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The Healing Power of Writing

Hi! Welcome to the Joy of Miracles.

To write is to uncover, to unhide, to bring to light, and express what is within. To share is the end of all private thoughts, all shame, all guilt, all pain and separation. Here is all Joy found at last! Writing helps us to repeat, focus, choose, and remember ideas. The purpose of this writing is healing for all of us.

This blog is inspired by "A Course in Miracles"and The Work of Byron Katie. You are invited to share your comments by clicking on the word "comment" at the end of each post. If you scroll way down there's a little info about me and also an archive of past writing you can view by clicking on the title. Thanks so much for visiting...

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Thursday, September 17, 2015


i love the heavenly justice of it all,
when you slow it down
to nanoseconds,
is it possible
to find a crime?

a thought
is believed...

It's not possible
for you to not believe
what you believe
in the moment you are
believing it.


Here is all innocence.
There is no evil.

Reality is always kinder
than the story you tell about it.

eyes don't see

is your dreaming kind
and generous?

what if you let your people
out of their cages
and off your leash

and trusted them enough
to run their own life?

stepping back,
out of molds

losing forms
that were never meant
to be solid

taking off the corset,
how good it feels--
the breeze can once again
make love with bare skin

stepping back,
so much softer
and inclusive,

the "sounds"
all "Here"

in our dreams at night
is proof
that ears don't hear,
eyes don't see,
skin doesn't feel,
and mouths don't eat

and even people/bodies
do not exist...except as images

let me be still
and notice

what is it
that "hears"?
what is it
that imagines?
and where?

Monday, September 14, 2015


in the words of the wise king,
if you let the paupers speak
they will fill their own hearts

if you embrace their misery,
She will rise.
when she is heard.

the alchemy of

the healing of
being seen,
looked directly at--

to look in the eye,
meet face to face
every detail of hell

now it's power is gone,
without imagination


always kinder
than the story

oh! maybe it wasn't hell
after all...

Saturday, September 12, 2015

she gives

She gives and gives and gives and gives and gives
and gives and gives and gives and gives and gives
and gives.


she gives when you aren't looking,
she gives when you don't care,
she gives when you are frightened
and filled with despair

she gives without a paycheck,
she gives without a whip
she gives without a back rub
she gives without a thank you

she gifts and gifts and gifts and gifts
and never asks for return,

she burns and burns and burns,
and even in the the burning
she only gives more gifts,
the carbon,  ash,
the open meadow
now cleared for sun
and seeds

she gushes as the river,
meanders as the stream
she gives and gives
and never stops
to pause and think about if
she should
or shouldn't
or who "deserves it"
or if they've earned "their share"

and out,
no divider between

true nature,
gives and gives and gives and gives...

no forcing, no twisting, no coercion or "reward"

"The only thing ever lacking
in any situation is what you
are not giving."

A Course in Miracles

(photo: sunlight streaming through blue water bottle on to greeting card and kitchen counter)

if you only stop insisting...

if only you would
stop insisting you are separate
day and night and day and night

without your insistence




in every instant,
every shape,
any form

alone or together,
rich or poor,
all elevations
and topography

without your constant insistence
that your rights have been ransacked,

no time
or space
you don't flow,

no need to switch routes,
to go around,
to detour

like a child
you are comfortable
inside a bush
with colored markers
all over your face

no space too small,
no position to low,
nor too high
(ride those clouds!)

absolute putty,
willing, able
and as subtle
as the breeze
gently caressing
the leaves and branches

does the wind really have a preference--
whirling tornado
or the gentlest of breezes on your baby's cheek?

pounding my fists on the table,
the raindrops pelting the petals of the rose...

is my name.

if you only stop insisting...
it is not

it's not about...

it's not about doing,
it's about resting

it's not about be-coming,
it's about leaving hold
of the territory,
the familiar,
the known,
the cozy comfort,

the crutch
that HIDES

your gravitylessness,
your weightlessness,
your burden-free essence

the path of
no resistance

without "i know"
where is the price tag?

you cannot lose
what you have not placed value on,
what you have not invested in

it's about un-investing,

and simply


Friday, September 11, 2015

self cleaning...

Situation: someone unsubscribed from my email list this morning.
"She rejected the truth."
TA: She didn't reject the truth.
She rejected her story of (my) "truth".

Only certain people
can hear you

they don't reject you,
they don't hear you,
no receptor,
there's static,
it does not make sense to them,
it's not sane in their world view

so they hook up
with who they can hear
where they can meet,
understand and share
their world view/story

it's so perfect,
like a puzzle
it all fits together
the way it does

if you are an outside edge piece
you are not supposed to hook up
with the center piece

so kind
how nature fits together,
no forcing,
no editing,
no censoring

if it's not right for you,
it doesn't fit,
so beautiful
this natural

you never need to decide

people stay or leave

thank (God/Reality)
the Way is always
clearing out
clearing out
clearing out

and showing up
showing up
showing up

nothing i can do about it

nothing you can do

there's nothing you can do
to not be connected

there's nothing you can do
to be connected

the story of "lonely"
is a story, for sure

there's only this multi-faceted task force
leading you astray,
take that road,
go this way,
go up higher now,
no, no reach below it,
do the hokey-pokey now
jingle jangle

all the while
you never move
one step
away from who you are,
or where you are,
or what you are,

no thing

just my 'imagination
runnin' away with "me"!


the watcher
of the story,
the falling star

is there anything more beautiful
than watching your child
dart across the sky?

there's no reason
to worry, dear

there's no reason
to hurry, dear

just watch
the embers

no harm is possible


there is nothing you can
ever do
to be
what you forever are

Tuesday, September 8, 2015

when the floor drops out

when the floor drops out,
the depth is endless,

nothing to stop your fall,
no way to hit bottom

once you have expanded
beyond Mars and Venus,
nothing left
to hold you in,
you can never again fit
into that tiny keyhole


falling in heaven's arms

there is no ground to stand on,
and you don't need any ground
to stand on

you have sought everywhere
it is not,
but you can only fall
into it

the absence of effort
can never be found by
more effort

looking to the ego
for freedom from it
is like looking to oil companies
for oil-free solutions

off the grid

when the bottom drops out,
when it doesn't go
the way you wanted,
it's not supposed to

it's supposed to
cut the strings
that bind you,

it's supposed to
set you free

when the floor

Monday, September 7, 2015

no lie

a mirror doesn't lie,
look at you!

beyond gentle,
no words to convey
the stained glass "leaves"(?)

oh no no no
what infinity can this
little scribble hold

the word "life"
so very lacking
to hold...

on my knees
before you,
this "bush"

the idea of talking--
that it can hold "truth"

don't be fooled by your
thoughts about things,
somebody else's "labels",

just spend one minute
with a living, breathing,
wafting, floating just born, born, born

so incredibly sensitive

and you will never believe
it to be a "bush"



Sunday, September 6, 2015

not just for kids

cedar shingles,
the prickles of pine needles,
oh the scent,
oh the scents
of earth
and every manner of humanity
and non
carried in the mist

for free!

do we deprive us?

kids play in the sand
and mud and water and bubbles,
and raisins and peanuts and pretzels, even

we play with our food
before we come to cramming it in,
focusing on the next, the next, the next,
more novocaine, please!

when was the last time
you really felt the soft wet grass,
the sun warmed grit of concrete,
the smooth cold marble,
the soapy lather
with the palms and fingers
on the end of your legs?

some people actually eat
with their toes

when was the last time
you stroked the feathers of a bird?

Facebook cannot give you,
typing cannot give you,
what a hand holding a pen
moving across a paper...

what fingers squishing clay,
or weaving baskets
or a hug...

right now,
simply squeeze your arm--
feel the satin skin,
the silky hairs

take her out
to breathe
the scents

is not just for kids,

play is not just for kids

is not just for toddlers

where are your crayons,
scissors and paste?

joy is play
joy is natural
joy is free
joy is connection
joy flows

joy is easy

completely free


it's not popular

it's not popular to smile on death,
it is one law that most (not all) cultures agree on

but who
in all honesty,
who looks deeply
and with sincerity

can find any loss, any harm in death
for "the one who has died"?

isn't it the survivor,
(your own feelings)
who  suffers,

whose joy is veiled
and available?

isn't is solely the survivor's happiness
(identity) that has been seen
to be threatened?

how can i live in a world like this--
(the one in my head),
the one of my own making,
the one of "innocent victims"?

how can i live with my own guilt?
look what "I" am missing!

can I really know
better than reality?

can I really know
that the highest good of the whole
is for everyone to live until they are 95 years old?
Can I know it is better for them to die of disease
or a car accident or suicide or war or painlessly in their sleep?

can I really know that children should not die?

and look what I miss...
the brilliance of the life lived,
the brilliant light
of a few years!

who says,
who, please tell me who,
is it
that can see so far and wide
and in all times and in every situation
the perfect time and method to die?

is it really possible
that reality is "off"?

let me give thanks for every instant
of Love received,
the timeless Love
that cannot end with death

let my heart be overflowing with the gifts,
the lessons received,
that continue to reveal themselves

let me honor the life lived
and the death

let me smile
as i realize
"what does it take
to wake me up"?

as i realize
what a powerful Teacher
death is...

thank you

if anyone is offended or outraged by this,
i understand.
if it sounds cold and heartless,
i understand

I see the image of the little boy on the beach,
I see the image of my son dead on the bed from suicide,
I have looked long and deeply
Aaron would be 29 on Sept 8.

I am not saying "do nothing".
I am saying
Love is the power
(and don't believe me, test it :-)

Love to all of us.

it's not popular to smile at death...
and just notice it's not real popular
(for the ego) to smile on life either

Saturday, September 5, 2015

why, oh why?

she sat by the gate,
tears streaming down her face,
"why, God, why
didn't you bring him home?"

and it got so quiet
and so large

all her edges expanded
and disappeared

she got so big,
so very big

she encompassed
the whole world
and the stars
and the moon
after moon
after moon

vaster and vaster
and there was no end
to the encompassing

there was no edge
to any of it

and she understood:
he was there too

there was no way
he could ever leave,
no way anyone
could ever leave
the Infinite

and her Heart flooded
and opened
to every ant,
every blade of grass,
every fallen leaf

for it was her very Self

and she sat by the gate
tears of joy
streaming down Her Face,

thank you,
thank you,
for bringing me Home

Tuesday, September 1, 2015



hovering now
out of body
over that experience

time standing still,
see you there,
see her,

the tears
the confused child...

see how all she wants,
all she ever really wanted
is a hug
and a kiss
and to sit
on your lap awhile...

a rest

see the innocence?

is there anything at all
you would possibly
convict her for--

is it really a crime
to want a hug?
to call out for Love!
for Help!


did you ever notice
that your real "ear"
is smack dab
in the center
of your H-ear-t?


can you hear
the melody
this time?


is the space
in which mountains move...

the barge
carrying a million people, cars, and homes
is no obstacle

seen once
as enemy,
its harmlessness,
the 'ropeness' of it,
empties armies of all its weapons,
bullets remain unpacked

used now
in sandbags,
holding the shore in place

there is nothing
cannot do

for wholeness
would exclude nothing
from itself

the heckler

the heckler,
the one in the office,
the one on the Facebook page,
the pesky fly who is there
just as you are about to bite
into that sweet, juicy watermelon...

her words,
but jewels
spilling from her lips

diamonds sparkling
in the sun

gold coins,

the hidden camera
to show you
what you've never seen before
about your self

behind the scenes
behind your defenses

the most valuable prize,
even prior to your awareness
of its need

completely free

what an amazingly
rich and friendly

About Me

My photo
I have been a student of A Course in Miracles since 1986. It has helped me tremendously to be a happier person by helping me change my perception of everything. I have found writing to be very helpful in the process of practicing, experiencing, and living the ideas in the Course. In 2006 I started sharing inspiration from the Course with a friend. Now it is a joy to share it with everyone. In 2009, The Work of Byron Katie found me at a woman's group. The Work is a way to identify and question your stressfuI beliefs. I dove right in and in April 2013 became a Certified Facilitator of The Work of Byron Katie. I work with people privately and offer online classes. Please visit for more information. I also still occasionally lead the 11am Sunday Gathering at the Rocky Mountain Miracles Center in Denver. For more information


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