Do you Hear Your Solstice Voice?

The winter solstice is a time to be fully present – in the stillness, in the deep and utter quiet, in the detail of the world around us, and even in expectation of the return of light.

My voice, arising out of winter solstice, is expressive of just such detail. I have the simple luxury of living in a beautiful, green, peaceful environment – one that easily promotes listening for the voice that comes through us – not to be confused with the frenetic voice of the mind.

In the quiet, I am reminded of all that is vibrant, alive, creative: a deer family whose restive comfort extended to our back yard; a young rabbit whose interest in equally-aged garden greens provided nourishment for us both; a tiny chipmunk storing walnuts for the winter in my flower pot, a secret which I keep. In season, it was quite a show.

My celebration of the incremental return to light is simple appreciation of that which I observed. My own reading of this piece can be found here.




Earth sustained.

Darkness, mournful

in meditating

incremental demise,

as sunlight, its own midwife,

arises – open secrecy

its intent. Winter solstice at its

back, thickened clouds descend, fog politely

suspended over the dance of droplets

reverberating on paved spaces

of other seasons. The taut, hard

day awakens in promise:

opening sleepy eyes,


of sunlight, a






upon its

purpose. As yet,

not a hummingbird

shoving among the web

of branches. No frenetic

chipmunk; not a bunny baby

lusting leafy lettuce, nor the deer

family taking sunny repose in

yard’s alcove. Their wisdom at rest, no

longer a need to tolerate my

inane greetings. I pledged to keep

fast the secret hiding place

of walnuts, of deer paths

trodden, of shared stares

of animal-

human eyes.




now an


point on a curve

of unwellness, of

sadness, of fear, of loss.

May I celebrate the Light

by distilling loneliness to

friendship, by converting poverty

to plenty, by enjoining attitude

with beautiful spaces, by finding wealth

in relationship, by dreaming

others’ dreams as my own, that

donning my clothing may

clothe others; that as

we rise in Light

we know



How do you voice that which feeds you?

Never Keep Your Ambition to do Great Things in Check

Whatever your aspiration, be ambitious every day – for yourself, for your family, for the entire human community.

How am I able to live what I aspire for myself in ways that benefit others’ equality, fairness, autonomy and justice? How am I able to use my privilege?




gasping for

air, bobbing in

the sea of racist

hate, shallow, tense egos

with guns no lifeline.

No forgiveness; unrelenting

sadness of white privilege an anchor

to the soul’s cry for wholeness. When does the

shame of racist murder outweigh the curse

of perpetual allowing? True

humanity, colorless, sees

itself in its reflection,

awaiting, with only

love, resolution.

Deeply tired.

Tear-filled voice.



Love, Transitioned

On the 4th anniversary of the downing of Malaysia Air #17, I was again compelled by the juxtaposition of the features of the tragedy. Twisted steel in a vast field of sunflowers, and the extraordinary variety of lives whose potential transitioned with the destruction of the plane.

A previously unpublished poem in their honor and remembrance follows.




of a

cure lying

among shards of

hull, body parts of

winged steed finding no ease

in human flesh. Souls’ ascent

past, only the carnage of tears

laments HIV among garish

still smoldering sunflowers. Politics

and humanity at odds. Researcher,

musician, scholar, author, comic,

academic, diplomat, nun,

human rights organizer,

teacher, 3 grandchildren,

1 of the world’s best

rescue pilots,