How do we find that place of compassion deep in our soulful hearts to forgive our ancestors? For the mistakes that they made, the suffering they may have caused or endured, and for the wounds that they may have passed down to us through the generations?
Read MoreI would simply listen for the laughter of William, Thomazin, Thomas, Jane, and John carried on the wind in high summer across the green fields and Cornish hedgerows.
Read MoreMy voice now holds the voice of the storyteller; the voice of the poet; the voice of my ancestors and adopted ancestors whose voices I hear still echoing in the place of their trauma, waiting to be cleared
Young woman, you pulled up your roots,
to plant yourself in the land
of spice and lava
where shadow puppets speak
in strange tongues
Read MoreThe alchemy, the alchemy, the alchemy of lime. Black smoke, red fire, white slaked chalk.
Read MoreRead MoreFor every cloak has a secret pocket, a pocket where wisdom is kept, the wisdom which is gathered over a lifetime.
Read MoreA song of joy rings out in Tewkesbury.
A pilgrimage of the heart coming home.
Read MoreI dreamed this blue full flower moon before it began.
Read MoreYou can take the girl out of Pompey, but you can't take Pompey out of the girl.
Read MoreFor me, the rose conjures images of Tristan and Iseult in secret trysts in the walled garden on top of Tintagel under a new moon…The rose, a flower of myth, and legend. A flower of the gods. A flower of nobility. A flower of love. A flower for everyone.
