He messaged late, years folded into one line— I’ll buy you a drink. And I went, not knowing what would rise from the dust of old silence. We stayed out too long, laughing like we hadn’t bled, like grief hadn’t carved its initials into our ribs. We wore the night like denim, soft from memory,…

The slammed door echoed through my office like a thunderclap. It wasn’t just noise—it was grief, hunger, and something no one had words for. Today, the classroom felt less like a learning space and more like a storm shelter. The students arrived agitated, dysregulated, and empty—not just emotionally, but physically. Some hadn’t eaten. One left…

Today I was witness to my son’s grief. He bore deep empathy, not just for the pain of ducklings that were run over but for the mother’s confusion and loss-such a testament to the beautiful man he is growing to be and the kind of heart he carries with him.  This was not just a…

“Inside the storm: where neurons misfire and silence becomes sacred. A migraine isn’t just pain—it’s the body’s cry for stillness, for dim light, for deep listening.” There are days when my body speaks in pulses and shadows. Migraine isn’t just a headache, it’s a full-body shutdown. A neurological storm that floods my senses, dims my…

I do not wait in silence I listen with a heart uncurled, soft as seafoam, strong as stone that’s weathered every tide. I reach, not to be claimed, but to honor the truth I carry a flame that flickers gently, never needing another’s wind to burn. I swim through disorientation, tea steam rising like breath…

I thought it was enough not to drink or use drugs to solve problems like my family. I waited with abated breath for the time that the dreaded darkness would come and pull me into that life. It never came, but what I was left with was emptiness, not knowing how to love myself, not…

Tonight, the sky broke open. Not with invitation, but with a roar.A wild percussion against the longing in my chest.I had planned to swimto let the water hold me the way it always does,cool and clear,a place where my thoughts dissolveand my breath becomes rhythm. But Perth had other plans.A thunderstorm rolled in,winds howling through…

To work in a place where the tree canopy stretches wide like an emerald cathedral roof, filtering golden morning light into dappled mosaics across the sacred Boodjar. Not mere soil, but ancient ground, rich with memory, spirit, and quiet ancestral breath. Each leaf sways with purpose, whispering secrets of six seasons and serenity. Beneath this…