I couldn’t fall asleep last night.

Maybe it was a mixture of my day’s lump sum.
Drinking. And crawfish. Eating. Taking a nap.
Drinking a little again. Eating a bit more.

These are days that I try to smooth over a bit.
Sort of like trying to fix the frosting on a cake,
and getting it all over my fingers in the process.

I felt it all too.
And I missed her deeply, especially on this day.

Somehow I was given the space to deal with it all. I’m not always that lucky.
I began watching “Interstellar” and tried to make it through the whole movie, but it was late.

My heart had been beating so fast. I think because of Saturn again. And its beauty. And its symbol to me, at this point in my life. People may think I’m crazy, but it stirs something deep inside my own swirling galaxy.

My head wouldn’t stop spinning. Not because of alcohol or blood sugar, but because of outcomes. Because of time.

I couldn’t let it go. At least not last night.
The subtle shift of life’s forward motion. A small bump into a new trajectory.

It became so bright and sparkly. Maybe some pieces were engulfed in flames, like rock or metal skipping off the atmosphere.

I told myself to take deep breaths.

In between my steady stream of thoughts and worries. I squirmed and tossed and turned.
I punched my pillow a few times to get it positioned just so.

It was one of those nights where I think I got some sleep. Enough to wake up, at least.


I woke up yesterday with a burn in my belly. Restless from the get-go. Those are the days I walk through carefully.

I think about every single thing. What would happen if I would have stepped left instead of right. Embracing my world like an old friend I haven’t seen in quite some time. I think that’s maybe what feeling small does to me. My tiny world, hanging so delicately on some sort of tilted bias, occasionally in darkness, but always coming to light.

I heard a young poet yesterday say that ‘wonder is the inevitable conclusion to fear.’ And that ‘someone, somewhere has already cracked open its beauty’.

This is truth.
These pains and these joys have already been felt and explored. But we are all so new to everything. We are allowed the opportunity to explore these frontiers for ourselves, as scary as they are. And we get to see each new day, when we open our hearts to it.

Like I open my heart to the universe and its pull.
Or when I want to hide in my own darkness, gravity and time still find their ways to fill me with wonder.

Cracking open what is infinitely human,

again and again.

rise and fall.


More than anything, I feel like we are tiny oceans.

With them full moons, bellies breakin’ water,

delivering new life under that perfect, magic light.


some people actin’ a fool.

“Every time there’s a full moon…” they say.

I notice it.

I notice the rise and fall.

Scattered pieces,

like jetsam and flotsam.

some of it belonging to bigger things,

others are a just a by-product of what they used to be.


I look out and see,

glasses spilt.

people, a little wobbly.

Like tiny hurricanes,

and grumpy neighbors who want more space.


You see, our bodies are mostly made of water.


And like the tides, the water in our bodies

moves us.

To big places. And into cracks,

and little rivers, constructed via plastic shovel and pail.

Sometimes we rise over rock walls

and flood the marshes.

Sometimes we change things.


I don’t know about you,

but there’s something in that big moon.

Just far enough away.


Our satellite.

Our sweet Sister Moon.

Pushing. Pulling.



I look up when I see Her,

thankful for how she pulls me into a dance,

where I’m clumsy and awkward,

or quiet and centered.

And I realize I am not the only one

who’s able to fall in love again.



washed away


I can feel the tug of the cosmos.
Gravity and proximity.
Tides and blood moons.

The water in my body, expands and contracts, like them tides. It often leaves me feeling high and dry or submerged for a season.

I certainly feel swallowed up sometimes.

And then it retreats, just like it came, washing away but also leaving behind little treasures. A few shells. Jetsam and flotsam.

I imagine the sands all smooth-like from the constant back and forth of the water, adding and taking away. I sink my feet deep into the cool wet sand. I let them disappear, feeling consumed by the elements. Eating me alive, watching me slowly incorporate into the rhythm of forever.

These are trying times.

There’s a lot of me, staring out into the sky, and feeling as though I’m dissolving into the air. Sometimes I rise like smoke out of a chimney, able to be seen from far away.

But not usually.

I used to say I wanted to disappear.
When the pain was too much, I wanted to dissolve into the earth and lay barely awake for centuries, until maybe I could figure out what to do next.

I felt a great need to reconnect. To give thanks to the things that were keeping my feet on the earth. Things like gravity and speed and mass. I looked at myself in the grandeur that is eternity, both before and after.


I am tiny.

But like the sands, I shift and move and absorb. I wait for the tides to move over me and wonder at all the things it leaves behind. Those special bits that I can say I was a part of when no one was looking.

A hermit crab changing its shell.

Jellyfish glowing like the moon itself.

God I am thankful for it all. That I get to be a part of it all.

The high and the low, and the messes of men and creation of something new. Like a baby or an idea, that is challenged and allowed to grow into something that is endless.

Because from what I know, the cosmos are endless. As are we.

We are all floating and falling. All the time.

Sometimes it’s too much. Other times, we are bone dry, praying to be made into something bigger than ourselves.

It’s not hard to see though,
when you look up (or down)

All of this star stuff and we aren’t dazzled by it anymore.
I am glad I’m part of something bigger. Something that has seasons and room to change.

I am eternal in this mass of things bigger than I could ever see.

It won’t stop me from letting the tides pull me deeper,

and deeper,

until I am washed away into the Great Mystery.