Lessons on Being Human

This month’s blog post is coming together a little later. I’ve been sitting with poetry and drifting through thoughts about what feels exquisite in my being—just trying to land somewhere real in this world. In honor of Friday the 13th, a full moon, and a tired mind, I’m sharing a few pieces that feel like little lessons in connection, empowerment, and humble light—the kind that gives quietly, just by being.

entanglement

Lessons on Being Human
From what I have gathered so far today

Flower—
in the foil of
the dream bird,
who sings at night
and again in the morning—
a song so true
it becomes real,
motioning energy
that vibrates the universe
outward,
a spiral of spiritual
truth and love.

Movement
is not line or circle—
it is a pulse,
a kinetic zest
for passion
and purpose.

The cat’s eyes
speak inner soul truth—
not just real,
but pure,
content
with the restless bliss
of joy.

Mother.
Friend.
Girl.

In your eyes,
I am a sister.
Not the name of joy,
but its form—
an invisible thread
joining hand to heart,
bird to bird.

Milestones mark
the freedom of choice.
When a girl
throws the stone,
untethered from
“her” purpose—
prewritten,
oppressive—
it is love
that breaks the script.

Love is—
Love is—
Love is:
Us.
You.
I.
And bliss.

Together is
the true trust—
not in control,
but in the letting go,
the free-fall
into divine union.

If I act with purpose,
I need not be sorry.
We coexist,
and our collective purpose
is sacred.

Reality is
what we feel—
mind, body, soul—
not the penetration
of poisoned ideas
from ill sources.

Wisdom is
trusting in joy.
Loyalty to the self.
A dissolution
of shame.
An uprising
in kindness.
A return
to unity.

Divine girls sing.
They dance
in friendship,
lifting each other’s soul,
empowering both
group and self.

Breathe.
Vibrate.
In soulful trust—
We will be okay.
We will rise.

I love you—
not for your face,
but the quiet synopsis
in your smile lines,
your tired resilience.
Life has held you,
and still—
you rise.
We rise.

Genuineness
is a sacred kindness—
deeper than material self.
It respects the body,
yet honors the resistance
in our human experience—
the liberational pull
to know a being,
and witness
their reality.

What the world needs
is a love
that holds,
not takes—
that shares,
that gives,
that breathes
equality.

Falling
is accepting
that flight
will hold you.
That what will be—
will be.

I say “I do,”
I say “yes,”
when connection
is not “I want,”
but:
I love.

Rape distorts
what it means
to hold someone
in beauty.
Learning is freedom,
but the pain
redefines
what we dare call
love.

This broken world
holds pieces
of a reality
we’re blindly spilling into,
swerving,
reaching,
praying it is the way.

But it is broken.
It won't hand us bliss—
only twisted truth.
And still—
don't give up.

It is a crawl
toward a light
we ache to hold
so damn badly.

Hope and Spirit