On the night of the Blood Moon eclipse, I took a solo walk in the Maryland woods, carrying six tarot cards, six stones, and the weight of both memory and possibility. The path I chose was one I had walked before with my aunt—familiar, yet almost new again, like returning to family stories only to…

A remembering of rhythm, resurrection, and the soul’s return to flight Two nights ago, I watched Resident Alien curled up beside my husband. The episode was quirky and hilarious as usual, but it surprised me with something tender. Harry, once alien, now fully human, was trying to understand the human experience. He didn’t have a…

Today, I went walking along the familiar trail near the bayou—familiar, but never the same. As the sun burned down with July heat, the trail opened into a portal. The ordinary dissolved into a strange orchestration of symbols and messengers, and I walked right into the middle of it, unknowingly stepping across a spiritual threshold.…

Yesterday I sat in at the Silver Street Studios again at Sawyer Yards, surrounded by art supplies, thin sheets of paper, and the comforting chaos of creative energy. Cheryl Russell was guiding us once more, this time beginning our class with the story of Artemisia Gentileschi. A woman who painted her truth when the world…