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My heart is made of sand and sea and sun and shells, touched by the occasional storm and moved by passing trade winds.

Next to the dining space – for it could not be called a room – of what I think of as “our place” in Mexico stood a tree, its branches decorated with hearts. Glass hearts of pink and red and turquoise, carved folk art hearts, silver hearts in which we could see the reflections of ourselves, beautifully distorted, and hearts of shells, like this one. Delicately constructed, yet each piece unique, each element far stronger than one could imagine, having been tossed and tumbled by waves for years while remaining unbroken. Not unlike my heart.

Shell of my Heart
Cozumel, Mexico.

Quote of the day: “Everybody needs a seashell in her bathroom to remind her the ocean is her home.” — Sue Monk Kidd

Daily gratitudes:
Attending my first caucus
New friends who are awkward kindred spirits
Lunch today with MKL
Having my toes tucked under Mr. Man
The amazing sky and light tonight


I do not understand the violence in terrorists’ souls that enables them to commit such atrocities as we’ve seen tonight in Paris. It is even more challenging to try to comprehend how someone can do these things in the name of a deity – although at this point, that’s only an assumption. I suppose that is a good thing, that I cannot understand it. But the empath that I am can understand the pain and fear and loss. I can feel a hole in spirit tonight, on a day that started with minor first-world annoyances, and ended with a perspective on what’s really important.

I have never been to Paris, but have always wanted to go. Kelsea had a picture of the Eiffel Tower above her bed since she was born. I put it there to inspire her dreams. She has been there, to the very top, and I envy her that experience. It’s a city that has been made magical in the minds of those who dream. The logical me knows that it is a gritty city, just like another other city, with it’s glimpses of heaven around corners, and sewers that make you wrinkle your nose. Sculpted architectural beauty side-by-side with McDonald’s. It’s the Seine and the bridges, and the homeless and the pickpockets. The tourist traps and the hidden spaces where you can breathe in the past. It has a heart. And tonight, I feel the breaking of that heart.
Prayers for Paris.


Quote of the day: “The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.” — Ernest Hemingway

Daily gratitudes:
Our freedom
Children’s smiles
Long, long winter scarves
Fancy pajamas
That love can conquer hate

Today’s guest poet: Elizabeth Barrett Browning


[Portrait of Elizabeth Barrett Browning by William Charles Ross]

Sonnet XXII: When Our Two Souls Stand Up

When our two souls stand up erect and strong,
Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher,
Until the lengthening wings break into fire
At either curvèd point,–what bitter wrong
Can the earth do to us, that we should not long
Be here contented? Think. In mounting higher,
The angels would press on us and aspire
To drop some golden orb of perfect song
Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay
Rather on earth, Belovèd,–where the unfit
Contrarious moods of men recoil away
And isolate pure spirits, and permit
A place to stand and love in for a day,
With darkness and the death-hour rounding it.


May 2020


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