Good company in the center.
Almost 2026 and I will try not to wait for external invitations to live in the fullness of my human experiences. In the full capacity of my breaths. Of my heart to love fully and wholeheartedly. To enjoy the places where I am at, the times I am in, t
Gifts of comfort and discomfort. Care manifestos.
An earthy mother’s luck with a heavenly daughter. Holding space for one another, perpetually. Holding things. Holding on. Holding back, holding in, holding strong, together, then, giving in, giving away what can be given, and keeping the rest
Whisper many languages, jumble them up, until one remains. The language of Yes.
Wishing you all a day of beautiful happenings. Orly 🪬🫀🐦‍⬛ ‘She was a free bird one minute: queen of the world and laughing. The next minute she would be in tears like a porcelain angel, about to teeter, fall and break. She never cried b
*The Importance of NOTHING * A new piece on Substack this morning. 🤍🙏🏻🤍
I want to befriend silence. Again. Like I used to. A long, long time ago. To integrate it in between incessant verbiages. My own and the world’s. To survive Madness. And thrive. To allow space. For something else. Different. Fertile.
Come with me… In 2026 -So far planned in-person workshops and retreats. More, via bio.
Let me peer out at the world through your lens. (Maybe I’ll shudder, or gasp, or tilt my head in a question.) Let me see how your blue is my turquoise and my orange is your gold. Suddenly binary stars, we have startling gravity. Let’s com
Oh beloved soft pinks, peaches, and cream. Come dance with me.
New on Substack: Of Solitude and Floods
A poet is someone who can pour light into a spoon, then raise it to nourish your beautiful parched, holy mouth. Hafiz
And here they are, still cultivating imaginary landscapes of hope and pacification while standing in flooded grounds and blowing in the wind. Awake 24/7 And here we are. 🙈 🙉 🙊 Asleep 24/7 #sumud
‘There is no ultimate arrival. Only continual reflection, failure, refinement, and re-commitment.’ -John Wineland
. . *The Golden Apples of the Sun* ——————————— Like nail-biting is the habit of hanging ‘things’ on walls. Putting objects ‘together’. ‘Arranging’ m
Most of the sighing, the gasping, the breathing to the depth of sorrows and coming back to shallow murmuring is all happening without a witness.
There is so much anxiety built into this process, just as much as in life itself, and yet, I do this anyway, day by day. I am fooled to believe and convince myself that making things truly pacifies me. Perhaps the illusion is the reward itself. T
What is wrong with ambiguity? She asked as we walked together on a dirt path from here, to there. I shrugged dismissively and kept quiet. Deep down I knew there was nothing, absolutely nothing wrong. And yet, still on that path, comfort was no where
Randomly and Orderly. Today on Substack. My 50th weekly piece since January. Almost a whole year since I began writing, and it’s something so nourishing, continuing to open a whole new world for me each and every week.