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A little love from our heart to yours.


Gentle and waiting, creating space,

he tells the story soft and balanced, like a prayer;

like the morning softly blesses each day.

Each breath is a remembered blessing. 

Creating with each breath and allowing with each sigh.


Just be the beast that was born.

Feed that animal,

be the creature that prowls,

that lives and expirates.

Be the laughing, crying, dying;

Be the forgotten one;

Be the center of the ring;

Be the exhausted and sick;

Just be.


If you cannot live alone; then you are as you should be. 

If you cannot live with anyone else, then that is beautiful. 

You pray for peace, and your breath is a blessing 

Resting gently on the shoulders of the mountains. 

You can imagine nothing but dark days and suffering 

and you are the world and your life is the pantomime.

Behind the curtain rests a secret one, 

A small bird, darting looks, and watching for danger.


Sing! Oh, sing your heart. 

Sing your fear.

Sing the blessings and the curses. 

Creator of universes – 

You are a fallen leaf and the tender new growth. 

You are a beautiful and you are dying. 

Your life is the life of all things. 

Your joy is the laughter of every single thing which exists.


You are not unique.

you have nothing, no burden except to stop striving; 

stop trying, and to be the heart you were born with. 

What is the price we pay? 

Thinking ourselves gods, we forget to breathe. 

Can you be a conduit? Can you be the soil? 

Can you be the sky, the wing, the foot, the seed?


If there is a purpose under heaven 

then we have only been given the smallest glimpse of it;

less than a keyhole to look through.

To dance out of the way of danger

is different then to never dance at all, 

immobile and safe,

lined up to be thrown away.

Why do we choose to live this way?


Impulse is a fickle breeze 

you live in a river.

Don’t question your thoughts 

Don’t question your choices 

You are perfect.


Leave the land of right and wrong 

and live in the woods 

foraging by day and falling into a deep slumber each night. 

Living is the reason you were born. 

Death is the only reason you will ever need for living. 

Wendy Hunt is an artist, illustrator, free-range thinker, musician, and writer living in the Mojave Desert. She loves the playful element of designing and developing brands, websites, and marketing goodies. Wendy has always loved maps and speculates that we can visually map our interior landscape the same way we map our physical world.

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