hard and soft

Loving comes easy when you are loving to yourself.
Kindness comes easy when you are kind to yourself.
Compassion comes easy when you are compassionate with yourself.

It comes easy when it’s starts with the self. I used to think the world was hard on me until I realized that I was the one that was hard on the world. The more I dug through my insides, the more I began to see where I was stiff, cold, unloving. I’ve dissolved the old stories and patterns of hiding. No longer upheld to, “stop crying or else” phrases. I would say most of my life I was quite certain that my strength rested in suffering quietly, living in cruelty, relentless with the final word that could pierce another. Hardened ways and icy trails riddled with little emotion. Bottled experiences, showing little face. 

I think that’s what I feared most about motherhood. How could I love and care for another when I hardly could do the same for myself?

I am different now. I know this, I feel it. I cannot change my old, hardened ways. I can change today.

Returning to love.
Returning to kindness.
Returning to compassion.

I am responsible for my soft shell, allowing life and love to penetrate it boldly and beautifully. It comes much easier now.


i'll not return to my old, lessening ways

It wouldn’t matter if you walked away from love.
I would still love you the same. My love does not come in favors, disguises, or trades for keep. I give it free, bubbled to the surface and drips, like blood, as pierced skin. You say I love too hard. I know not any other way. The world quotes I feel too much. I say too much. I am too much. I once followed the norms of silencing and hushing my aches. I’ll not return to my old, lessening ways. I was numb once (then).

A time when spreading legs for others came easier than holding your hand. A time when tasting unknown tongues gave false security and esteem. A time when the words, “I love you” translated into, “I’ll leave you.” I knew not of intimacy back then and took gratifications in fast sex, elixirs to blackened memories, and proclaimed self love as a detachment from my body, my self. 

I know different now, I kiss different now. I don’t rush it, this intimacy with you. Us. Myself. I serve myself now. No longer releasing my body for others to penetrate as their own. I let my body feel and trust my emotive pressures. I let myself roar out from my belly. I do not fear the ways I’m being watched or how I’m being felt. I do not hide the very aspects of my nature. I stay in this place, raw and seen, in flesh, to paper or screen.

Quietly-loud and sometimes raging, in my way.

I was numb once. I’ll not return to my old, lessening ways.



Here’s to turning and rolling and dancing and toeing and jumping and loving into the next. Let’s keep it messy, make mistakes, do things that scare us, teach us, challenge within, grow us inside-out, and trust every bit that hops off and on for the ride.

You were born for this life, celebrate yourself and others well. I love you all the way. 

Happy new year, happy birthday, and happy everything!


this is where we go in.

Addicted to screened fantasy. The game of results and fortunes that keep you flying, only to stiff you from feeling. You go to the other to seek and aspire. The exacerbation of the inspiration backs your myths and the walls you keep. Scar tissue in folds from traumas you’ve tucked, seek the other for your truths, reach the other for your healing, praise and criticize the other to keep pace from your caved reality. In this fantasy, play to up-keep, triggered love to unknown others so vast, or seething hate to comfort your reach.
Take heed, before you spread yourself for another. Take love as your own, take truths as your own, take hate as your own, take healing as your own. Serve this up to yourself first and foremost; wrecked is the game of reach. Wrecked is the game of needy. Wrecked is the game of emptying yourself for others instead of filling up yourself. 
It’s all surface until you’re willing to go deep. It’s all surface in the delights of pretty things. It’s all surface to keep blood stains from so-called smooth cover-ups. It’s all surface until you’re willing to bleed.
Because the fantasy keeps to the superficial. Hard-wired addictions will hold on to the hustle. Break the seal of the untold reality. Facing life actuality is not for the faint or the numb. It requires scraping the walls of the deadened parts you’ve buried. It requires mess. It requires pains. It requires ugly. It’s requires you to feel and it’s the construct of the soul.
What is sought from another is what is to be sought from ourselves.
Caked under the beds of your nails. It’s in the hard spots of your ways. Places you hide and stories you keep in the comfort of distractions.
This is where we go in.


practice is practice, tweaks and turns in trials and errors

The sneaky secret to binds: long limbs. A little yoga humor to swipe the seriousness off this Monday.
I’m a big fan of using props; straps, blocks, wheels, blankets, books, chairs, window-sills, etc. That’s the thing about a home practice, there’s endless exploration while rolling around on your living room floor. Incorporate what is useful and you’ll discover the tweaks and turns in trials and errors, you’ll feel the body as you let go of timing and cues, and this is where the greatest self-study exists.
I’ve discovered so much about myself by simply playing, exploring, and navigating my own body through breath and cycled postures. I fell in love with my practice when I combined my studio practice into my home. Both hold space in my heart for different reasons and teach me in different ways.
Practice is practice.

Lean in and love with your eyes closed.