I feel your energy when I cross your threshold


Washing over and through me.

Residue of the soul work

The breaking open

The seeds planted

And grown

in your embrace.


Cocooned in your

bright bosom, in an explosion of color

and texture,

you offer

A respite from the grit of activism

The physical strain of dance

The hyper focus of teaching

The synthesis of writing lessons

The drudgery of daily chores and gray winter days.

Here, enfolded in your luscious rug and

vibrant, petroglifed walls

There is space

And time

To simply be.


You hold me in your Crone stillness

Welcoming the waves of whatever needs to erupt.

Dancing sloughs off outer skin, peeling back layers, dropping in.

Sounding births

Small, unknown tears

That emerge from a place deeper than the heart

There is no need to know their origin;

Only to give them safe passage.


And though you fill me

There is another.


There remains a singular solace in the dance studio

A full body release as I find my X on the smooth floor

The expanse of empty space a blank canvass to carve and shape.

My body a brush

Movement its hues

Painting space with others profoundly at home in their bodies

and adept at connecting in this shared space.

I dare not think you could ever replace that first and lifelong love.


Still, some days I just need to sink my hands into the beans

Bathe my skin in their serene, exquisite form

Take in the water music of pouring glass beads

Or wrap my fingers around the warmth of a teal clay mug

taste the comfort of steaming jasmine tea

And hold space around the altar.


Some days that is enough.


Others, I yearn to paint large and wild and blind

My whole body dancing with the paper canvass

Paint roller


With intricate, chance layers

Of color.


You give and give and give.


And each time I leave

I exhale a breath of this rich permission

This vital indulgence

Adding one more mark to the nourishing manna of this place

To feed the next soul

Who crosses your sacred threshold.


Art & Soul