I’ve written a hundred letters to myself, maybe thousands over the years.
Writing in journals, scrawling on walls, pieces of folded paper, napkins and tickets.
An attempt to find a way of showing up for myself, of illuminating , propelling forward.
Lighthouses and breadcrumbs to show me where I am and where I’m going, to make sense of this place and this life.
Tonight I write again and again, but this time, I share it with you.
This time I write in an attempt at vulnerability, exploration, creation and joining my voice in the soup that is our collective unconscious, more commonly referred to as “the internet”.
And I will continue to share, because I believe this is how we make our life, this is how we make sense. Like detectives we can share what we learn about this place with each other at an attempt to make it easier, to make it a little lighter a little less lonely.
If there’s something I’ve discovered it is that we sing ourselves into creation through what we choose as our holy nourishment, inspirations and aspirations, part of that is who we choose to sing to us.
We are made out of what and who we interact with.
We weave our lives out of the stories that we choose to tell our selves, the sounds we consume, the words we read, the things we let our eyes see, the spirits that we seek or that we allow to seek us.
All of this is how we curate our life.
The radiance belongs to all of us and we are nothing without each other.
And so let this be a space for wandering thoughts, late night rambles and stories that make sense or don’t , in the spirit of sharing this messy, often funny, sometimes heartbreaking voyage that is human life.