Writing little bits on this blog was so satisfying last winter, but I dropped it because it seemed too vulnerable and too private at the same time (why not share these things on Instagram for wider reach, why share these things at all…). And this isn’t an admittance of self deprecation, but being genuinely curious about how our narratives subtly turn when we know that it’s being publicized, at any level. And what about when it’s being publicized in a more private space, instead of the only half-consensual algorithms of social media?

The intention in keeping up with this blog is this: to provide useful and inspiring resources; to publicly document some things alongside private journaling for the sake of it; to share values that support a reality that I am committed to, hopefully sparking moments of compassion or insight for whoever is reading; and pragmatically, to hone my writing voice and ability to translate ideas informally. I think that it’s vital to share our voices and know that it’s safe to share who you are and the things that light you up, because there is a chance that it might light others up too. I think that the world can only benefit from that kind of content.
Anyway, here’s a poem:

The House of Belonging:

I awoke

this morning

in the gold light

turning this way

and that

thinking for

a moment

it was one

day

like any other.

But

the veil had gone

from my

darkened heart

and

I thought

it must have been the quiet

candlelight

that filled my room,

it must have been

the first

easy rhythm

with which I breathed

myself to sleep,

it must have been

the prayer I said

speaking to the otherness

of the night.

And

I thought

this is the good day

you could

meet your love,

this is the black day

someone close

to you could die.

This is the day

you realize

how easily the thread

is broken

between this world

and the next

and I found myself

sitting up

in the quiet pathway

of light,

the tawny

close-grained cedar

burning round

me like fire

and all the angels of this housely

heaven ascending

through the first

roof of light

the sun has made.

This is the bright home

in which I live,

this is where

I ask

my friends

to come,

this is where I want

to love all the things

it has taken me so long

to learn to love.

This is the temple

of my adult aloneness

and I belong

to that aloneness

as I belong to my life.

There is no house

like the house of belonging.

- David Whyte

©1996