We spent countless hours chanting Divine Office, fingering our beads, and otherwise on our knees as nuns. The theme of our lives was primarily about bridging the distance between God and our mere mortal selves.

That was decades ago,

and still it has taken me years to remember that I am indeed that God, 

. . . .and that’s it’s not about me trying to convince a distant deity that I’m worthy.

. . . .Nor is it about me overcoming my sins or otherwise making a good impression on God.

It’s about me accepting that I am God and have been creating my own dreams. It’s trusting what I create. Moment, by moment, by moment.


“You cannot escape from yourself. No matter what, no matter where, you are always yourself. And this self is a moment. This self is awareness. This is who you really are, always and everywhere present.” – Jon Schreiber-




I forget how NOW I must be in order to find happiness.

Now, not the past.

Now, not the future.





Who am I ?

who am I -cc

I don’t have wings today. My spirit sags with the weight of gathering clouds. I’ve lost myself. Which takes me back inside those heavy stone walls of the convent, where I fall into anonymity again. Where we supposedly melded ourselves into one smooth-running machine,

in order to better serve the Lord.

Where. . . .am I headed now?

Am I too late . . .?

Who. . . in the world . . . .am I

I ask again. . .



Here’s how sky looked like last night after too many rain-soaked days. There was no rainbow, but sky sang her lullaby in similar tones.

I remember rain in the convent.

If I wanted to hear it, I had to climb the stairs all the way to the fifth floor and then take the steps to the attic, where there was nothing but roof between me and the storm. The attic was also a place where I could usually count on being completely alone. A rarity. There, amid the trunks and empty suitcases that stood in neat rows beneath the slanted eaves, I sat and listened. It seemed sacred to me. It’s rhythmic pitter-patter stilled me and was the closest I ever thought I would come to hearing the Voice of God.


The buds have begun to form on the bush beside our deck

And I render them in soft lavenders and blues,

 as I would like to transform my often harsh, cold thoughts.

Though I work hard at allowing the budding of Divinity within my own stark human self, I forget. I fall back into a habitual, 3-dimensional view of the world. A simple change of focus from worry to gratitude liberates me from this self-imposed prison.

For too many years in habit and veil and from behind convent walls, my individuality was squeezed right out of me.  I  believed myself unworthy.

I continue learning how to open and soften to my own sweet and very deserving self

in spite of being expected to do otherwise.

Being Different

“I finally know the difference between pleasing and loving, obeying and respecting. It has taken me so many years to be okay with being different, and with being this alive, this intense. (xxvi)” 
― Eve EnslerI am an Emotional Creature: The Secret Life of Girls Around the World

I’ve always felt different. Which feels like being lost. . behind convent walls, an anonymous presence among nuns. Dressed alike, we were often compared to a flock of Penguins.

Even so, I’ve always felt different.

Now, late in my life, I’m at peace with my oddities–even glad I do not always fit in. There’s a peace inside me when I look in the mirror and see blue eyes looking back at me. 

I finally love me. 

Mother Earth

In the convent, I prayed to God-The-Father and Jesus mostly. Then there was Mary, the distant Virgin. Since I left, I’ve returned to my more ancient roots and especially to . . .Mother Earth. 




The Blanket around Her


maybe it is her birth

which she holds close to herself  

 or her death   

which is just as inseparable  

and the white wind 

that encircles her is a part  

just as  

the blue sky  

hanging in turquoise from her neck  


oh woman  

remember who you are   


it is the whole earth.”


        Joy Harjo