The universe bead

Day 101 and 102


Feeling exhausted and fairly demoralized tonight.

Revel’s been sick in one way or another for what feels like months. A series of unfortunate events precipitated by antibiotics used to cure an ear infection.

I feel fatigued on many levels. Physically from staying up nights with a feverish, crying baby.

Mentally, from trying to entertain a crying and feverish toddler all day.

And a deeper soul kind of exhaustion that comes from the ancient, cellular worry that is being the mama of a small, crying and feverish child.

And holding him, with his hot tummy and cold little hands, feeling him shiver, I am completely undone by the awesome responsibility mothering is.

And how, at moments like this, when he’s sick, and we don’t know why, or during a night terror, when he’s upset and there’s nothing I can really do to fix it, I am absolutely certain that there is no way I am capable of taking care of such a precious gift, this child.

And I feel like someone must have made a mistake somewhere, because there’s no way I’m good enough, smart enough, kind enough, patient enough, rich enough, organized enough, or loving enough to give this boy what he deserves.

And I start to feel all scaredy-cat panicked at the thought that I’m completely responsible for this beautiful, brilliant, darling little creature. For his well being, for his happiness, for his life. And I become positive that there’s no way I’m up to the job.

And it feels kind of like being homesick. Like the floor is shifting under my feet. Unstable.

And the thought marches through my mind, around and around. “How could  I be someone’s mother when I am just a girl myself? I’m not strong enough to do this!”

And then I think of the glass universe bead a dear friend gave Revel before he was born.

Hand-blown, a perfect sphere,

Dark blue like the midnight sky,

with whole galaxies inside,

tiny stars and planets.

Shimmering, sparkling,

milky ways,

cupped in the palm of an outstretched hand.


And it makes me feel better somehow, strengthened.


Because I don’t need to have all the answers to be Revel’s mom,

or be perfect.

I just have to give him what I can,

hold him, and kiss him, and feed him, and protect him,

teach him, listen to him,

love him,

and let the universe do the rest,

watch our stories play out against the soft fabric of space and time,





But then,

maybe that’s true of all of it.


We use our small hands and slight shoulders to do good work when we can,

support one another,

care for the earth,

live simply,

stay aware.


Then raise the rest up,

outstretched fingers brushing open sky.

Thank you for listening,



photo by Michelle Johnsen

photo by Michelle Johnsen

I am blown away by the stark beauty of our guest post tonight. My dear friend Tere, thank you for connecting to this part of yourself, so we too may make the connection in ourselves. You are a strong and brave woman. Thank you for sharing your thoughts here tonight. Love you.

Craving the Dark

by Tere V.


I am an introvert – my insides are made of secrets and mystical places filled with fog and energy and mysteries. No one can ever see them, they are mine. They are feral, they are wild, they are vast and expansive. I can’t get rid of them. I don’t want to. I can’t extinguish them, I’ve never been able to. Even when they’ve made me obtuse or like a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit with the rest.

As a child, connection with all that is was natural, light, clean. I knew I was safe, in fact there wasn’t much to be safe from. I was a part of the trees, the wind, the sun, the dark, wet earth. I ran, I ate, I ran again. I got dirty, I laughed, I pretended, I loved everything. All of it. All of it was possible. Everything was possible. I fit in everywhere.

God had no name. There was no god, God was everywhere. There wasn’t anything to figure out. Nowhere to get to.

This time of year I yearn for death. I yearn for a dark forest where I can bury the parts of myself that are stagnant. I want to create a hallowed grave where I can bury my resistance and let it decay. Rot. Then, while that is happening, I can create a small safe space where I can start to unfurl myself. This part of me that exists and has been buried and has never been able to stop being tenacious and connected. I will find a hollow, and I will adorn the insides of it with small shiny things from the world to draw my secrets, like an octopus in her cave.

And then I will decide when it’s time to touch my fingertips to the sun again.






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