Category Archives: Writing

Monday Music Notes

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Happy Monday to y’all! It was my birthday last Saturday, which means I’m another decade older 😳 It was a quiet day spent doing some of the things I love most: listening to music, making art, and drinking coffee, lol! I headed to one of my favorite coffee spots, Reinne’s Place, on Retro Row in Long Beach. It’s a local favorite, especially within the Filipino community. The owner experienced a profound loss, and the coffee shop was born from that grief. Seriously, some of the best coffee in LB. And right next door is San & Wolves Bakeshop, a Filipino bakery that makes a variety of irresistible treats. They were down in Orange County at a huge festival, Daisy Chain, so I’ll have to wait until they reopen tomorrow to grab my bakery fix!

I visited my daughter in Hollywood on Sunday, and she baked me a homemade pot pie. Delish! It was altogether a quiet birthday, as my birthdays have been for the past couple of years.

I also facilitated my first sound bath, a Sturgeon Full Moon Sound Journey, on Friday night. There were eight attendees, including a good friend and former coworker, as well as a former student. I was thrilled to see them both! It was hot, unfortunately, but other than that, I think it went pretty well. Sound therapy is still very new to my skill set, so there’s obviously room for improvement. I’m learning with each experience and will keep honing my skills along the way.

I think the highlight of my weekend was listening to Turnstile. A guy I knew a couple of years ago introduced me to them, and I’ve been hooked ever since. They’ve been redefining the boundaries of modern heavy music, successfully bridging the gap between traditional punk and mainstream alternative rock. Seriously, if you don’t get up and groove when listening to their music, there’s something amiss! 😂

The songs currently on repeat are Seeing Stars, Birds, and Slowdive from Never Enough: Versions (Disc 2).

Turnstile is currently on tour, and they’ll be making their way to Southern California in October and November, playing a couple of different festivals. One is at the Observatory Festival Grounds in Orange County, and the other is Camp Flog Gnaw Carnival at Dodger Stadium in Los Angeles. I’m seriously considering going to the Orange County show. Tickets are already almost sold out! I’ll be in Taiwan visiting my birth family in November, so October may be my window. I’d be perfectly okay going solo, as none of my friends are really into hardcore punk, but we’ll see 😎

In the meantime, here’s a live performance so you can get a taste of what I’ve been listening to. Fair warning: you may find yourself getting up to groove 😉 I know I do!

What music are you listening to these days? Leave a comment and let me know! 🎶

Blackout and Birds performed live at Lowlands 2026

a whisper away

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my mother used to tell me
not to wish time away

when I was a young girl,

and yet, I find myself wishing
for the next time
that you are near.

I steal long glances,
gazing upon your sunkissed face
when you look away,
tracing the lines ’round your eyes
with mine.

the cadence of your voice is
etched to memory.

I count the days since our last encounter
like a metronome
beating time till our next.

and everything I dare not say aloud
lies hidden in this hollow heart,
a whisper away from hope.

This poem belongs in the realm of imagination. Mine appears very committed to a good story, and I may be a bit of a hopeless romantic.

Classic 🎶

the space between

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in the space between

lies possibility,

a vortex of dreams and desires

swirling round and through me,

leading me to the chase

here, I leave the past behind,

like ember to ash,

curiosity burning,

a mysterious spark

set aflame by the

beating of my heart

I will flow with the chase,

make it mine,

its ebb and flow in sync

with the knowing of my heart

and faith that Divine Timing

is everything

I am Time and Time is me

and nothing is impossible

M. Buck

The End Where We Start by The Black Queen felt so aligned with this writing.

Photo by Mads Schmidt Rasmussen on Unsplash

The Girl Who Found RUSH

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There wasn’t much room in my friend’s tiny Pinto, but somehow we all squeezed in. We were teenagers, high, laughing, and on our way to see RUSH at the Hirsch Memorial Coliseum. I don’t remember exactly what we talked about on the way there. I mostly remember the feel of it: being young and free, surrounded by friends, the anticipation of the concert ahead. For a few hours, nothing but laughter and silliness. We were just a group of kids who loved music.

RUSH was the first band I ever saw in concert. I was in high school at the time, an unlikely fan of a band whose music was probably more complicated than any other band I followed at the time. But something about RUSH drew me in. I’m certain it was more than just the music itself that resonated.

My friends and I were in marching band together. We were a raucous group of kids, and our band director had a difficult time getting the entire class to settle down, yet we were a top marching band. I loved music, but hated marching band. For one thing, girls weren’t permitted to wear makeup, which was nothing short of a tragedy to my teenage self.

My adoptive mom forced me to be in marching band after I casually told her that the band director invited me. I wanted to be a cheerleader. That, of course, was not to be. Band, despite being geeky, was where I eventually found my tribe.

Most of my friends, growing up in Bossier City, Louisiana, were white. I was not. In Junior High, I desperately wanted to be part of a popular group of girls, most of whom were white. For a while, they seemed to accept me. Then one day, I was told to find another group to hang out with. That stung. At the time, I didn’t understand why I had been pushed out, or consider that race may have had anything to do with it. The girl who seemed to lead the group was of mixed race and very popular, which made the racial exclusion even harder for my younger self to understand.

My band friends were white. I knew that. Race was never something we ever talked about, nor did anyone else. Growing up as a Taiwanese adoptee (although I was told I was Japanese and Vietnamese at the time) meant that I was often aware of difference in ways that I could not articulate. But with these friends, something happened that I didn’t fully understand then. They seemed to look beyond the obvious differences between us. We were simply kids in band together who shared a love of music and partying, and that felt safe.

Then there was 2112.

Exit Stage Left was the first RUSH album I owned. Of course, Tom Sawyer and Limelight were my favorites. My love of RUSH, and one of my band friends, led me to 2112. I must have listened to that album a million times over.

The story of 2112 is about individuality versus conformity. The protagnist discovers a forbidden musical instrument in a society that has eliminated music and individuality. The discovery awakens something in him that doesn’t fit the world in which he exists. I think something around the nonconformity was part of what drew me into the album so deeply.

Though I was in marching band, which was ostensibly about music, I hated being forced into it and the expectations that came with it. I was being told, in small and big ways, who I should be and how I should present myself. Then I found RUSH, a band whose music was expansive, strange, rebellious, and completely unconcerned with fitting into the expected mold.

In the music, I didn’t need to explain myself. My friends could not share my experience of being a Taiwanese adoptee or what it was like growing up racially different from the people around me. And yet, they saw me. We liked the same music. We laughed a lot together. We crammed into a tiny Pinto. For a confused teenage girl who carried an awareness of being different without having much language for it, their friendship was profoundly meaningful.

Sometimes belonging doesn’t come from people who are just like us. Sometimes it comes from finding people with whom we can simply be ourselves, without having to work so hard to fit in.

Belonging is messy and sometimes partial. What I know about RUSH, beyond the fact that they remain one of my favorite bands, is that their music gave me an escape from a messy, racially complicated adolescence. For a spell, I didn’t need to figure it all out. I could listen to the music, share thoughts about it with my friends, and feel like I belonged.

And I’d cram back into that Pinto with that group of friends any day.

If you haven’t listened to RUSH 2112, it’s a trip. Here’s the opening track, 2112: Overture…

Outsider Within

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It’s been an interesting week. I’ve been quietly building my sound therapy and psychotherapy practices while planning for events later this month and into September. On Monday, I met with a new client. As I settled into the session, something felt different. The office, though aesthetically beautiful, is shared with other practitioners and didn’t quite feel like mine. The familiar structure I’d become accustomed to was gone. I was left with an unsettling sense that something was missing. Perhaps it was a version of myself that is still shedding.

Despite the excitement of building something brand new and connecting with a new collective of practitioners, I’ve found myself feeling lonely. Perhaps it’s the strange paradox of being someone who deeply values solitude while still longing for connection. Maybe this is an invitation to open myself up to different kinds of connection. It’s curious how you can be surrounded by people, immersed in relationships, and still feel profoundly disconnected. It’s like being an outsider within. I’ve known that feeling since childhood and spent much of my life overcompensating for it. Now that I’m older, I don’t care so much about being the social butterfly. Still, there’s something deeply human about wanting to feel connected.

What I’m learning in this season of transition is that I do my best work in solitude, and music appears to be my muse. Oddly enough, it has taken me this long to realize that listening to music is what awakens my own creativity. There are a few songs I’ve been living inside this week. I’m realizing that creativity energizes me. It’s like air. Without it, I shrink.

A couple of songs that have inspired me are Wolf Alice’s new cover of Hammond Song and Visions Of A Life from their 2017 album of the same name. On Hammond Song, guest vocalists Julia Cumming of Sunflower Bean and Canadian singer-songwriter, Bria Salmena, join lead vocalist Ellie Rowsell. OMG, why have I never heard of Wolf Alice until now? The rawness and expansiveness of their sound immediately drew me in on my first listen of Hammond Song, This led me to revisit The Roches’ original version and the albums and songs I grew to love in the 90’s.

I love the way that Wolf Alice moves between intensity and vulnerability, from the ferocity of their punk and grunge to dream pop and folk songs that feel vulnerable and transportive. Visions Of A Life in particular struck a chord deep within. There’s a sharp edge to it that feels chaotic and alive. It reminds me that creativity is not always a quiet, gentle process. Sometimes it comes crashing in with grit, noise, and a bit of chaos.

I’ve also revisited Kalandra’s album, Mørketid. The first song, Mitt Hjerte Alltid Vanker, feels so austere, mysterious, evocative, and bold. I learned that the song is based on a Scandanavian Yule hymn. The artists reshaped the traditional song by rooting the lyrics deeply in seasonal nature and childhood memories. It evokes feelings of winter longing and the quiet nature of the darker months.

Perhaps that is why I’m so drawn to the song. I prefer Fall and Winter and seem to come alive during these seasons, as though I’m emerging from my own kind of hibernation. The song takes me to a place of reverence and vulnerability where I find myself confronting my shadow. We all have one, yet often suppress the parts of ourselves that feel uncomfortable or difficult to embrace. My fears, my old wounds, my hidden impulses are there, asking not to be rejected, but witnessed.

I recently read that light cannot exist without shadow, and shadow cannot exist without light. I’m learning that their is beauty in shadow, too, not just the light. Shadow makes me braver, more resilient, more confident. There is beauty in that even when the process is painful.

I love that music makes me feel so much, that it awakens something in me. Sometimes it guides me toward pain and shadow; other times toward immense joy and light. Music has a way of alchemizing all these parts of me, a reminder that shadow and light do indeed coexist. Most of all, I surrender. In a world that can often feel isolating, I am held by something larger than myself. And somehow, I find my way forward.

Visions Of A Life by Wolf Alice. Live version, 2018. Epic 🤘 Lyrics here.

Mitt Hjerte Alltid Vanker by Kalandra, lyrics included 🖤 The ending of the song is especially beautiful.

Photo by Vasi on Unsplash

Quiet Listening

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Yesterday was one of those days. One part chaos, one part overwhelm, and before I knew it, frustration gave way to deep sadness. My tarot reading reflected a sense of heaviness before my day even began. I reached for a deck I haven’t worked with in quite some time, one I usually reserve for the autumn season, yet yesterday morning she seemed to call to me. After sitting with the reading for a few minutes, its message became clearer yet I still had a hard time embracing it. She’s an honest deck, one that doesn’t soften the truth, and perhaps I wasn’t quite prepared for what she had to say.

In any case, I moved through the day as usual — morning coffee, quiet ritual, and then the arduous process of setting up my sound equipment to record another mini sound journey for social media. Well… let’s just say things unraveled from there.

After hours of troubleshooting, I think I’ve identified at least part of the problem. I may need a higher quality condenser microphone, along with a much better understanding of audio mixing. The microphone I purchased, after much research and deliberation, is at best mid-range. My sound therapy mentor recommended a far more expensive model, one I probably should have waited and saved for. I finally got everything connected correctly, hit record, cautiously optimistic, and when I played the finished recording back… it sounded awful.

When I record, I have to wear headphones because no sound comes through the speakers directly during the recording process. Through the headphones, everything sounds one way. But once I export the recording as an MP3, it’s a completely different story — louder, filled with static in the background, and completely unlistenable. That the sound itself was louder, however, meant the microphone wasn’t necessarily the problem. More likely, it’s my lack of knowledge around audio mixing.

Ugh. I had convinced myself this would be easy because I’d produced a podcast years ago. Then I remembered something I’d conveniently forgotten — editing those episodes was painstaking work. This is more difficult than producing a podcast by far with my singing bowls strewn all over my tiny space floor and barely enough room to walk without knocking one over!

By late afternoon, I decided to call it quits. Every one of my 18 singing bowls, both crystal and Tibetan, had found its way onto the floor. I tiptoed carefully through my tiny space, mindful not to knock one over. A couple of months ago, I accidentally chipped one of my clear crystal bowls after clipping it as I stood up from the couch! Ouch, the whole set was a major investment.

Instead, I surrendered. I snuck into bed and took a long afternoon nap, something highly uncharacteristic for me. My body had been talking all day. I had simply been too distracted to listen. It wasn’t asking me to solve another damn problem. It was asking for rest.

I’m trying, with great difficulty, to slow down every day. To listen to my body. To trust my intuition. To spend less and less time on social media and to loosen the grip of pressure and expectation that the world seems to demand. It’s a daily practice. Some days it feels nearly impossible.

When I turn inward, I realize that I’m still deeply fatigued. Even small amounts of stress pull me back into the nervous system dysregulation that has shaped so much of my life. How can I invite others into rest if I haven’t fully embraced it myself? There’s no way around that truth. I must first tend to myself.

Yet I still can’t seem to escape the feeling of living inside a pressure cooker. The world is simply too loud. Notifications. Expectations. Constant urgency. Even my new neighbor’s child (one of three), whose daily tantrums spill through the walls, has become another reminder of how desperately I long for quiet.

I can’t escape the world around me. But I can control how I choose to connect with it. I’m still learning new ways to pause, be still, listen deeply, and be at peace with not accomplishing everything I think I should. For years, it’s felt like I’ve carried the weight of the world on my shoulders. These days, I’m seeking something radically different — more quiet, less noise, and the simple practice of being.

It’s a daily commitment, one I fall short of with some frequency. Perhaps that’s the practice.

May your day hold a little less noise, a little more joy, and moments of harmony that remind you to listen inward.

Photo by Kinga Howard on Unsplash

Summertime

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What is it about summertime that takes me back to my youth?

The older I get, the more aware I become that there are fewer summers ahead than behind me. There’s a Portuguese word for this feeling: saudade. It describes a deep, melancholic longing for a person, a place, or even a version of yourself that is gone and may never return. It’s the bittersweet ache of being grateful the past existed while quietly mourning that it’s gone.

I can actually feel the word saudade. It’s a sensation that settles somewhere between my heart, my throat, and my belly.

There’s also senescence, but hell, saudade sounds a whole lot sexier 🤣

Summers were uncomfortably hot in the South. I grew up in Bossier City, Louisiana, where heat, humidity, mosquitos, and very large bugs were part of life. Yes, we had a bug zapper hanging from the metal canopy over our backyard patio.

I remember lying on the front lawn during my childhood, staring into an endless blue sky, picking dandelions just to blow their fluffy seeds into the wind. Every once in a while, I’d wander to the ditch behind our neighborhood, catching minnows, crawdads, and toads, all the while hoping my parents didn’t catch me; they strictly forbid going anywhere near the ditch.

Yep. That was childhood in Louisiana.

Summers were also for swimming, of course. I lived in a two-piece 😂 My parents had a pool built in our backyard, and the anticipation of finally being able to jump in felt like waiting for Christmas morning.

Ironically, once it was filled with water, I was terrified to jump in. I clung to the side of the pool until my mom enrolled me in swimming lessons at the local YMCA. How I hated those lessons. Swimming lap after lap felt like torture.

I became a strong swimmer though. You couldn’t keep me out of the water after that. There were countless afternoons and pool parties with my girlfriends, our skin glistening with baby oil as we stretched out in the blazing Louisiana sun for hours. Back then, a tan was the goal. We had no idea we were collecting the sun damage we’d spend decades trying to undo.

Music has always been like a time capsule.

This morning I was listening to Fantasy by Aldo Nova. Some of you may be too young to know who he is, but hearing that song immediately transported me back to my youth. I have a classic rock soul, though I love other genres of music. (Country is probably my least favorite… although I did have a country music phase in the mid-2000s!)

There are a few artists who never fail to stir memories like Blue Öyster Cult, Red Rider, Robert Plant, The Police, Fleetwood Mac, Scorpions, Duran Duran, Adam Ant, Blondie, AC/DC, Night Ranger, Def Leppard, Van Halen, Styx, Eagles, Journey, Rush, Heart, April Wine, and Foreigner. I’m sure I’m forgetting a few, but you get the idea.

Certain songs are like time machines, carrying me back to who I was, where I was, and how I felt. My first heartbreak. Summertime freedom. The quiet, rebellious part of me that wouldn’t fully emerge until years later, after I stopped trying so hard to fit in. I was fortunate to grow up surrounded by unforgettable music, and those songs are like old friends whenever they find their way back to me.

I think certain songs mysteriously call out, wanting to be listened and paid attention to. Perhaps it’s my guides. Perhaps it’s my own intuition gently reminding me to sit with this feeling of saudade. To embrace getting older instead of resisting it.

I’ve lived a life filled with brilliant moments and profoundly painful ones, as we all have. And there’s still a part of me trying to make sense of it all, searching for meaning in the moments that hurt the most.

Until then, I’ll keep listening to the music that nourishes my heart and soul.

I hope you do the same.

Rock on🤘

a certain slant of adoption

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Howdy! I’m reblogging this post from exactly nine years ago today. As I reread it, a wave of thoughts, feelings, and emotions came forward all at once. It has been a long time since I’ve actively reflected on my own adoption, and yet I know it is always there, just beneath the surface.

I hope you’ll take a moment to read the post. My hope is that it offers a deeper understanding of the complexity of transnational (or international) and transracial adoption.

Hello folks! It’s Sunday morning, and the skies are gray in my lovely locale. Nevertheless, I’m enjoying the weekend, despite the clouds.

Today, I want to talk about adoption. Yes, that’s a given, but I have something more specific in mind.

For the past seven years, I have actively sought out and read blogs, books, scholarly research, adoptee forums, birth mother narratives, and adoptive parent spaces in search of connection, knowledge, resources, and validation. What I have found is a vast spectrum of perspectives on adoption, so many it feels impossible to neatly categorize them. The landscape is wide, varied, and deeply human, shaped by experience, identity, and lived reality.

As an international and transracial adoptee, my own perspective on adoption has continued to evolve. I don’t think it is uncommon for our views to shift as we experience personal growth and, for lack of a better term, mature. Adoptees often hold deeply personal perspectives on adoption, shaped by their own lived experiences, identities, and circumstances.

I’ve spoken with adult adoptees who are not particularly interested in connecting with their cultural roots or birth heritage, nor in searching for their birth families. Perhaps there is some curiosity, but not yet a compelling enough reason or desire to pursue that path. Other adoptees speak strongly against international adoption, and their concerns are often rooted in very real and painful experiences.

International adoption carries a complicated and, at times, troubling history. There are countless adoptees who were adopted through illegal or unethical practices, including cases where agencies and adoptive parents were aware that information had been falsified. These deeply harmful practices continue to occur in parts of the world today. The evidence exists, and while these realities are often difficult to confront, they cannot be ignored.

I have several friends who are adoptive parents and have adopted children internationally from China, India, Africa, Ethiopia, and Russia. They, too, hold strong and deeply personal perspectives on international adoption. At times, perhaps even often, my friends and I do not see eye to eye; nevertheless, we remain friends, and I value the ability to hold space for different experiences and viewpoints.

I strongly believe in family preservation and in expanding access to resources and support services that allow children to remain with their biological families whenever possible. As an adopted person, that belief is something I cannot look past. And yet, we live in a world where adoption continues to exist and thrive, even as international adoption has declined in many places.

At times, I feel conflicted because I carry my own complicated feelings about adoption while also supporting my friends and other adoptive parents. Ultimately, my deepest concern is the well-being of children, whether they are adopted or not.

What I particularly struggle with across the landscape of adoption is judgment and the way we judge one another based on our beliefs, experiences, and perspectives around international adoption. I know I have been judged for what I believe and support. I don’t necessarily like being judged; the word itself carries such a heavy weight. And yet, I also recognize that I judge others at times. It’s a part of being human. We all do it.

I cannot control what others think or say, but I can reflect on and take responsibility for my own thoughts, words, and actions.

I have moved through a wide range of emotions connected to my adoption and my identity as an international adoptee: from curiosity and awe, to anger and self-rejection, to grief, loss, and depression, and eventually toward acceptance. Like many adoptees, ignorance is one of the things that affects me most deeply. There is still so much misunderstanding surrounding international and transracial adoption, and people can say incredibly uninformed and hurtful things.

Sometimes I can laugh it off. Other times, I feel the anger rise and need to process it with a trusted friend or another adoptee who understands. There is something deeply healing and validating about sharing our stories and realizing we are not alone in these experiences.

And what about birth mothers? Of all those within the adoption constellation, their voices and stories are often the least heard. Yet I believe many have also experienced trauma, separation, grief, loss, and judgment.

Throughout history and across the world, there have been many cases where women were pressured or coerced into relinquishing their children, including in countries such as Australia and Brazil. In some instances, those children were later adopted by families or individuals from other countries.

Societal attitudes have often placed intense judgment and stigma on unwed or single pregnant women, leaving many with limited support, resources, and choices. Their experiences are an important part of the larger adoption conversation and deserve to be heard with compassion and honesty.

What do we make of all of this? I understand that I will be judged for what I say and do. That is part of life, and I can accept it, even when it feels painful.

There are many adoptees and others within the adoption community who hold strong voices and deeply held opinions about how things should be. What I cannot accept is bullying from those who believe everyone must share the same perspective or take the same stance.

Adoptees do not all share the same point of view. Likewise, adoptees, adoptive parents, and birth mothers each carry vastly different lived experiences. What is visible on the outside is not always reflective of what is held within.

I recognize that we may not always agree, but we can still strive to respect one another and honor our own personal, and often unmatched, journeys. We can also find ways to inform and listen to those who have not walked in our shoes. I speak here as one adoptee to another.

I hope to support you wherever you are in life and wherever your journey may lead. I believe that, collectively, we can create meaningful change. We can use our voices and lived experiences to help illuminate the path forward in adoption, especially those of us who have walked through this deeply complex and often painful process.

Blue Moon

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Hey y’all. If you haven’t heard yet, we’re in for a rare lunar treat this month 🌕 May is closing out with not one, but two full moons. The first arrived on May 1 with the full Flower Moon, and on May 31, the rare Blue Moon will rise.

This phenomenon only happens every two to three years, according to NASA. Additionally, this Blue Moon happens to be a micromoon, meaning the moon will be at its farthest point from Earth and may appear slightly smaller in the night sky.

Blue moons occur because the moon’s lunar cycle lasts about 29.5 days, while our calendar months stretch 30 to 31 days. Every two to three years, the timing aligns just right, giving us a full moon at both the beginning and end of a single month. Pretty magical, right?

And get this: bars across California, from LA to San Diego, are celebrating the occasion by serving blue-colored beer from Blue Moon Brewing Company in honor of this special moon. Right here in my own backyard, Panama Joe’s seems to be the hive for grabbing a pint of blue beer.

Spiritually, the Blue Moon is seen as a rare cosmic gift, a lunar moment believed to amplify our intentions and inner calling. According to Tea and Rosemary, this Blue Moon rises in Sagittarius opposite the Gemini Sun, illuminating our beliefs, personal truths, and deep hunger for freedom. Right on!

Sagittarius energy invites us to expand, explore, and aim higher. As they describe it, this may be one of the most adventurous and truth-revealing moons of the year. Here’s an invitation to turn inward and listen closely to what this rare Blue Moon may be bringing forth in you:

This moon will bring:

  • A surge of optimism and big picture vision
  • Revelation of deeply buried truths
  • A burning desire for authenticity (always)
  • Opportunities for travel, learning, or spiritual growth (I’m visiting MA & CO next month)

This moon asks:

  • What uncomfortable truths are becoming clear?
  • What outdated beliefs are you ready to release?
  • What adventure is calling you forward?

Great journal prompts for self-reflection!

Here are some Blue Moon activities:

  • Go for a night walk under the moonlight
  • Dance freely to upbeat music as an offering to the moon (Count me in!)
  • Burn a list of limiting beliefs in a sacred fire (or candlelight)
  • Bury a written wish at the base of a tree
  • Embark on a spontaneous adventure

So, people, take aim and point your arrow toward whatever sets your soul ablaze! But above all, take a moment to soak in the wonder of this rare Blue Moon. Cheers!

Piano One

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I’m slowly recovering from three years of burnout. Resting feels a bit like that maddening smoke alarm chirp — You know the batteries need changing, but you can’t figure out which damn alarm is sounding! Even rest feels strangely effortful — my nervous system translates stillness into threat. I used to tell my trauma clients that chronic restlessness and hypervigilance come from a hyperaroused nervous system, and any sound, interruption, or shift in the environment can register danger. Now, I’m living inside the very thing I taught others.

Yesterday morning, I had a doctor’s appointment. Actually, I’ve had multiple back-to-back medical appointments lately — all the things I’ve been putting off forever and am finally tending to. Not exactly a fun, restful time. The whole ordeal seemed to throw my day off, and I found it impossible to reconnect with my body afterward. So I forced, yes forced my way to the keyboard, and I sat and played for a couple of hours.

I purchased a used Korg D1 digital keyboard last weekend. Yesterday was the first day I played her since then. She’s absurdly heavy and currently occupies half my tiny kitchen. It felt a little heartbreaking to play, as I haven’t touched a piano in a long time. I started learning Human Nature by Michael Jackson and A Groovy Kind of Love by Phil Collins. The chord progressions were fairly easy to pick up.

I’m still waiting for an amp to arrive, since the only audio output right now is via headphones, which makes it difficult to listen closely to songs while figuring out chords. Still, it felt really good to sit at the keyboard again and improvise for a while. I tried not to be too self-critical. Eventually, I settled on learning Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence by Ryuichi Sakamoto. I have the sheet music. The piece is full of lush chords, sevenths, ninths, etc., larger than an octave that barely fit beneath my small hands, but I managed. It definitely needs practice; I’ll make a recording once the music feels more embodied.

I first heard Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence on the 1985 album, Piano One (Private Music-Japan) in college. The album quickly became a favorite that I listened to repeatedly. You must give it a listen! My favorite piece is The Housewife’s Song. I wasn’t able to find the album on Spotify, but came across it on YouTube, which I’ve linked below. As I write this post coffee in hand, I’m listening to it again. It brings me back to a younger version of myself — that dreamy, distant, always somewhere in the clouds girl.

While my digital keyboard is no baby grand, which I’m sadly trying to sell due to lack of space, it has a surprisingly rich sound for a digi instrument. It’ll have to do for now. I have two medical appointments today, inconveniently planted right in the middle of the freakin’ day, but I’ll find my way back to the keyboard after.

I’m trying to give myself permission to be exactly where I am — to slow down and enjoy playing simply for the sake of playing. It’s so easy for me to slip back into that performance mindset, obsessing over every phrase, nuance, breath, wanting each note polished, perfect. Jeez, it’s really hard not to be a perfectionist…

Deep to Deep

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I kept forgetting your name
and each time, you patiently reminded me
in that quiet, gentle manner of yours,
your smile held the softness of
someone who’d seen it all.

There was more to you, to your story,
a depth that echoed pain
and made me curious,
pulled at me.

The sadness in your eyes
mirrored my own, deep to deep,
like hunger burning to be witnessed.

And the guarded parts of me opened;
I wanted to ease that ache,
and in easing your ache,
mine was also honored.

May my affection find you
when you most need it,
around and around and back home again,
to a place where you feel most loved.

m. buck

—A Sunday morning poem about someone who became very dear to me ☕🌿 Mj

Rain Through Me

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The memory of you grows fainter
with each passing day,
your smile growing distant.

I cherish the way
the crinkles around your eyes
and mouth light me up,
yet that image is fading
like twilight into night.

I long to hear your laugh,
like the gentlest rainstorm
pouring through me.

Night stretches on;
an old weight gathers
beneath my ribs.

I hoped you’d always be
right by my side,
but nothing lasts forever, my love.

m. buck

A little poem I wrote last night about the one you miss. Mj

burning alive

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remember the first time
you brushed the hair back
from my eyes?
it was one of those fever-hot days last July

sand covered our bronzed, bare feet
you leaned into me, your kisses like heat;
i could barely breathe
we were burning alive

you were the blue,
always changing like the tide
born to love me with all the grace
of a blooming sunrise,
my morning star
we kept burning alive

sun and sand,
wind through the palms
we moved together,
in sweet surrender

day and night
i loved you for eternity,
my evening song
we burned through the night

m. buck

Photo by Storiès on Unsplash

Playlist

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One of my students recently gifted me Heart and The Carpenters LPs as a parting gift from the university, and I was genuinely moved. One day, we were talking about classic rock bands, and I casually mentioned how much I ❤️ Heart.

Lately, I’ve been completely re-obsessed with them. Bad Animals has been on repeat.

I’ve also been deeply into Madison Cunningham lately. If you haven’t listened to her, you absolutely should. She’s a musical genius and an incredible guitarist. What’s especially remarkable is that she was never formally trained — she learned from her father, who was apparently an exceptional guitarist himself.

Two songs I can’t stop listening to right now: Want You So Bad (Heart) and My Full Name (Cunningham).

I love everything about Want You So Bad — such an underrated and absolutely badass song, in my humble opinion. Ann Wilson’s vocals fully embody the yearning in the song. Soooo good. She and Nancy Wilson are easily two of the greatest women in rock ’n’ roll.

I’m also obsessed with the percussion — that driving 80s synth-rock rhythm by drummer, Denny Carmassi. I’m fascinated by the 8th note high hats, and synths, too. Okay, yeah… I geek out over how songs are constructed!

Have you ever listened to the podcast, Song Exploder? Musicians deconstruct their songs piece by piece and tell the story of how they were made. Brilliant. You can find it on Apple Podcasts and elsewhere.

I love the entire Bad Animals album, but for whatever reason, Want You So Bad keeps pulling me back in. It’s become my fave.

Madison Cunningham’s My Full Name is a piano-driven opening single from her most recent album, Ace. The song sketches the bittersweet, vulnerable journey of navigating heartbreak and self-discovery. Perhaps there’s a theme in the songs I’ve had on repeat lately? LoL!

I genuinely think Cunningham is one of the greatest songwriters today. Her writing is so intricate, layered, technical, and her voice carries a dreamy quality that pulls you in. She’s known to be an indie folk, alternative rock artist with some jazz influence. You just have to listen!

I’ve also found myself revisiting Kalandra lately. I previously posted my favorite song by the group, With You. Based in Oslo, the band formed around Katrine Stenbekk (vocals), Jogeir “Juno” Jensen (guitar), Florian Sommer (bass), and Oskar Johnsen Rydh (drums). Their sound is a mix of atmospheric Nordic folk, alternative pop, and ethereal post-rock, a little reminiscent of AURORA if you’re familiar with her style.

Stenbekk’s voice is so pure — the way she moves into her upper register is truly unreal. There’s something both haunting and cinematic about the band’s music.

I just get lost in music, disappear for hours at a time.

So, what do you have on repeat these days? Would love to know. Drop a comment below!

Put on your headphones and turn up the volume!

goodbyes are damn hard

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Hello out there, and happy May! I hope wherever you are, the weather is sunny and warm. It’s been a rather chilly spring thus far here in Southern California. We did have a few very warm days about a month ago, but since then it’s cooled off. I’m completely enjoying it.

I’m in the process of winding things down at the university — holding final sessions with clients and preparing for my departure. I underestimated how difficult it would be to say good-bye. When I was considering resigning last year, all I could feel was the fatigue, day after day, the burnout.

It’s funny — once you decide to leave, people begin to share their appreciation for you and your work. It’s difficult to truly assess any impact you’ve made when you’re “in it.” I enjoyed my role as the Asian & Pacific Islander (API) Liaison. I deeply loved the work, and I will miss the students and director of APCC (The Asian & Pacific Cultural Center), who has become a friend.

We recently held a cultural graduation celebration for the Asian & Pacific Islander/Southwest Asian & North African students. It was a more intimate gathering, a space to truly honor the graduates in a way the larger ceremonies simply can’t. I’m sure the students felt that. One student I’ve gotten to know pretty well over the past year asked me to attend their graduation, and I was so touched. So yes, my heart is breaking a little — maybe a lot. I think I’m writing this simply to give the grief somewhere to go.

Goodbyes have always been difficult, even as a young child — adoption trauma at its finest. I remember experiencing intense anxiety when my adoptive dad, in particular, went away on business trips. It was like a panic attack laced with grief, a kind of separation anxiety that sat so heavy in my chest. I hated being left at daycare and later, elementary school. Yep, I was the screamer and had terrible stomachaches at school that couldn’t be explained.

My godmother, Janie, visited our family once when I was in elementary school. When it was time for her to return home, I felt that same profound sadness and panic. With every day, I grew increasingly anxious and sad. I sobbed in the car as my mom and I took her to the airport. I stayed there, too embarrassed to step out because I couldn’t stop crying. For days afterward, I mourned her departure. I couldn’t find the words to explain the depth of my emotions, even when my mom asked. I recognize it now as simply pain.

Moments of separation still tend to feel like a small death, not to be morbid, just honest. The intensity has softened, but the grief remains. Some trauma wounds don’t fully close, I’m convinced. It’s part of being human, and perhaps what has shaped me into the trauma therapist I’ve become.

I have facilitated groups for the past three years at APCC. It’s such a vibrant hub where API students gather to study, hang out, play mahjong, and student workers/leaders host support groups. The group I facilitate is called HAPI Hour (get it?), and we explore different topics related to API student mental health. This Wednesday is our last one… and it will be a celebration of all the fun we’ve shared. What great memories I’ll have of the center and the students who I came to adore.

With my resignation, I’ll have more time to devote to sound therapy — growing my practice and following what calls to me. Still, I’ll miss the university, my colleagues, and the students, despite the burnout and those moments I wasn’t sure I could make it through another workday. Goodbyes are damn hard.

May the coming months open into a simpler, more inspired life — one filled with creativity, and of course, magick.

Photo by Alexander Popovkin on Unsplash

Crossroads

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I did it. Yesterday, April 17, under the New Moon, I resigned from my job. The New Moon symbolizes fresh beginnings, intention-setting, planting seeds, and quiet reflection. My last day will be May 20, the end of my contract and the close of the semester. A chapter is ending.

I began this role as a university psychotherapist in June 2023, just three days after leaving my ex-husband and moving into a small apartment of my own. In many ways, that job marked the beginning of a new life. But the work proved far more demanding than I had anticipated.

During my time at the university, I came to a quiet but persistent truth: I’ve never really enjoyed being a therapist. I kept waiting for it to get better, but it never did. Instead, the work grew heavier, increasingly draining. And I’m afraid not even the summer, winter, and spring breaks could prevent burnout.

What did light me up was my role as the Asian & Pacific Islander (API) Cultural Center Liaison, work rooted in supporting the mental health and wellbeing of API students. That space felt different — lighter — and the students were an absolute joy to work with.

I believe I’m a good trauma therapist. The starry heavens know I’ve poured years and more money than I care to recount on trainings, books, and a lifetime’s worth of lived experience. It just rings hollow. That may sound harsh. I wish I’d known then what I know now. I can’t reclaim that time, but I can choose what comes next: a slower, simpler, more artful life.

I’m hoping to grow my sound therapy practice, Om Sacred Sound Journeys, and leave room for whatever else wants to emerge. I know music will be part of this next chapter and writing, too. I’m planning on beginning a new book.

My last book never found commercial success. I’ve only just started reading it for the first time since it was published in 2017. I mean, how many times did I reread, reshape, and edit the draft? The story of my first trip to Taiwan to meet my birth family marks one of the most significant chapters of my life. Publishing it wasn’t for nothing. A younger version of me wrote those pages from a very different place. And still, the emotions are just as vivid, from the search to the moment we found our way back to one another.

Earlier this week, the oracle card “to the stars and beyond” surfaced in my (tarot) reading from Rose Bae Tarot’s These Blue Bones, a deck having a moment right now. It felt like both a spark and an affirmation for my decision to resign. Lately, I find myself thinking about mortality, not out of gloom, but clarity. Time shifts as we mature. There’s less time to do what makes you happy. In this season, I get to choose how I live it. Autonomy. Personal sovereignty. Independence. Let me embody this new path, to the stars and beyond.

This song brings me back to my younger self. I’ve been especially nostalgic of late. It may not quite fit this post, but it fits my mood perfectly.

Held by Sound

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Have you ever been so moved by a piece of music that it brought you to tears? I have. I still am.

For days, I’ve felt drawn to listen to On the Nature of Daylight by Max Richter. Are you familiar with it? It’s easily one of my favorite contemporary classical works. I love all of Richter’s music, but this piece feels especially transcendent.

I wanted to give it my full attention, and the quiet of this morning felt like the perfect time. I sat with headphones on, hands crossed over my heart, and let the music hold space. I literally shed tears, so completely was I captured by it.

So many thoughts and emotions moved through me that I began listing them in my journal: ecstasy, sorrow, despair, sadness, transcendence, love, intimacy, desire, longing, yearning, hope, bliss, magick, forgiveness, tenderness, tolerance, caress, breath, movement, darkness, light, expression, expansion, transformation, warmth, belief, faith, embrace, connection, grief, loss, truth…

And yet words still feel insufficient to describe this kind of magick.

I kept the piece on repeat as I moved through my morning tarot reading. The first card I drew was Art — Temperance in the Rider–Waite–Smith system — a card of integration and alchemy: making whatever you do a work of art; friendship between mind and heart; rest and activity; light and dark; self and others; approaching life creatively, with an artist’s eye.

It felt deeply aligned with the experience itself — as though the music and the card were speaking the same language.

Music saves and meets me exactly where I am. My first love — and likely my last.

I remember spending hours alone in a tiny practice room at Centenary College (of Louisiana), just me and Beethoven, Bach, Chopin, Debussy, Mozart…There was no fear or judgment there. No pressure to please an audience or play perfectly. Only connection — to the keyboard, to sound, to frequency and vibration. It felt sublime.

In today’s heavy world, music still holds the power to uplift, to ground, and to offer a kind of safe communion unlike anything else.

I recently discovered an artist who was new to me: Yannic Lowack, a German composer. The piece featured below, Leuer, is another composition I’ve completely fallen in love with. He also shared a short preview of an orchestral version — without piano — on Instagram. You can find him on both YouTube and Instagram.

I miss those days of studying music and practicing piano every day. They remind me of who I was — and still am, despite the years away — a musician, drawn to the expressive arts. May the days ahead bring new opportunities to return to the keyboard and reconnect with that musical inheritance!

simple life

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I want a slow, simple, peaceful life,
one that doesn’t ask me to live on edge,
one that doesn’t grind my bones to dust
just to pay the goddamn rent.

A life where enough is enough,
where healing is a calling
that feeds me too,
not just those around me.

I wish for mornings that open softly,
light pouring in without alarms,
furry creatures and soft whinnies,
the quiet language of animals,
knowing without words.

I’m not asking for castles
or the lottery.
The material doesn’t interest me.
Only a place where love is close
and the ones I cherish
are within reach of my voice.

Why is that so hard?
Why does something so small
feel near impossible,
like asking the world to stop spinning
for one kinder hour?

And still, inside this tired chest,
lives a stubborn spark
that keeps burning.
There must be more than this;
there must be a slower way to live.

So I hold that wish
like a candle in the dark
and dream of a life
that doesn’t hurt to wake up to.

Photo by Toni Reed on Unsplash

Honor Rest & Renewal on Samhain

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Today, I pause. I breathe. I rest and honor my ancestors on this blessed Samhain.

I’m grateful to have the day off – to simply be. To sit in stillness and solitude without the weight of expectation feels like a blessing in itself. The veil is thin today, and I lean into the presence of those who came before me – my birth mother and father, and the lineage of ancestors whose names I may never know. I honor them, and I honor the mystery that connects us across time and space.

Lately, life has felt full and demanding. I’m working full-time again, and though I hoped summer break would bring the restoration I so deeply needed, fatigue seems to have returned too soon. Halfway through the fall semester, I find myself wondering how to sustain balance – how to counsel others, meet the demands of my current job while not forgetting myself.

My dream remains clear: To eventually transition into full-time sound therapy work. Supporting my adult daughter these past two years has delayed that shift, yet I hold faith that in time, things will align. When she finds her footing, I’ll be able to step more fully into the work my heart longs for, creating healing spaces through resonance, stillness, and sound.

Despite the challenges, I’m proud of the small steps forward. I’ve completed my website, OM Sacred Sound Journeys, a milestone that feels like planting a tiny seed. Beginning next February, I’ll offer bi-weekly sound therapy sessions, a sacred rhythm I hope will grow into something sustainable and nourishing. 

I’m reconnecting with my musical roots, singing and playing for a herd I once worked with in equine-assisted psychotherapy and slowly returning to my guitar after years away. These small acts of reconnection remind me that healing unfolds gradually, as does starting a private practice.

Self-employment feels both thrilling and terrifying. The freedom to follow my calling is overshadowed by the very real worries of bills, rent, health insurance, and all the practicalities of life. Yet amidst uncertainty, I sense that this path is where I’m meant to go.

So today, under the quiet light of Samhain, I choose rest. I choose reflection. I choose to listen deeply to the whispers of my ancestors, to the call of my own heart, and to stillness. May this season bring renewal, remembrance, and faith in what is yet to come.

Photo by Catherine Crawford on Unsplash

Dark Moon

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Hello World! Wow, it’s been a minute since I last visited WordPress. It is the eve of Mabon and the Autumn Equinox – if you live in the Northern hemsphere – and  Ostara and the Spring Equinox – if you live in the Southern hemisphere. I will be observing Mabon bright and early first thing tomorrow morning before work…sigh…with a group of other like-minded and spirited individuals. It is also a dark moon or new moon, my favorite.

I am not a morning person, well, more accurately, I’m a slowwwww morning person and hate rushing. I am not a fan of the 8am-5pm work-life schedule of which I am now bound, against the clock at every damn minute of the day. Who’s idea was that anyway? I’m dreaming of cutting that cord, but the day has not yet arrived.

And so the wheel of the year continues…one cycle ends making space for a new one. What lessons have I learned? What paths have I traversed? Hmm…Life has been one continuous wheel of never-ending “tower moments” for the past two and a half years. I hope something more peace loving and soul aligned arrives soon. 

Things that keep me grounded during tower moments include art and spirituality. Collaging has become a beloved outlet, a wide open space to tap into creative expression. It’s such a satisfying artistic art form. I love designing a collage, selecting the photos, pictures, etc, to create a narrative. Maybe I’m the only one who gets it, but who cares! My spiritual practice has taken a nose dive now that I’m back at work. But little moments here and there are better than none at all.

I hope to travel to Taiwan over the winter break in January to visit my birthfamily. My eldest sister has already reserved a hotel. It’s been 13 years since I last saw my birthfamily. I never intended to wait such a long time to revisit. We are much older, and good health is not guaranteed to any of us. I truly hope I will have the energy to be present with my family, not some shell of myself. This academic year, I vowed not to get to the level of burnout I experienced last year. Steps to protect my energy are always at the forefront of my mind. 

In the meantime, welcome Autumn! I look forward to cooler days, to pumpkin pie, and the holiday season. Oh, and to slowing down, of course. Autumn is my favorite time of the year! I do love it so. Hoping you are all safe and well wherever you are. May cooler weather bring a welcome change of pace into your life!

Feature Photo by Šimom Caban on Unsplash

Photo Gallery: Collages by moi!

Soul Aligned

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Good day, one and all! I hope you’re enjoying the summer days. I’m grateful that the weather continues to be mild here. The pink and purple twilights are magical. What I love most about this summer break from university is the freedom in which I can move and breathe at my own pace. Ahhhh, slow, meditative mornings with my cup of coffee. Movies in the evenings. Solitude and ritual. It’s been rejuvenating.

I am in the process of building a sound therapy practice. Starting a new practice is quite scary. I had a private practice for two years, and I know how hard it is to grow a business and make it thrive. I’ve been a board-certified music therapist since 2009 and recently began training in sound therapy utilizing singing bowls and other resonant instruments, chanting, researching the science behind sound medicine. I facilitated some sound therapy groups last semester at the university as well as a number of small drum circles. 

My primary instrument is piano. I studied piano performance in undergrad then years later learned guitar and drumming while studying music therapy, a requirement to obtain certification. I sing, though it’s not my strong suit. I trained in group drum circle facilitation years ago, fell in love with the drum. I miss my piano and playing dearly. Music is clearly my medicine. Interestingly, I have listened to less music than ever before. Silence is like a balm.

The birth of a sound therapy practice is slow work. My hope is to help people along their spiritual and wellness journey, to enhance, to restore, to create an opening for self-discovery and increased spirituality. I’ll keep you posted on my progress.

Photo by petr sidorov on Unsplash

The Magick of Slowness

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Hey out there! Hope you’re having a swell summer. The temperature here is not yet sweltering, so I’m enjoying windows open daily. I’ve been on summer break just over a month – it has been glorious. There is a magick in this liminal space, the in-between semesters, that has brought healing and restoration. I am no longer who I was, yet I am not quite who I am to be. Last year was tough, maybe one of the toughest I’ve ever experienced, but it had its life lessons, and I am taking them to heart.

I’ve been savoring slow mornings, slowing down in general. It’s lovely to leisurely sip my morning coffee without rushing. I have not missed disconnecting from others one bit. Journaling, personal study, spirituality have all been life saving. But mostly the magick of slowing down, sweet silence, the echo of presence, noticing each breath have led to divine surrender, wisdom, and liberation. 

Summer break will come to an end, and I will return to work mid-August. The test of wisdom will come in finding divine balance, countering stress and the pace of work with a solid inner spiritual foundation, finding the power within to face each and every challenge. There is this – I have the rest of the month to indulge in solitude and cultivate my inner divine badass.

The video below is of female French trio, Les Itinérantes. I adore them and recently discovered their music. I find this song, Sahèl, to be quite powerful.

“Sahèl” is a composition in Eldali (a language invented by Elodie, one of the vocalists) that invites you to reconnect with “the source,” to rediscover meaning and roots through a connection with the living, the pursuit of authenticity, and the recollection of ancient memories.

“Sahèl anouvel iè,
Vènia assoulèkh na
Sahèl anoukrie biè,
Chakh liè bioun èlia”

The source is calling for you over there
Approach, let yourself be guided
The source roars below
Join its flow if you dare.

Summer Breeze

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Summer break has finally arrived! Whew! My tiny space is coming together, beginning to feel like home, and my dog has adapted well to the space. She’s such a fierce bundle of joy. I hope to have her for longer periods of time. She is usually with my ex, as he works from home. I didn’t want to leave her alone for 8+ hours while I worked. I miss her, as we truly were attached at the hip. That’s Poppie below. There are no personal boundaries with a doxie.

I’ve had a couple of days to sit on the other side of a busy year. I became someone I didn’t recognize, an irritable, moody shell. I read some of my past posts and cringed. Some have been deleted. Slowing down is a gift to be savored. Perhaps a shift is on the horizon. I trust in divine wisdom and that clarity is yet to come. 

Last night I took a stroll around the neighborhood. The scent of jasmine is lovely this time of year, and the neighborhood is heady with it! There was a nice summer breeze, like that Seals and Croft song, 

Summer breeze, makes me feel fine
Blowin’ through the jasmine in my mind.

I plan to catch up on some blog reading soon. Gosh, it’s been a while. Happy writing, and wishing you a stellar day!

Feature Photo by Emma Dau on Unsplash

life is anything but…

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Hello World. I moved this week over Spring break. Thankfully, I had the week off. My third move in two years, post divorce. It’s been rather stressful. Don’t get me wrong, I love my new place, and the area is terrific. It’s very small, yet much closer to the beach. I have gone back and forth to Goodwill to donate stuff all week, and still, there are boxes of stuff, a closet full of stuff, and wall art that won’t work in the space. I think I may have to sell my digital piano, as it doesn’t fit anywhere. I sold my newish dining table and other things to decrease stuff. I am trying not to complain, as I truly love the area. And the neighbors on either side of my unit seem great. It’s just been tough, and I’m heading back to work next Monday. More to do, as my car is also having issues that must be addressed. Tomorrow, I’ll spend the day at the automotive shop. Timing, it feels as though I’m swimming upstream. I’m staying put for as long as possible!

The week before the move, I began having panic attacks – again. Haven’t had one in a while. I’m grateful they weren’t as bad as others. No ER or EMTs. I moved due to a feral cat situation at my last rental that never went away. The cats continued to poop on the property. A month before I decided to break the lease, the homeowner finally addressed it by putting rock on the front lawn and wire on the fence in the backyard as deterrents. It did very little, as the cats continued to show up, as though to say, “Stupid humans; we own the place.” The neighbor next door feeds and cares for the cats and has done so forever. So if anyone were to go, it was me. Homeowner refused to release me from the lease, which doesn’t end until July 1st. It has just sucked all around.

I hope that moving will eventually bring peace of mind. My car was starting to smell like cat poop – gross! Okay, so this is the end of my little rant. I know somewhere there’s a rainbow.

Photo by Illiya Vjestica on Unsplash

Magic Fucking Wand

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My fuck-it meter’s spiking high;
I can’t even see straight.
If only fuck were a magic word –
a spell I could hiss,
I’d summon a wand from thin air
and set the whole damn mess on fire.

My fuck-it, fuck-you, fuck-this thoughts
softened on the spot,
equilibrium restored
with one damn flick of the wrist
Now that would be some powerful magick.

Guess I’ll just sage instead.

Photo by Joanna Kosinska on Unsplash