Carved in His Hands

He carves me out from what cannot serve me.

His Chaos Is Good Medicine

He kissed my sorrowed brow, my depressed weather, He moved, my heart came back alive to His gentleness.

I heal in spirals, peeling back the layers, revisiting wounds with fresh eyes.

It’s time to bring back your magic again. Wake up, He says. The table’s been set. Let’s have fun—and get to work.

Inanna shows me the jewelry I made for Her. She smiles down as tears spill from me. Her hand smooths my hair.

I understand abundance is not limited— not by place or mind. It’s there, reaching toward us, with no filter.

I was bound, boundaryless, not allowed them. Turn it into gold again and again—your own private magician.

A meditative piano journey for gentle internal noticing , reflection, renewal, and the quiet work of becoming whole.

I took the moth, and I took him up into me— and learned to carry them carefully: the final wand, the torch that’s now mine to hold.

The flooring, dove grey clouds with white lightning crackling through them. I watch as life moves beneath my naked feet.