The Next

Wooden statuette Mary Magdelene

The art work I will explore in the next phase of life is custom, inspired statuettes of Master Healers. I have been reading the “Mary Magdalene” book by Meggan Watterson and it has opened my heart to the power of female healers in history – specifically this one – and more to the point, the creative, healing power within the self.

I am going to start collecting cloths (natural fibers, cotton, silk, blends), glue, repurposed materials (beads, gemstones, stones, buttons, caps, string, yarn, pins, clips), find blank statuettes of the major spiritual figures I study and think about (Christ, the Buddha, Quan Yin, Archangel Michael to name a few) and begin to create. I can’t wait to play with color (I think St. Germaine is with me, as I am all about the color violet!) and hand-build these statuettes – in prayer, in contemplation, with the intention of healing and supporting the receiver of it.

Full disclosure – my idea is not a new one. A friend from long ago, Hannah, told me her aunt did “custom Marys” for people. I have be unable to find anything anywhere about the woman who makes custom Marys but now I will reach out and find out! While these will be my own, and not possibly the same as Hannah’s aunt’s work (each piece is, after all, completely unique), I do feel that the origin of the idea needs to be credited appropriately.

What will I do with these statuettes? I will give them away! I will offer them to people who either ask for them or who I feel inspired to give one to.

As my two little ones become more independent (now turning 1 and 3 years old each), I begin to think of the Home School program I will do with and for them in their life. As we spend more time in Costa Rica, as we expand our horizons and explore the world and learning opportunities as a family doing projects and creating together. I will use this Master Healer statuette artistic and spiritual practice to both learn and explore for myself, hopefully bringing my kids along to learn and create with me. These historical figures will teach is, I have no doubt and we will learn about creating art and discovering through the practice of making and giving away, the value and joy of sharing with others.

Also, I am eager to bring prayer and contemplation into the center of my focus again. After all, those years of meditating and Buddhist study did leave within me the power of presence and working with my mind and heart. It’s time to renew this in this time as a mother and figurehead in my kids’ lives, as well as for the healer and artist within me who craves a rebirth and new life.

But first, the prayer that came to me this morning, modified from the Usui Reiki prayer I learned during my Reiki training about 20 years ago:

Just for today do not worry, but trust.
Just for today do not anger, but enjoy.
Honor your children, teachers and elders.
Love and respect yourself and all living things.

Before I Speak

SheSpeaks, One Longfellow Square, Portland, Maine – Lael Couper Jepson
It's my turn 
To take the mic
Giving voice to the bravery
Dwelling deep where my story lives

I don't like to feel 
What's difficult
This standing here on stage before you 
Is the beginning of being

Willing to feel 
The fear of fear,
The anger of anger,
The doubt 

Taking a stand for myself
I grow
To touch the joy of joy
The truth of truth
And loving my voice

It is my turn
To be.

The same woman

My daughter & me
When I am 91
Waking up in my bed on wide white sheets
Vanishing into the open question
At the end of my life
I am still a young woman

No baby suckles my breasts
No tiny hand in mine
Brings me to the window
To hear the birds

Yet I am the same woman
Who wrote this poem
Long ago
From the foundering depths of
New motherhood

I am also the baby girl
At the beginning of my life
Held by my mother
To her breast
Giving me her milk

For the work of her career
From the depths of motherhood to be
Doing important things
Her real life

This I absorbed this into my cells
Keeping me
For a long time
From the things I loved
Especially myself

As I nursed my baby this morning
On the wide white sheets
I prayed
For love to guide me

Thanking God for the grace
To leave aside my work
For a while
For the important things
My real life

Even as she sings the alphabet
In the next room
And stammers along the floor
To find me

My baby is the grown woman
Who will bring to me at 91
Her motherhood, her children
Her children's children
And I will remember myself


It is an act of self contempt
That I pull white hairs from my head

Leaning into the mirror
Scanning for the inaccuracies
In what I wish to be
My youthful appearance

This is not just a denial of the truth of my age
But a metaphor for my existence

These unruly sprouts
Arrived at this late hour to
Express the essential inobedience
That has defined me all my life

Is it any wonder
The child who learned to pluck from me
What was weird
When weirdness was wrongness

Has come to be
The Grim Reaper?
One by one
The zany kinks
In brilliant white
Who boldly stand apart from my crown
Immodest in their announcement   

There is a slaughter going on
Though fruitless against
The merry revenge of
The Hydra of age, as
Three more sprout
For each brilliant spring that is lovelessly snatched

When will I grow up
To love
The ageless rebellion in me
That wills itself
To live
Against all odds?

God Washes Away the Devil

I used to I used to 
I used to know
Who I am

Doesn't the devil do his work?
Under disguise
Pain is dependence

Go In
In in in, friend
Down down down
Light call it 

Relax soft
In call in the light 
Down down down
Let it fill tendency
Pain is the opening
Of God

You are right 
This is who you are
God washes away the devil


How different we are 
If different is the word 
For your dirty feet 
Nestled sweetly together 
Two tired pigeons
The sun bakes the heat into the pavement like a griddle
Searing any skin it touches
Not fit for a human 
To walk here

Under this overpass
By the concrete park 
You are grey dust 
Grey shirt grey mess hair
In a haze of busy avenue shadows

If it's the great eternal sleep you seek
No one knows when it will come

My baby and I
Unnoticed in our walk's chirping and song 
Toward the bright books of the library
        Where the AC’s on
        Where babies babble and play
        With puppets and toys

You’re asleep 
I hope not dead 

Has no one has looked you in the eye 
To tell you the green trees 
Against the blazing sky?
Have you seen the purple sunset?

Perhaps there is a place in the city 
To walk
Where you can hug the shadows 
As the sun dips

All day
The desert cooks the colors
Lifting from the traffic and cactus 
Bruised light into the sky

A watercolor of grey-purple grey-pink
You wouldn't think such moist life would survive this heat

You just have to look up
To know you're alive
Did you know
That’s what we’re famous for?


Compassion doesn’t make appointments

Why did I cry during the teleconference?
I opened my mouth and
The tears would come

As you spoke about the death of your father
I see myself on the screen in
What listening looks like:
Shiny desperation mixed with refusal

I have a primordial itch
The deep "next"
Reaching out and away from myself
To anything else

This is not suffering

"It's good, basically good. That's my life: the simple things"
The waves of pain wash you
As you tread gracefully
Accepting the world as it is

On my turn to talk
Having been touched
I can feel myself again
Your pain is all pain

My heart, speaking for me, is
Red-faced and her voice wobbly with emotion
I am a contortion of grace
That will not be silenced

Remembering to return to
The bed of fear
(Free-falling as it does)
I do not hold on

This is surrender

Under the Black Moon

Mercury / black moon

Little cat gripping the walls of the tub
Start over and trust that I can

I wasn't old enough to even buy
Sought out trouble
The black sickness

Crouched over the hypnotic whirr of the ceramic wheel
My hands lost
in the curative water of clay slip
The clay demands perfect balance
or else warps off center

I allow perfection to emerge
from me
Until the darkness leaves once and for all