a moment to be still, and just like that, something in me settles, softens, makes space for imperfection. The harsh voice of judgment drops to a whisper and I remember again that … Continued

Pause.   I breathe in All That Is Awareness expanding to take everything in, as if my heart beats the world into being. From the unnamed vastness beneath the mind, I breathe my way to wholeness and healing. Inhalation. Exhalation. … Continued

Pause.   The light by the barn that shines all night pales at dawn when a little breeze comes. A little breeze comes breathing the fields from their sleep and waking the slow windmill. The slow windmill sings the long … Continued

Pause.   Got up on a cool morning. Leaned out a window. No cloud, no wind. Air that flowers held for awhile. Some dove somewhere. Been on probation most of my life. And the rest of my life been condemned. … Continued

Pause.   We would climb the highest dune, from there to gaze and come down: the ocean was performing; we contributed our climb. Waves leapfrogged and came straight out of the storm. What should our gaze mean? Kit waited for … Continued

Pause.   From Blossoms From blossoms comes this brown paper bag of peaches we bought from the boy at the bend in the road where we turned toward    signs painted Peaches.   From laden boughs, from hands, from sweet fellowship … Continued