Where is God? Where is Christ? Where have we looked for Him? Perhaps He has become a symbol, a reflection of our desire to show how good we are. Just self-promotion. A shield. We have confined God within the so-called sacred realms of churches, healings, miracles, and marvels. We speak in His name as if we were proclaimed His spokespeople, claiming ownership of the truth. We have killed in His name, wielding His words like metal that cuts deeply into the souls of those who disagree with us. We have awaited Christ’s coming while His essence of Love does not … Continue reading Where is God?

My soul is built from the leftover arts and crafts of my childhood; broken watercolors, snapped-in-half crayons, and papier-mâché “chewed paper” masks smoothed over with tender hands. These fragments, these remnants of innocence, are woven together into the fabric of my being. Each piece, though imperfect and worn, carries a memory, a whisper of the past that speaks to the core of who I am. In my darkest hours, it’s these very fragments that illuminate my path. The vibrant colors of broken watercolors splash light into the shadows, painting my fears with hues of hope. The snapped crayons, though small … Continue reading Leftover

Qu’est-ce que je ressens ?… J’ai acquis des références, un statut et une approbation, mais où est l’accomplissement promis ? Ai-je été mal dirigé en cours de route ? Mais qu’est-ce que je ressens lorsque les attentes sociales sont contredites ? Lorsque mes intentions sont dominées par la nécessité de prendre soin de toute la vie, pas seulement de la mienne. Pourquoi est-ce si paisible et calme, quand l’amour devient réalité, pas seulement un fantasme – quand l’amour est expérimenté et exploré, pas un désir plein d’espoir… Peut-être qu’il y a un nom pour cela, mais pour l’instant, je l’appellerai… … Continue reading La joie silencieuse

You speak of miracles and how the Sun radiates through him. How his skin is an anthology of love poems, each touch a stanza of eternal affection. His bones wrapped in honey, sweet and golden, a testament to the warmth he carries. His heart, an ocean, vast and profound, holding depths of emotions that ripple endlessly. And what of me, if he is the Sun? My body is the moon, reflecting his light, a silvery glow that dances in the night. My skin is a canvas of whispers, each caress a secret written in the language of the stars. My … Continue reading Togetherness

I’m pregnant. Pregnant with a hummingbird, pregnant with the land. Inside me, life pulses with an unearthly vibrance, ready to burst forth. I feel it—the earthquake, the bomb, the color, the smiles. My belly swells with the weight of possibilities, a steam locomotive building momentum, the rainbow arching towards its promise. I am pregnant, waiting for a plane to land. With each passing moment, I grow more and more pregnant, heavy with the planet’s secrets and dreams. I am a vessel, and I will give birth. Over the city, as the night contracts and the sun dilates, I will give … Continue reading Pregnant

The way I feel ordinary, a simple human being… My own very limited self kind of crushes me in a way. I’d know exactly, and I sort of feel haunted by unfolding while at the same time wishing for nothing more. And I get this feeling, and I understand all of it; it stands painfully clear and whole toward me. It simply makes me feel small sometimes, and words are lacking, to be honest. Simultaneously, that precise emotion is so utterly complete in itself that it floods me with awe, and I kind of get so lost in its essence … Continue reading Extraordinary

If you call the cops and say “I’m homeless and starving, please help me!” they are not required to (and most likely will not) help you in any way. But if someone calls and says, “I saw someone taking food out of the trash and sleeping on a park bench!” they are typically obligated to come arrest you or at least chase you away. And yet, people swear up and down that policing is an essential service that is designed to protect us. They don’t protect people. They protect property. If you don’t have (enough) property, then your protection does … Continue reading The Nobodies

I hate explaining myself. The nuances of my thoughts, my actions, my art—they’re like the notes of a symphony that can’t be translated into mere words. I don’t want to dissect how I draw or paint, how I perceive the world. These processes are intimate whispers of my soul, echoing through the canvas and the paper, not meant for dissection. What I truly love is when people ask how I feel, how my art lives within them. That connection, that shared experience—it’s pure and unfiltered. It’s less about the mechanics and more about the emotion, the resonance. When someone lives … Continue reading Don’t Ask Questions

I am not every woman. I don’t choose to be anyone other than myself. I am a woman comfortable in my own skin; in this body. Slowly, I am blooming in my own garden. I’m in no rush to become someone else or to compete with anyone. My journey is mine alone, unique and uncharted. I don’t aspire to be you, or like your daughter, your sister, or your friends. I am satisfied with the woman I’ve been, but I am still learning about the woman I am becoming. Each day, I discover new facets of myself, unfolding like petals … Continue reading I am not every woman