city speaks

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i love me a good city.

i love me a good city stroll, even more.

i really, really do.

how the sounds crack me open and echo the noise in my mind.

how the smells speak to me in story and reach down deep into the gut of familiarity. people and potion and worlds being formed.

i love a good story.

the sights. the visual poetry of a city’s body. how they shape every edge and space and the known and unknown.

i like good poems, too.
and getting lost.

i kind of crave it.

there is a strange comfort in losing my way or not knowing which train to take.

i like how it forces me to reach out. or in.

whichever way.

they both lead me to the same place as long as i am checking in with intuition along the route.

sometimes i ask a stranger, “am i going the right way?”

other times i like to experiment with solely relying on my own internal compass…”what is she saying to me right now?”

mostly. it is just about the walking.

the pounding of cement and story and questions from the feet into the tissue and the muscle and the rhythm. the walking. the journey home.

in circle, really.

life is like that, you know? one big circular walk about.

always returning.

it’s human to get lost along the way.

it’s normal to have to make u-turns.

i’m beginning to believe that what we are really here to do is experience the treasures that sit right beside the lostness. it’s learning how to collect them without CLUTCHING them.

discovering how we can tuck them into the pockets of our hearts while still letting them go.

we can receive the serendipitous messages like arrows straight through the questions (and really…this is how cities speak to us, i have learned. there is serendipity EVERYWHERE. impossible to ignore)

we can look up and see the small bright butterfly with orange on her wings flying just above with the skyline in the backdrop.

in this moment, you will know her orbit is ONLY for you in the very moment you looked up.
she is there to fiercely remind you of perfect timing and how the universe will not allow you to miss those moments.

it’s in all the lovers you pass who are saying goodbye at the door of their apartment buildings and how he just doesn’t want to kiss her for the last time. so, he keeps kissing her. again and again and again. and how she smiles and how he holds her face in his hands and how it is holy…to witness that love.

or the mom pushing her toddler on the swing and how you witness that she is her own person but how she shows up so beautifully present for this child. heart and feet and soul and light. all there. and how her daughter laughs and squeals and how you want to burst with the beauty. just because it is so full…that single, solitary moment. it is so full of rich life. of big feeling and becoming.

there is some kind of truest true that happens within me each time i plant my feet onto new ground where i haven’t really been before.

how the foreign and unfamiliar brings me back.



every time.




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