Long ago
in a mossy,
two-acre backyard,
I murdered the little girl inside of me
when I realized all my other little girl friends didn’t even know they were little girls.

I knew my
physical age
spiritual age
were quite contrary.

When they saw scars, I saw the war.
When they saw trees, I saw the seeds.

Far too young,
I understood that being a little girl
was not what would keep me alive.
So, I lived on

– – – –

That little girl has been kept in a tomb for

Her spirit whispers in my ears from time to time.

I’ve been afraid to resurrect what I thought had to stay dead
in order to survive.
Now, to survive,
I must resurrect what died.

“Talitha kum!”



The average heart rate of a four year old boy is 100 beats per minute.
That’s approximately 230,608,620 heart beats in four years.
The average four year old asks 437 questions per day.

These facts intersected in time.

I have a heart beat? … Where is it?

I placed his clammy hand on his chest as I watched his eyes expand into exhilarating elation.

That’s your heart beat. It pumps blood all throughout your body and keeps you alive!

Nooooo wayyyyyyyyyy!!

Within one question, one heartbeat, and one minute,
his discovery was my defibrillator.
His vital sign revitalized me.

Shockwaves of joy shuddered my body.
Unknowingly, I had a paralyzed purpose deep-rooted & cavernous.
It was unearthed beneath our makeshift fort filled with children books and giggles.

This purpose had come alive:
to help others discover the reasons why they are.


Eight o’clock had come.

The billows of somber clouds began to tumble above my head, once again for no logical reason I could gather. Although much less frequently, the grievous overcast had still prowled slowly above me and my shoulders hung low once more.

I left.

My hands clenched my steering wheel.
“What will I even write about tonight?”
Realizing that this project may had already evolved into a chore, I felt vexed and desperate.
Was this becoming something else I had begun, yet wouldn’t finish?
The Catch-22 of partiality in my life had to die.

I then realized that this was its eulogy.

and so, the stories continue…


Keys in hand, I was approached by an old woman with tired eyes and a weighty heart. Evidently compelled to confide in me her defeated spirit, she asked if I could be a friend to her. I held eye contact while the reservoir of her concerns brimmed over into my own. Starting from scratch, using love & compassion, a bridge had been constructed between us. This bridge began at the liberty I had to offer and stretched to her lack of peace. I had a reservoir too, yet my concerns had dissolved in its Peace. Although unaware, her deep had called to deep. Power was made perfect in weakness. My reservoir, complete with living water, was freely given. Therefore, I freely gave.

I don’t know where God is right now, but where ever He is, I sure hope He sees what I’m going through!

“He does…He surely does.”


Warm, golden rays of sunlight pierced through the brown curtains, creating a room occupied by illuminated sultry skin pressed up against one another in coziness and glee. A symphony of hues of different blues were showcasing from his eyes, as if on stage, orchestrated by the unified beams emitting into our space. A planet, from lightyears away, was sharing with us its ignition. Through any available crack in our environment, it gave a part of itself. I hoped that we, too, could do the same to our world, even if distanced at what may seem like impossible lengths to the tiny cracks available. Light alters experiences. Light changes everything.


I entered a new dimension of two-year-old kingdom as I ‘followed the leader’; stomping, clapping, hopping, skipping, galloping, and smiling widely. Freedom has many flavors, and one of them can be experienced only when children are present. The flavor is most powerful when experienced with an adult who opens their minds to be induced with youthful thinking and acting. Stuffed animals come alive, homemade obstacle courses become puzzling, foam noodles are tubas, and freedom tastes like soda & girl-scout cookies and smells like sweat & feet. I learned an unchartered trail in my heart that escapes to the kingdom of childhood grandeur. The one who held the map is still unaware of the innate gifts he has in his heart with children, and especially childlike faith. I’ll play follow the leader forever.


Underestimation at its finest, I sat in one-hundred-two degree fizzing water surrounded by those who had become my family. Extremities pruning, hair damp, and seven-up & whiskey in hand, I listened to steam diffused stories permeated with rich laughter. I gawked at the orange tinted night sky atop our miniature paradise and thought of the heavens as I questioned whether I was halfway there (again). Thrilled, I realized there will be no need for separation to exist and that I never had to leave that moment. Glorious goodness only expands in eternity, and eternally grateful I was for the taste of forever seated on my tongue.


Roused by the pulsating floors, my body absorbed the euphonious melodies exerted through the souls of four humans on stage. I didn’t have to know them to understand their message. I was engulfed by the endearing arms wrapped around me and the divine music surrounding me. For a moment, in an unbeknownst city and in an insignificant room, I felt as if I were home. The home not yet resided, but known much by those settling, de-ja-vu-like instances of bliss that revive your spirit; because regardless of the fact that you haven’t quite made it home yet, you become captivated when allowed a glimpse of what it will be like when you do.


Eucalyptus and mint riveted the space I now call my own. It is borrowed, yet marked by my actions. I customized my space with glorious cries & peaceful lullabies, tossing around on my fluffy bed of white sheets and pillows. Ribbons of green tea aroma untied on my nightstand as I immersed myself into the warmth of my blankets. Hints of my coconut-oiled skin were winking at my nostrils while my earthy damp hair left droplets onto my chest. I snuggled. I snuggled with the beauty of being alive. There was a hovering glory in knowing that I could’ve chosen to think I was alone or chosen to believe it was impossible to be so. I chose the latter. I chose truth. I am never alone. You are never alone. Darkness has no real substance.

zichra livracha

“Her memory for a blessing”
in Hebrew

Sensations to the Thalamus combine over time into one single experience.
For my memory to be blessed and to bless others
and to elevate the potentiation of long-term encoding,
I shall write one single experience from each day.

to one window pane
of my brain.