sunrise over swamps

sunset over melancholy seas

NaPoWriMo + ReWild


April 2014 is shaping up as a month of personal challenges: namely, Napowrimo* (National Poetry Writing Month) and the We Are Wildness Rewild Challenge** (30 minutes a day for 30 days of deliberate, purposeful outdoor time). So far, so good.

Rewild comes with daily prompts, if you sign up for their emails. Today’s task was to spend time with a tree. I was rewarded for my efforts with getting close to a flock of crimson rosellas. (See the above photo – if you notice the flash of red feathers amongst the leaves, that’s a rosella!)


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Survey for Victims of Spiritual Abuse

Some of my readers might be able to contribute to this.

Liberty for Captives

Rarely do I post anything which asks something of my readers. This is an exception, and you’ll see why.

The letter below is from Dr. Barb Orlowski, an expert on spiritual abuse whose book is on my Resources page. Barb is a trustworthy and professional colleague. She is doing some research and needs input from folks who have experienced spiritual abuse. Her survey is 26 questions long. You can visit her site and find the survey: it’s the bottom link on the right-hand side. It leads to a Word document that you download and then email back to Barb.

I wouldn’t post this if I didn’t think that the results of Barb’s survey will help a lot of victims of spiritual abuse. Here’s her letter:

Request for Survey Participants 2013


You are invited to participate in a new survey regarding those who have experienced spiritual abuse in your home…

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Poem 30 of 30

It had to end, somehow.

It was a closeness too close to be sustained

without it falling in one direction or another.


To become as one, one mind, one flesh,

to be forever bound in soul and spirit:

impossible for mortal fools who stepped already onto such a path

never to find a second chance to turn back and start over.

To diverge somewhere along the way:

necessary for the one who let her heart be won over

by the words of a new voice that had no place to speak but

who whispered thoughts of love into her ear.


There’s the dead end. The barrier at the edge of the path

and she sees its full warning and declaration:

to forge ahead is to find adventure, a new zeal for life and unmarked territory

but one plagued by curses of death and disease.

To climb the wall is to accept certain suffering

for no good reason.


There’s the end point, and the only answer:

it’s not good enough to throw oneself off the cliff’s edge

for though the fall is exhilarating,

she will meet her end impaled on the jagged rocks

and the blood that will be shed

is too significant and too important to waste in a violent libation to the earth.


She watches the moon rise and thinks of him,

the sunset and thinks of him.

His name plays endlessly on her mind

until she is sick from the thought of him

and the knowledge that somewhere, now,

at any moment she lets her heart rest on him

he is not thinking of her.


Silence reigns over her and she is afraid to speak

lest the deepest recesses of the darkness that plagues her

finds voice and gives away the secrets.

There is only one who can know, and it’s not him,

it’s another one,

one who alone can carry her dark thoughts away

and exchange them for light:

pure light, greater than she can perceive

until all the curses woven into her body

are burned away.



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