Blog
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waiting to meet me
Sometimes, maybe when I’ve been exposed to beauty, I feel such an aching fullness. A hope. Thick and real. Like something sticky and fleeting like it’s dripping through your fingers, and you can’t quite hold it but some of the residue is left on your hand. Driving through Roses Valley- all the doors. Metal with
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stepping off the path
So, while I’ve thought this blog and this homecoming is about a return to Morocco…a place that grabbed my soul and hasn’t loosened its grip since I met her, I think the bigger thing happening is a homecoming to myself. I have no idea what I’m doing or what will happen. I put everything I
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tea
Six men sitting on a blanket at the base of a sand dune in the Sahara Desert. Just after sunset when the light is still bruised. A fire pit of coals dug into the sand to make tea. Here. In the middle of nowhere. But everywhere is somewhere and this is just my middle of
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dangerous travel
I think we’ve been taught, collectively, that travel is sort of dangerous. There are warnings. Travel advisories. And I think it’s true that it can be dangerous, but not in the way the state department warns us. We go experience new places, have our minds expanded, horizons broadened. Come home with new perspectives and friendships. But
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the pod
Written in Morocco January 2024 on a six-week trip Before I left for Morocco for what feels like the big time. The long time. The what am I doing with my life time. I talked to Jacque, as I like to call her now: my intuitive. She didn’t have much to say this time. The
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unstitched
I don’t have a way to explain this place. It’s part of me. Like it was born of my soul or my soul from it. It’s grand and vast and full of stars and wind and pieces of a home I once knew. I feel like I want to open my mouth and fill it