None of us goes through the world unscathed and nobody gets out alive.  

These are uncomfortable truths that most of us take pains to avoid.  How many times have I fled the solitude and questions of inner life for distractions that served to distance me from myself?

Excavating my inner cellar, where I keep my wounds, fears and doubts, isn't comfortable for me. Is it comfortable for anyone?  

But in a curious way, I have come to embrace, even cherish, every uncertainty and grief that I find in my personal cellar.  It is those discomforts, I believe, that teach and enrich me the most and connect me most intimately with my fellow humans, God and creation.

I give you my latest poem:

Like A Rose

Scars from just living

Wounds new and old

Pockmark and pimple

My body and soul

Unspeakable doubts

Lurk in the dark

And innermost chambers 

Of my secret heart

My faith isn't pure

But steady and true

It grows like a rose

From the muck of dank roots

Be well and Good Luck,

Martha Maria