Dear sage, Thank you, truly. Writing is how I stitch myself back together—so I'm honored if the thread reaches you too. I will get to your post. You give me courage. 💐
Beautifully you! I got 5 stories on the go songs come out of my mouth each moment so are tears and fatigue and exhaustion. My writing is my Riot of Rest. This body 😞🔥❤️🌹love you and the inspiration you ignite in me
Hello Maria, Oh, I felt this like a song rising from the bones—your Riot of Rest, your fire and tears and all-of-it body. 🔥🌹 I’m so honored to be part of your creative constellation. You remind me that the writing is the resistance, the kneeling, the flame. Love you back. ❤️ Thank you for your support, always.
Prajna, as I read your essay, I thought about how people don't want to hear about the blood and bodily fluids and excrement. But these are part of what it means to be alive. We share not just in the triumphs of life, but the ordinary and even the banal. The way you wove such beautiful and poetic quotes into your own story of crisis almost read like a song.
Maybe that's what we make of a life like this: a song. That's what you've done for me here today.
Aww Jeannie, Your insights mean so much to me—another dear mother who shows the way through—is love. Yes, the fluids, the blood, the mess—they’re part of the story too. Not just the backdrop, but the evidence that we’re still here. I’m thrilled that it felt like a song to you. Maybe that’s what we do, in the end—turn the raw, the banal, the interrupted, into something that hums. Thank you for hearing me so fully. Thank you for writing like you do in sisterhood. ❤️🩹🎶
“Love, not anger, is the engine of writing. It can be all the more enthralling if love dances with regret and resentment.”
“Love is the only energy I’ve ever used as a writer. I’ve never written out of anger, although anger has informed love.” —Athol Fugard, renowned South African playwright
"Fierce love is what carries the story. Creating beauty leaves little room for collision.
And more importantly, it gives us one more place to bow, bend, and kiss the earth."
It's divine timing to read your words this morning, Prajna. The swirl of love and chaos struck me with worry for you and your daughter, and then you brought me to the calm. This is what I write, love with the anger underneath it. I try to avoid writing only about my son and our relationship, but it won't leave me. I'm having an energetic relationship with him and always seeking ways to connect with him or to bring him out of his inner worlds. This love/grief thing gets to be draining, and writing is the only thing that helps. You truly make us understand your love, and I am grateful to read it as an inspiration to heed the call in myself. Sending love to you.
Aww, Shelley, I feel mirrored and honored by your words—thank you.
That “energetic relationship” you name with your son—I know it intimately. It’s a kind of mothering that lives outside the usual frameworks, one braided with invisible threads, prayerful reaching and teaching, and so much not-knowing. The drain of that love/grief current is real. Writing, for me too, becomes both witness and lifeline.
I’m moved that you saw calm in the swirl. That’s what I hope for—if not always in the moment, then in the shape of the story we can craft from it. Your writing—rooted in love, humming with anger and longing—is necessary. And the fact that your son won’t leave the page? I think that’s the soul insisting he’s part of your language.
Thank you for walking this fierce and tender path alongside me.
"Fierce love is what carries the story. Creating beauty leaves little room for collision.
And more importantly, it gives us one more place to bow, bend, and kiss the earth."
Stunning. Thankyou. How many "collisions" have I invited because of not consciously creating beauty with fierce love. There is a lot of living in those few words Prajna. Thankyou.
Wow. And we have to wonder what came for us the chicken or the egg. The tension of opposites that seems to get us to exactly where we need to be acknowledge the perfection that without bypassing..
Thank you so much for stopping by and reading Melanie. I appreciate you.
Hi Rachael, thank you so much for reading and for joining the conversation. It’s always good to hear from you. I think it’s a matter of a question, who came first the chicken or the egg.
Talk about wild love! In the midst of all the joyous, ever-present and at times overwhelming turmoil of your family life, you choose to make room for a rambunctious kitten. I enjoyed this and am honored to be among your latest inspirations. The key to inspiration: It flows both ways.
Yes—wild love and wild timing. That kitten arrived like a tiny agent of chaos and heart. I sometimes wonder what part of me keeps saying yes to more—but then I remember: it’s the part that still believes in connection, even in the mess.
You reminded me what writers need to remember most: that love—not anger—is the engine. And that love can dance with all emotions and empower the writer. Your words helped me anchor there. Yes, inspiration flows both ways.
What a wonderful essay. It's true when you say, "In times like now, our personal stories matter more than ever—the raw ones that slow challenge and change us." The world needs our stories, and, perhaps just as importantly, we need our own stories. The act of writing is healing and empowering.
I love that picture of Woody and Ruby. Baby animals are a handful, especially kittens in my experience. However, your pets make an adorable pair.
Hi Beth, I agree! Thank you so much for these kind words. Yes—we need our own stories just as much as the world does. Writing them helps us enliven who we are. Doesn't it?
And oh yes, kittens! Ruby is pure chaos and charm, and Woody is learning to accept her… grudgingly. Watching them find their rhythm together feels like a constant teaching in possibilities. 💛
There are so many pieces of this that spoke to me, Prajna. What a story you tell! I hope everyone is recovered and peace reigns despite your furry little agent of chaos. Leave it to a cat to turn the world upside down like some kind of plaything.
Your opening lines about the exhaustion of unpaid labor rang true. Though my daughter is 21 and mostly self sufficient, I have - like every woman I know - put in a lifetime of unpaid labor at home, at work, and in the world at large. The tragedy of the creative energy that was siphoned off to make other people's lives easier and more comfortable is almost more than I can bear to contemplate. Thank you for acknowledging that loss.
As for the beauty I'm kneeling to in this moment, it is the music of a young man from South Yorkshire, England - Dominic Harrison, aka "Yungblud." This may seem an odd choice for a middle-aged woman living a mostly quiet and uneventful life in a small historic New England town, but I have recently become a little obsessed with watching this artist share his latest album with the world and interact with his fans in a deeply authentic and caring way that gets me a little choked up. He is just one example of an artist turning difficult, even tragic, experiences (whether their own or those shared by many people) into beautiful art that helps people heal, gives them courage, and creates a community of radical acceptance and support.
We need more of this. So much more of this. And women need to be supported in being able to make such art and get it out to the world.
Thank you, friend. Your reflection lands with such resonance.
“The tragedy of the creative energy that was siphoned off to make other people's lives easier…”—boom. It’s almost unspeakable some days. And yet here we are, kneeling, giving over, writing through the ache, not letting it have the last word.
And I love that you’re listening to Yungblud. There’s something beautifully subversive about being a middle-aged woman claiming joy and connection through music that’s bold, raw, and unapologetically alive. It defies the worn-out script that says women our age should quiet down or grow invisible. You remind me that we get to tune into whatever stirs our spirit.
Art like his—unafraid, caring, communal—is medicine. Let's continue turning toward what helps us feel, heal, and belong.
Subversive … unexpected … rebellious - all these words taste good on my tongue and in my heart. I have been thinking a lot lately of just what you bring up - this pushing back against the assumption that, once we hit a certain age and/or life stage, we are supposed to surrender something of ourselves - become smaller and quieter and less in the way. Ironic that it is only as I cross over this threat that I am feeling a stronger urgency to express myself more authentically and release my creativity more often.
Aww, Jamie, the urgency you name—is sacred power. It’s not a midlife crisis, it’s a creative uprising. A refusal to surrender what is now ripe. I love what you underlined: subversive, unexpected, rebellious—yes, yes, yes. The lie is that we should grow smaller with age, when in truth, the fire only concentrates.
We’re not here to become quieter. We’re here to disturb the narrative, to take up space with our stories, our art, our inconvenient longings. I feel your voice rising, and it gives me courage to stay—to kindle fierce love.
Thank you for recommending Yungblud…music to enliven the vibrant beat that flows through our lived-long bodies. I’m going to find him now & dance in my kitchen!
Great to meet you, Jamie! Yungblud is stretching me in every good way while I shake out allll the feelings. The Funeral--"dancing with tears in your eyes". Love it:)
“The connective tissue in our shared stories curates a balm for the scar tissue we carry from the mindless misuse of power by those who did not learn the rules of love”. Lovely and true. I treat this place like a sacred space full of open hearts and minds where I am not afraid to be human. ♥️
Hi Eileen, Thank you so much for this, and for joining us in this space. Your words land—“a sacred space full of open hearts and minds where I am not afraid to be human.” That’s exactly the kind of connective tissue I hope we’re weaving together.
There’s so much we carry, quietly, and so much tenderness and power in naming it together. I’m grateful you're here. ♥️
They look like such angels when they're sleeping, don't they? I'm glad there was no concussion and get the sleep wherever you can. I have inadvertently mastered sleeping while standing up on the bus. Not the best, but you know, you take it where you can get it. Honestly, it's the only kind of sleeping around I have any interest in or energy for these days and your days, your energy, I don't know where you get it from. Hope your butt feels better soon and thank goodness for your local posse. ❤️🩹
Hi Jodi, Oh, you made me laugh—sleeping standing up on the bus (I remember reading about this). You deserve a badge of honor (or maybe a cape?). Yes to catching sleep wherever it’s hiding these days, and I feel you on the kind of "sleeping around" that matters now. 😴
Thank you for the care. My butt is recovering as long as I don't land hard, I'm good! 🙈 Grateful every day for my wild local posse and kind, funny notes like yours. ❤️🩹
Dear Wendy, Yes… the perils of the ordinary. Thank you for naming that—how everything can shift in an instant, even in the softest moments. We are mostly on the mend over here, and I’m grateful for your care in what I have come to call a tragic comedy.
And I’m so glad blissful exhaustion resonated—it really was that, just before the chaos. The strange sweetness of being spent in service of love, before the tumble. Thank you for reading so attentively. 💛
I am often humbled by the content of your writing, Prajna. You are a Madonna Goddess tending to a world of unwavering love, unwavering injustice, and nourishment of the broken hearted. What you do in your small slice of the world is a mirror of what we all need to do in our country.
Courage does not look like a gold breast plate and gold wristbands resting on the sword of justice -- courage looks like skinned knees, a bruised hip and cat barf on the pillow. Courage grows from the chaos and is fed by a heart, such as yours. To bear witness to this through your writing humbles and inspires me. It inspires me to quit whining, quit worrying and quit lamenting, because there is always work to be done. You show us the way.
I have fallen in love with you, your girls, the service dog and now this ridiculous and rambunctious kitten. I have fallen in love with how you demonstrate the act of getting up again and again to tend to the lives around you. And to do so with the grace you embody . . . well, that too is humbling.
This particular story is one of grace's triumph, but it's also a story of what we all need to do to thrive in this historic times. We need to keep getting up and nourishing with love what and who are around us.
Forever will you be in my heart, dear Prajna. I feel blessed and honored to count you among my friends.
Oh, my twin heart, Stephanie. Your words undid me. I had to read them more than once, slowly, letting them land.
Thank you for witnessing—not just the chaos, but the grace that grows us through it. Thank you for naming courage not in gold plates or polished stories, but in skinned knees and cat barf and the relentless choiceless rising to tend again.
Your reflection reminds me that writing is worth it—even when I feel unsure or frayed. You give me back to myself with this note.
I'm so grateful to be walking alongside you in these historic, humbling, and fiercely tender times. Sisterhood like this? That’s the real gold.
We—my little women, Woody, and the wild feline love you back—always—and feel you close.
Prajna, your words are what I needed today…the mourning after the big bullshit bill passed. I’m breathing. Only kindness matters. Love rules. Biggest hug to you and your menagerie💞
Oh Lee, yes… the mourning after. I’m breathing with you. It all feels so heavy some days, but I hold tight to what you said: only kindness matters. Love rules. Thank you for underlining this.
Hugs to you from me, Woody, Ruby, and all the humans that orbit my tiny corner of the universe! 💞
Knowing we’re still here, breathing together, is a solace. I had a red cat named Ruby & she was a 4-legged terror when she was little. Your Ruby and Woody are such innocents when they’re sleeping. May your bum be better today!
Lee, you make me smile. A few choice tattoos are on my bucket list. Ruby just checked off one of the boxes; however, temporary. Ruby was rubbing noses with Woody last night, so sweet.
Your chaos and kindness and wild love inspire me so. 💙
Hi Katrina, Chaos, kindness, and wild love—that’s the holy trinity around here. Thanks for seeing it and being here. You live this. 💙
Your writing heals not only you, but us as well.❤️🩹🫶💐
Dear sage, Thank you, truly. Writing is how I stitch myself back together—so I'm honored if the thread reaches you too. I will get to your post. You give me courage. 💐
You wrote beautifully with the poignancy and immediacy of what life is like as a caregiver, especially for those with special needs.🫶
Yes, the poignancy and immediacy that caregivers live in every day, especially when navigating the unpredictable terrain of disability and devotion.
I couldn't have said it better, Sage.
I always feel saged by Sage, she is brilliant and gets it, Mama. Thank you
Beautifully you! I got 5 stories on the go songs come out of my mouth each moment so are tears and fatigue and exhaustion. My writing is my Riot of Rest. This body 😞🔥❤️🌹love you and the inspiration you ignite in me
Hello Maria, Oh, I felt this like a song rising from the bones—your Riot of Rest, your fire and tears and all-of-it body. 🔥🌹 I’m so honored to be part of your creative constellation. You remind me that the writing is the resistance, the kneeling, the flame. Love you back. ❤️ Thank you for your support, always.
Prajna, as I read your essay, I thought about how people don't want to hear about the blood and bodily fluids and excrement. But these are part of what it means to be alive. We share not just in the triumphs of life, but the ordinary and even the banal. The way you wove such beautiful and poetic quotes into your own story of crisis almost read like a song.
Maybe that's what we make of a life like this: a song. That's what you've done for me here today.
Aww Jeannie, Your insights mean so much to me—another dear mother who shows the way through—is love. Yes, the fluids, the blood, the mess—they’re part of the story too. Not just the backdrop, but the evidence that we’re still here. I’m thrilled that it felt like a song to you. Maybe that’s what we do, in the end—turn the raw, the banal, the interrupted, into something that hums. Thank you for hearing me so fully. Thank you for writing like you do in sisterhood. ❤️🩹🎶
“Love, not anger, is the engine of writing. It can be all the more enthralling if love dances with regret and resentment.”
“Love is the only energy I’ve ever used as a writer. I’ve never written out of anger, although anger has informed love.” —Athol Fugard, renowned South African playwright
"Fierce love is what carries the story. Creating beauty leaves little room for collision.
And more importantly, it gives us one more place to bow, bend, and kiss the earth."
It's divine timing to read your words this morning, Prajna. The swirl of love and chaos struck me with worry for you and your daughter, and then you brought me to the calm. This is what I write, love with the anger underneath it. I try to avoid writing only about my son and our relationship, but it won't leave me. I'm having an energetic relationship with him and always seeking ways to connect with him or to bring him out of his inner worlds. This love/grief thing gets to be draining, and writing is the only thing that helps. You truly make us understand your love, and I am grateful to read it as an inspiration to heed the call in myself. Sending love to you.
Aww, Shelley, I feel mirrored and honored by your words—thank you.
That “energetic relationship” you name with your son—I know it intimately. It’s a kind of mothering that lives outside the usual frameworks, one braided with invisible threads, prayerful reaching and teaching, and so much not-knowing. The drain of that love/grief current is real. Writing, for me too, becomes both witness and lifeline.
I’m moved that you saw calm in the swirl. That’s what I hope for—if not always in the moment, then in the shape of the story we can craft from it. Your writing—rooted in love, humming with anger and longing—is necessary. And the fact that your son won’t leave the page? I think that’s the soul insisting he’s part of your language.
Thank you for walking this fierce and tender path alongside me.
Sending love back, in our togetherness.
"Fierce love is what carries the story. Creating beauty leaves little room for collision.
And more importantly, it gives us one more place to bow, bend, and kiss the earth."
Stunning. Thankyou. How many "collisions" have I invited because of not consciously creating beauty with fierce love. There is a lot of living in those few words Prajna. Thankyou.
Wow. And we have to wonder what came for us the chicken or the egg. The tension of opposites that seems to get us to exactly where we need to be acknowledge the perfection that without bypassing..
Thank you so much for stopping by and reading Melanie. I appreciate you.
Thank you Prajna. 💕I appreciate you
Same.
This is one of my favorite lines ever:
Let the Beauty That We Love Be What We Do
<3
Thank you Stepanie, it's an anchor that holds the opposites, doesn't it—and invites a deeper becoming?
YES. <3
Oh wow kitten at the centre of chaotic situation... sounds about right! Hope all injured parties are healing well.... Glad you reached out 💕
Hi Rachael, thank you so much for reading and for joining the conversation. It’s always good to hear from you. I think it’s a matter of a question, who came first the chicken or the egg.
🥹🌹💚
Talk about wild love! In the midst of all the joyous, ever-present and at times overwhelming turmoil of your family life, you choose to make room for a rambunctious kitten. I enjoyed this and am honored to be among your latest inspirations. The key to inspiration: It flows both ways.
Hey Rona,
Yes—wild love and wild timing. That kitten arrived like a tiny agent of chaos and heart. I sometimes wonder what part of me keeps saying yes to more—but then I remember: it’s the part that still believes in connection, even in the mess.
You reminded me what writers need to remember most: that love—not anger—is the engine. And that love can dance with all emotions and empower the writer. Your words helped me anchor there. Yes, inspiration flows both ways.
Grateful for your wild wisdom and generous fire,
Prajna
Oh, my. Honored.
Prajna,
What a wonderful essay. It's true when you say, "In times like now, our personal stories matter more than ever—the raw ones that slow challenge and change us." The world needs our stories, and, perhaps just as importantly, we need our own stories. The act of writing is healing and empowering.
I love that picture of Woody and Ruby. Baby animals are a handful, especially kittens in my experience. However, your pets make an adorable pair.
Hi Beth, I agree! Thank you so much for these kind words. Yes—we need our own stories just as much as the world does. Writing them helps us enliven who we are. Doesn't it?
And oh yes, kittens! Ruby is pure chaos and charm, and Woody is learning to accept her… grudgingly. Watching them find their rhythm together feels like a constant teaching in possibilities. 💛
There are so many pieces of this that spoke to me, Prajna. What a story you tell! I hope everyone is recovered and peace reigns despite your furry little agent of chaos. Leave it to a cat to turn the world upside down like some kind of plaything.
Your opening lines about the exhaustion of unpaid labor rang true. Though my daughter is 21 and mostly self sufficient, I have - like every woman I know - put in a lifetime of unpaid labor at home, at work, and in the world at large. The tragedy of the creative energy that was siphoned off to make other people's lives easier and more comfortable is almost more than I can bear to contemplate. Thank you for acknowledging that loss.
As for the beauty I'm kneeling to in this moment, it is the music of a young man from South Yorkshire, England - Dominic Harrison, aka "Yungblud." This may seem an odd choice for a middle-aged woman living a mostly quiet and uneventful life in a small historic New England town, but I have recently become a little obsessed with watching this artist share his latest album with the world and interact with his fans in a deeply authentic and caring way that gets me a little choked up. He is just one example of an artist turning difficult, even tragic, experiences (whether their own or those shared by many people) into beautiful art that helps people heal, gives them courage, and creates a community of radical acceptance and support.
We need more of this. So much more of this. And women need to be supported in being able to make such art and get it out to the world.
Thank you, friend. Your reflection lands with such resonance.
“The tragedy of the creative energy that was siphoned off to make other people's lives easier…”—boom. It’s almost unspeakable some days. And yet here we are, kneeling, giving over, writing through the ache, not letting it have the last word.
And I love that you’re listening to Yungblud. There’s something beautifully subversive about being a middle-aged woman claiming joy and connection through music that’s bold, raw, and unapologetically alive. It defies the worn-out script that says women our age should quiet down or grow invisible. You remind me that we get to tune into whatever stirs our spirit.
Art like his—unafraid, caring, communal—is medicine. Let's continue turning toward what helps us feel, heal, and belong.
With gratitude,
Prajna
Subversive … unexpected … rebellious - all these words taste good on my tongue and in my heart. I have been thinking a lot lately of just what you bring up - this pushing back against the assumption that, once we hit a certain age and/or life stage, we are supposed to surrender something of ourselves - become smaller and quieter and less in the way. Ironic that it is only as I cross over this threat that I am feeling a stronger urgency to express myself more authentically and release my creativity more often.
Aww, Jamie, the urgency you name—is sacred power. It’s not a midlife crisis, it’s a creative uprising. A refusal to surrender what is now ripe. I love what you underlined: subversive, unexpected, rebellious—yes, yes, yes. The lie is that we should grow smaller with age, when in truth, the fire only concentrates.
We’re not here to become quieter. We’re here to disturb the narrative, to take up space with our stories, our art, our inconvenient longings. I feel your voice rising, and it gives me courage to stay—to kindle fierce love.
So damn good Prajna. Now let me read Jamie. 💗
Thank you for recommending Yungblud…music to enliven the vibrant beat that flows through our lived-long bodies. I’m going to find him now & dance in my kitchen!
Oh! I love that, Lee. So nice to “meet” you. Love to hear what you think after you’ve listened.
😁🎶
Great to meet you, Jamie! Yungblud is stretching me in every good way while I shake out allll the feelings. The Funeral--"dancing with tears in your eyes". Love it:)
So fun! I want to know how it goes as well. Lee, thank you for joining the conversation. Let’s dance.
“The connective tissue in our shared stories curates a balm for the scar tissue we carry from the mindless misuse of power by those who did not learn the rules of love”. Lovely and true. I treat this place like a sacred space full of open hearts and minds where I am not afraid to be human. ♥️
Hi Eileen, Thank you so much for this, and for joining us in this space. Your words land—“a sacred space full of open hearts and minds where I am not afraid to be human.” That’s exactly the kind of connective tissue I hope we’re weaving together.
There’s so much we carry, quietly, and so much tenderness and power in naming it together. I’m grateful you're here. ♥️
With care,
Prajna
They look like such angels when they're sleeping, don't they? I'm glad there was no concussion and get the sleep wherever you can. I have inadvertently mastered sleeping while standing up on the bus. Not the best, but you know, you take it where you can get it. Honestly, it's the only kind of sleeping around I have any interest in or energy for these days and your days, your energy, I don't know where you get it from. Hope your butt feels better soon and thank goodness for your local posse. ❤️🩹
Hi Jodi, Oh, you made me laugh—sleeping standing up on the bus (I remember reading about this). You deserve a badge of honor (or maybe a cape?). Yes to catching sleep wherever it’s hiding these days, and I feel you on the kind of "sleeping around" that matters now. 😴
Thank you for the care. My butt is recovering as long as I don't land hard, I'm good! 🙈 Grateful every day for my wild local posse and kind, funny notes like yours. ❤️🩹
With love,
Prajna
The way life changes in a moment. The perils of the ordinary. I hope things are calmer and injuries are healing, Prajna.
I loved that phrase ‘blissful exhaustion’ as the state you were in prior. Such a good phrase.
Dear Wendy, Yes… the perils of the ordinary. Thank you for naming that—how everything can shift in an instant, even in the softest moments. We are mostly on the mend over here, and I’m grateful for your care in what I have come to call a tragic comedy.
And I’m so glad blissful exhaustion resonated—it really was that, just before the chaos. The strange sweetness of being spent in service of love, before the tumble. Thank you for reading so attentively. 💛
I am often humbled by the content of your writing, Prajna. You are a Madonna Goddess tending to a world of unwavering love, unwavering injustice, and nourishment of the broken hearted. What you do in your small slice of the world is a mirror of what we all need to do in our country.
Courage does not look like a gold breast plate and gold wristbands resting on the sword of justice -- courage looks like skinned knees, a bruised hip and cat barf on the pillow. Courage grows from the chaos and is fed by a heart, such as yours. To bear witness to this through your writing humbles and inspires me. It inspires me to quit whining, quit worrying and quit lamenting, because there is always work to be done. You show us the way.
I have fallen in love with you, your girls, the service dog and now this ridiculous and rambunctious kitten. I have fallen in love with how you demonstrate the act of getting up again and again to tend to the lives around you. And to do so with the grace you embody . . . well, that too is humbling.
This particular story is one of grace's triumph, but it's also a story of what we all need to do to thrive in this historic times. We need to keep getting up and nourishing with love what and who are around us.
Forever will you be in my heart, dear Prajna. I feel blessed and honored to count you among my friends.
Oh, my twin heart, Stephanie. Your words undid me. I had to read them more than once, slowly, letting them land.
Thank you for witnessing—not just the chaos, but the grace that grows us through it. Thank you for naming courage not in gold plates or polished stories, but in skinned knees and cat barf and the relentless choiceless rising to tend again.
Your reflection reminds me that writing is worth it—even when I feel unsure or frayed. You give me back to myself with this note.
I'm so grateful to be walking alongside you in these historic, humbling, and fiercely tender times. Sisterhood like this? That’s the real gold.
We—my little women, Woody, and the wild feline love you back—always—and feel you close.
Ruby and Woody together are a tragic comedy.
I really do love being part of it. ❤️
Twin heart. I will cherish that term moving forward.
I could have said soul. It sings, doesn't it?
Prajna, your words are what I needed today…the mourning after the big bullshit bill passed. I’m breathing. Only kindness matters. Love rules. Biggest hug to you and your menagerie💞
Oh Lee, yes… the mourning after. I’m breathing with you. It all feels so heavy some days, but I hold tight to what you said: only kindness matters. Love rules. Thank you for underlining this.
Hugs to you from me, Woody, Ruby, and all the humans that orbit my tiny corner of the universe! 💞
Knowing we’re still here, breathing together, is a solace. I had a red cat named Ruby & she was a 4-legged terror when she was little. Your Ruby and Woody are such innocents when they’re sleeping. May your bum be better today!
Lee, you make me smile. A few choice tattoos are on my bucket list. Ruby just checked off one of the boxes; however, temporary. Ruby was rubbing noses with Woody last night, so sweet.
😂tattoos
;)