September 22. 2018 Insomnia Awake Again But I am not sleepless as I wander each darkened room, Pausing in doorways to measure silhouettes. I am here Listening to every movement And each silence in the night house. This is the time that I find what I am looking for, The perfect time to launch road trips and new ideas And to pray, To connect, To listen to the world breathe. I am safe within the strange, unspoken truce of the night. I am deep in the early morning hours of sacredness Where women in their awakening years Hear things deeply...

Sunday September 2, 2108 I am unpacking. There are lots of little things that will make their way into pockets of places as I settle in. The watercolor I bought from the conveniently named artist “Chico” in Sevillle, the oil paintings from the artist in Bali whom I sent into distress when I mentioned that Pollock had in fact died some time go and, there, on my dresser is my grandmother’s politically incorrect, but much loved “golliwog doll” - staring out and smiling. Nana loved what she loved and never apologized for it. I have leaned in pretty heavily on...