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Meso Vortices

In the eye of the storm we are reborn.

11/27/2025

Thankful.
For the friendships and connections that held me, inspired me, and changed me this year.
For the new bonds that arrived gently, and the old ones that continue to anchor me.

I’m especially thankful for the quiet strength I’ve uncovered within myself.
I began this year thinking I needed physical strength.
And while I’m grateful for the friends guiding me on that path,
I’ve realized the deeper work has been mental, emotional, and energetic—
the kind of strength that rises from shadow,
that grows in the cracks,
that learns to hold both pain and compassion at once.

Losing my dad this year carved out a space in me I’m still learning how to carry.
Today, I honor him.
His love, his influence, and the way he shaped the person I continue to become.

The Wounded Healer series has been part of that journey—
learning not to identify as the wound,
but to grow through it,
to meet others in their own pain with tenderness and truth.

I’m emerging into something new,
and I feel all those who’ve walked beside me—past and present—guiding that becoming.

For all of you who are part of my life, in any way:
Thank you.
Your presence matters more than you know.
🧡🌻

------
Thankful
Sony A7iv + Sigma 24-70 DG DN Art
f5.6, 1/320 sec, ISO 100

11/15/2025

One of a Kind
Sony A7RV + Sigma 24-70 DG DN Art
f9, 1/6 sec, ISO 100

11/07/2025

As long as there is blood in my veins,
I will love —
fiercely, openly,
without apology
for the ways I have mended.
⠀
I will celebrate this pulse,
this breath,
this wild reminder
that I am still here.
⠀
I will see the good in others,
and in myself.
⠀
Give when my cup is full,
and when it runs low,
I will rest beside the river
and let it fill me again.
⠀
I am a Wounded Healer, yes —
but not The Wounded Healer.
⠀
It is not my crown,
nor my cage.
⠀
It is the garden that grew
from the soil of my pain —
a place I visit,
but do not live.
⠀
My healing moves through me,
not as burden but as breath —
like water through stone,
like fire through dawn,
like love through the heart
that still believes.
⠀
There is divinity in touch —
in the joining of bodies
that remember
what it means to be whole
together.
⠀
When your skin met mine,
I remembered
I am more than my sorrow.
⠀
I am warmth and pulse,
softness and ache,
a temple built
from every scar,
reborn in your arms.
⠀
For I still have blood in my veins —
still fire in my breath,
still tenderness in my touch.
⠀
I am whole,
not because I’ve never been broken,
but because I choose
to keep opening
again and again
to love.
⠀
------
Even the healer bleeds.
Even the broken loves.

Wholeness isn’t the absence of pain—
it’s the courage to love through it.

------
Blood In My Veins
Sony A7RV + Sigma 24-70 DG DN Art
f8, 1/640 sec, ISO 320

11/02/2025

Beneath the Penstock
Sony A7RV + Sigma 16-28 DG DN C
f9, 1.6 sec, ISO 100

10/30/2025

Sometimes we find ourselves
in the places
where the veil is thin —
⠀
Where the air hums
between worlds,
and the rush of water
carries whispers
of before and beyond.
⠀
There is strength
in the power of water —
⠀
Waves shape sand upon the shore,
Rivers carve the waiting valleys,
and tears erode the sadness
within our hearts.
⠀
Through the mist of the waterfall,
like a veil to the unseen world,
I glimpse the faces
of those I’ve known —
⠀
Lovers, friends, and foes —
souls who’ve danced with mine
through lifetimes
and lessons untold.
⠀
They have felt the power
of my empathy,
the warmth of my healing touch,
and the echo of my words.
⠀
As the water crashes,
I hear their cries —
of pain, of loss,
of fear and passion.
⠀
I hear my own too.
⠀
For the one who dwells
in the darkest parts of the rock
and still sees the light
can alchemize pain into pleasure,
sadness into joy,
despair into hope.
⠀
This is the truth
of a Wounded Healer —
⠀
Our greatest strength
is born
from the depths
of our deepest sorrow.

------
The Wounded Healer
Sony A7iv + Tamron 70-180 Di III VXD
f10, 4/5 sec, ISO 100

10/25/2025

I’ve been blessed to know so many rare flowers in this life —
beautifully weird souls who feel like petals from the same bloom,
leaves from the same branch
reaching toward the light.

Lovers, friends, and family:
some I’ve lost, some I still get to keep…
and some remain only in the quiet, sacred places of my heart.

When I was younger, I wondered why.
Why do these brilliantly uncommon spirits find their way into my orbit?

How did I become so lucky?

For life has a way of testing us —
not to tear us apart,
but to reveal the golden seams that hold us together.
To show us the perfectly imperfect cracks
that make us capable of deeper love.

In healing my own wounds, I began to understand:
some of us are meant to alchemize the pain —
to turn what once hurt into a soft place for others to land.
We become guides, wounded healers, not because we are unbroken,
but because we learned how to grow through the fractures.

And somewhere along this path, I learned:

1. You are the rare flower.
2. You are the one who calls other rare flowers into bloom.
3. The universe is always holding up a mirror.

So keep blooming in your own wild way.

Stay strange.
Stay radiant.
Stay you.

The ones who belong in your garden
will always grow toward your light —
no matter how many lives or seasons you’ve lived.

—------
Rare Flower
(Trillium)
Sony A7iv + Sigma 24-70 DG DN Art
f6.3, 1/100 sec, ISO 640

10/18/2025

Last of the Nectar
Sony A7RV + Sigma 24-70 DG DN Art
f5.6, 1/640 sec, ISO 100

10/16/2025

Deception Falls
Sony A7RV + Sigma 24-70 DG DN Art
f/8, 3/5 sec, ISO 100

10/14/2025

In My Skin
Sony A7iv +Sigma 24-70 DG DN Art
f11, 1.3 sec, ISO 100, 24mm

10/05/2025

25 Mile Creek
Sony A7RV + Sigma 24-70 DG DN Art
f10, 4/5 sec, ISO 100, Focus Stacked

09/26/2025

In the meadow, where I walked, crickets sang of sparrow...
I paused because a lament it was: the tale of Bolt and Arrow.

She flew among the stars, they sang, in a field of felling fog,
while listening to the nightingale sing, about the trilling frog.
She slept within the Moon's embrace, awoke with Sun, who gave her grace.

Quick as wind, she was a sparrow, so her name they gave was Arrow.

Love she felt for the peace it dealt– in the meadow where she'd bed.
It filled her heart and refused to part; and so, for love, she's dead.

Days crept on in the summer heat; new foes arose and now we meet.
To slither here upon the ground, he never ever made a sound.

Quick as silver was his jolt, so the serpent's name they gave was Bolt.

In the last of light, the serpent spread, and blindly caught a sparrow.
He squeezed and pressed, he didn't know, his prey was little Arrow.

"Farewell fair sparrow", the crickets cried, as she fell within his maw.
Red skies and fireflies were the last she ever saw.

As Bolt uncurled to see his prey, for whom he'd cruelly slain,
it was a shock, for what he found, did stop his heart in strain.
This great beauty's life he'd taken– his kill, was now in vain.

Bolt did weep, and Death did see, his grief for Arrow's pain.

So Death took Bolt, in grief of loss, and summoned all to see.
He laid sweet Bolt and Arrow down upon a bed of moss,
In willow bark and heather limb amongst the leaves of trees.

"Lovers, these two, they should have been!", cried the crickets and the bees.

"Sing aloud, lament my friends, honor life’s release!"
Death proclaimed, for all to hear, as he stood upon their barrow.

So sing they did–a sweet lament–the tale of Bolt and Arrow.

------
Snowdrop Anenome
Sony A7iv + Tamron 28-200 Di III RXD
f/7.1, 1/400 sec, ISO 100, 107mm

09/14/2025

The Absent Sea
------
aka: Howe Sunset
Sony A7iv +Sigma 24-70 DG DN Art
f/10, 1/3 sec, ISO 100

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98816

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