My tiny daughter by the Elm tree.

“My tiny daughter stands by an Elm


The one that gave me vision.

A real Saul to Paul conversion.


Not upon a Damascus road,


Still a holy site.

My parents backyard, and a tree

I’ve known for all my life.


Warm for January,

But cold enough for urgency.

The pain of staying the same makes for urgent awakening.


Another story about a tree,


A confirmation of inner ugliness.

Every mirror, save one, confirmed this.


But this tree, she didn’t believe in anything.

Only now that I was willing

She herself whispering, “Take a look”.


Turn inward, turn around.

Like walking off a cliff, into unknown



And uncertain how.


Then, suddenly courageous, and I swear –

It was something the tree


could offer me.

Indeed now, turning around,

no longer blind

leaping –


From the furthest branch

of my self

back, back into the deep.


And what did I see?


Goddess, if that makes more sense.

Not alone, but underneath



A barren Elm, in the dead of winter

She taught me.”

— WRL, 1.1.18



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