Oh Deborah, beautiful words have found you here, carried by the sounds of the sea, morning song of birds, humming of bees, and the resonant ding and dong of the hangdrum.
As synchrony would have it, I met a young woman at a party last Saturday who works as a tuner of hangdrums. I could feel the vibrations of the beautiful instrument murmur and shine through her sparkling eyes, radiant skin and warm smile. A fellow human reminding me of earlier turns of the Wheel of Life. Full of enthusiasm, but not without a natural undertone of anxiety, uncertainty, the eternal questions in the face of the fragile unknown.
I love how you have woven the threads together here, stitched into the tapestry, the mosaic of your living story. In love and wisdom 🩵🙏 🪶🦉
Thank you so much, Veronika, for letting me know my Final Verse resonated with you. I was sipping tea at 6am on Saturday when this thought came to me: this is where I’d like to die, outside in the garden, early in the day, with a warm cup in hand. So I reached for my pen and began writing how Father Sun was caressing each flower with kindness and the birds were singing an old song. And just like that, the words found their way in.
This is the twentieth story I've written for my memoir since arriving. What an inspiring place this garden of light (and delight!) is. There's still work to do and plenty of polishing ahead, but honestly, I'm thrilled to have written so much. Though I didn’t meet a soul friend (so very different from any other kind of connection) in the first half of my life, I’ve been blessed to meet a few in the second. Thank you for being one of them.
Oh, I love how synchronicity dances with us, how we meet ourselves in a thousand different guises over a lifetime. A hand-drum tuner of all people, wow! Just wow! I’ve been reflecting on those meetings a lot as I step into my croning years, hopeful that I've still got a few more to live, to write, to simply 'be'. 🩵🙏 🪶🦉
"No chapter of our lives is ever wasted, no verse ever gets erased". Those words made me think of something that John Burroughs wrote in his 'Scheme of the Universe' - "This vital Nature out of which we came, out of which father and mother came, out of which all men come, and to which again we all in due time return, why should we fear it or distrust it? It makes our hearts beat and our brains think. When it stops the beating and the thinking, will it not be well also? It looked after us before we were born; it will look after us when we are dead. Every particle of us will be taken care of; the force of every heart-beat is conserved somewhere, somehow." These words, when I first discovered them, gave a great sense of comfort. They still do. Your wondrous words chime in similar fashion. Thank you.
Your mention of the bee as she hummed along the path of her routine got me thinking about bees again, I started thinking about drones and workers, and how they all fit into the story of Bee. It made for interesting reading.
If this is the final verse, may it be a long one! ☺️
Ralph, the gift of your kind, gentle words have wrapped themselves around me like a soft blanket. Thank you so much. Indeed, that passage by John Burroughs is deeply comforting and reading it alongside your reflections felt like being handed a lantern for the darker stretches of the path ahead.
“It looked after us before we were born; it will look after us when we are dead”. What a deeply moving line to carry close through our days. So much of what we fear about death is, I hope, far from the Truth.
And how wonderful that Bee led you into a deeper story of her own. Isn’t it amazing how even the hum of a single wing can awaken such wonder and reflection? Every spring, I find myself watching out for the first bee and quietly giving thanks. Now, I think of myself as a kind of bee, too - poet as gatherer, ink as pollen.
As for the final verse … yes, may it bee a long, luminous one that unfolds gently, with rhythm and resonance, right up until that early morning when I sit outside with a cup of tea and return to the stars. 🙏🌿🐝✨
Hi Deborah, the landscape of our soul paying homage to its ties to the earthy human existence before returning home on a whim and a whisper to, and from, the stars. Listening as earth's elementals bid you farewell — a gentle caress, a feathery whisp to float you to the realm we know in other dream like states of being. Whole, complete and perfected — before the earthy journey began, we remember. Home. Bliss 🙏 🌀 🌱 😊 💙
Thank you so much, Simone, for the beauty and grace of your soulful reply. I wasn't sure how this story was going to unfold, but sitting in the garden at 6am inspired me hugely. Flicking back and forward through the twenty stories I've written so far for my memoir - trying to find a thread to weave together - was no small challenge. And yet, here in this other garden of light and delight, in just 20 weeks, so many chapters have come to life.
How? With the love, friendship and generous support of kindred spirits like yourself.
I was especially moved by what you wrote about Mama Gaia's elementals bidding us farewell as we leave - those gentle caresses and feathery wisps guiding us home to the stars. It gave me such a beautiful image of returning to what I fondly now call (thanks to Marisol) the 'we-world' above. Whole, complete and perfected. Oh my goodness, my hands are buzzing as I'm typing this to you! May it be so. 🙏 🌀 🌱 😊 💙
Thank you Deborah, sweet ... because I felt the elementals whisper that to me as I wrote it. I agree, that the sharing of the writing and support keeps it flowing somehow, like its a collaboration, a buoyancy of love and light. Acceptance, and trust to be held in our vulnerability. Thank you and congrats re your writing achievement😊 ✍️ 💚
And just when you think the final story's been told, another begins to write itself. Hmm, I intuit a few more may rise before the year's out, filling in some tender spaces before this memoir closes. In Truth, it's all been soul herd magick, for I could've have written any of these stories without you, especially you Dear Fairy Crone. 🙏💖🧚♀️✒️
Lovely, there will always be another chapter 💜. It is all ‘soul herd magick’ … and thank you for your generous comment - received in a much needed ‘space’ today. Thank you Green Witch. Sending love your way 🙏🏼 🧚🏾 🌱🧙♀️💙
Deborah, this post greeted me this morning. The title drew me in close. I love the image of the poet returning to the stars, especially with the recent passing of my father from life to death. He always seemed close to the pulse of the universe and held on to the material things of this life lightly, more as accompaniments than as possessions.
The image of you listening, creating space, and being written by the words that found you along your way is so lovely.
Your naming the arrival not at a place, but at a way of being is a reminder, a stone to carry in the pocket, to remember that the journey on the paths of our own layered landscapes is a worthy one. A way of being is something that remains. A destination fades.
"I didn't break; I became". Written by the darkness you encountered. The spaciousness of silence, potential and full. Words waiting to be found on the inside. All pointing to innate wholeness, attention, and a life lived fully, intentionally, and with artistry. The artistry of creation and co-creation, being written and writing, holding the parts that were wounded and felt broken, offering up your treasures to be shared.
I feel a kinship to your words this morning and am holding them close.
At one point I had written and sung (to myself) about the heart. "We are not broken. Our hearts may be broken, but we are not broken. We are whole. We are whole. The cracks in our broken hearts let the light in. The instructions for our healing are inscribed on the walls of our hearts. We need light to see them, and once we can see them, we can hold them and know what we need. So let our hearts be broken. Let the light come in. Read what is written. Heal and hold our wholeness made of brokenness."
Your words about poetry not being something you created, but something waiting to be found on the inside echoes similarly for me.
I picture you and your long career as a psychotherapist, walking alongside people and their stories, finding the gems from each person's story. In bearing witness to life, you learned and healed. The wounded healer who knows they are wounded and imperfect but whole are the best kind, the ones that others can be with and find solace as well as strength.
Thank you Deborah for this beautiful writing on this fine morning with robin song and the promise of rain.
Wow, Susan! There’s no other way to begin but with a heartfelt thank you for your beautiful response to my story. The image you shared of your father - living so close to the pulse of the universe and holding life so lightly - will stay with me for days. What a gift to have that memory of him rise as you read this story; I’m deeply honoured my words met you in such a sacred moment.
Your own reflection on “a way of being” as something that remains, something we carry like a stone in the pocket, felt like a mirror held up to my own heart, a gift in itself. Because that’s exactly how I felt writing this - not a destination, but a rhythm I finally learned to live by.
And your song about the heart … ab-soul-utely exquisite. What powerful healing lives within those lines. “We are whole. We are whole.” Yes. Yes. And yes again. I cried whilst writing this post, and cried again reading your reply.
Thank you so much Susan for seeing into the marrow of these words, and for replying with such grace, generosity and soul. I feel the kinship, too - and I carry it with quiet, lasting gratitude. With love and deep thanks.
Your words land with quiet beauty, Philip. That chorus at your door feels like a benediction, a reminder that all endings are thresholds. Thanks so much for reading. 🙏🐦
So beautiful, Lila! Thank you so much. Apologies for my late reply, July swept me into travels and quiet reflection, but I'm here now, heart full and grateful. 💗💚
Oh, Deborah, I found this piece late last night as I was drifting into dreamtime—it came with me.
I had to wait to comment until I could offer due respect to this exquisite homecoming.
"Oh, Great Mother, marry me – take me to your family."
I will remember this now, and in another time. So many soul parallels: Jungian, archetypes, therapist, Curandera, the green witch, the cyclical dark underground journey. The darkness that does not steal from us but writes us—lives us whole and holy.
So much I love in your returning: “nothing is truly lost, only transformed.” Even the unseen, misunderstood, and unmoored is soul food.
Hand on heart: all my years have carried me to this way of being... roots twisting deep like memories, all folded inside of me.
This imprints deep:
“The Wheel turns again. I have walked through Imbolc’s hope, Beltane’s fire, Samhain’s shadow. And now, as the year folds inward, I step into the final season – the quiet return, the knowing that all things come back in time.
I take another sip of tea. The warmth lingers.
I smile as a familiar hum reaches me – soft, steady, golden. I notice the bee returning, retracing her path as I have, following those unseen rhythms, carrying the pollen of what remains.
I’m not leaving – I am becoming. I carry it inside me, woven into my words, my hands, the pause between footsteps.”
Just wow.
I had such a smile this morning in the final corpse pose in yoga. Bubbles of joy giggled, unfolded, rooted—always staying (even in the hard mess). I heard myself say, Aw, here I am. That is the one I have always known. Life was a bit hectic, and this return is here.
This piece is an invocation for all to relax with the whispers of the wind, and return again and again to Her.
Prajna, your beautiful words wrap around me like moonlight on river stones, gentle and luminous. I feel the hum of your journey in mine, the knowing that what’s lived and lost becomes sacred rhythm. Thank you so much for weaving your soul-song with mine. It's such a joy to be back here in this garden of light and delight. Namaste my dear friend, namaste
Just gorgeous. "The past no longer calls me back. It hums gently – woven into the hush between heartbeats, whispered in the sigh of trees, whirling in the dance of wind." Yes! It's stunning to reach that time in life when the past is truly past and we are released from repeating it or longing for it. Instead we feel it as part of our journey and our gift of this lifetime.
Oh, I’m ab-soul-utely thrilled this one resonated with you, Elizabeth!
There have been so many points in my life when I asked myself, how will I ever move past the 'past'? And yet, here I am, writing about the day I'm going to die, realising that somehow ... I will. I don’t know how I know I'm going to heal in advance, I only know it’s waiting for me.
The release you speak of feels almost Divine, as if the Goddesses and Gods themselves have intervened ... and perhaps they have. There’s always a gift for the writer whenever we pick up our pens, and this, I now see, is another. Thanks so much for reflecting this gift back to me.
This is so beautiful Deborah. I felt myself falling into your words, being carried, soothed. I recognise them as my own words - my own story:
"The path was never straight. I fought my way through tangled forests, swam through dark waters, sat beside trees and stones that listened when no one else could. I was unseen, misunderstood, unmoored – but never lost for words. For even in silence they still found me.
The darkness of my life didn’t steal from me – it wrote me. Silence was never emptiness – it was always a space filled with things waiting to arrive."
Thank you so much, Jo, for letting me know how deeply my Final Verse spoke to you.
There’s always a gift for the writer, isn’t there? For me, it was this line: "The darkness of my life didn’t steal from me – it wrote me." I wept while writing many of the lines you've highlighted, but that one cracked me open completely.
Why? Because it's taken a lifetime to understand that the dark, chaotic times weren’t a curse, but a kind of alchemy – a forging, not a breaking. I’m still unpacking that Truth. I think I always will. For it holds such wonder. Such awe. 💜💜💜
"I’m dying – not suddenly, not in fear, but in quiet recognition as memories rise like shifting seasons" "I'm not leaving - I am becoming." Yes, that's the sense of the croning season. How deftly your words summarize the essences of a life mindfully lived. Your gift is a gift to me. Thank you. Jeanie
Dear Jeanie, thank you so much for letting me know my Final Verse spoke deeply to you. I wanted a story I could carry through the years - one to remind me how important it is to sit with a soft heart. And what better moment to root that Truth in than the day I die. Love and blessings, always, my dear friend. 💜🙏✨
I know nothing about Scorpios. It just now occurred to me that any knowledge, and it is very brief, of astrology, is concentrated solely on my own sign. Wow. That had never settled on me before, but that is not an ego thing, just wanting to know my own self more and more deeply. I should probably remedy that. However, having said that, I can attest that it seems fitting you were born in "the flaming heart of late autumn." I can see you as late autumn perfectly.
The poem was sublime! I love some of the lines like, "recoding recording mundane supermarket voyages." Isn't that the truth, though? When we are on autopilot doing the mundane things of life, is when life picks us up by the ankles and slaps us into "the now" with some message you wouldn't have expected where you were. "Voyager voyeur" so fitting! How you do voyage into other people and see them wholly and sometimes, as I said, it is seeing yourself so clearly that it guides us to do the same. And then "I cannot write like Deborah but I can write of Deborah." Ummm...amen. There is no body quite like you, lovely Sister, you are unique and special and gifted, just as we all are, but your way with words is enviable!! You and Simone, too, the way you see 'inside' of others, from different places and different things. Its beautiful!
There is something wonderful and timeless about words that you read and every time you read them, you see them with fresh eyes. Some statement that you 'skimmed' over before suddenly becomes more apparent, as if freshly written in bold. It's not that what was written has changed, but that you have and, at the time, it is that piece that you are seeing more clearly (as you know). It is kind of warm to see how your heart and Soul attune and grow in that way. One of the times where we get to see the desire of the heart so openly.
Oh, Danielle, what a blessing you are my dear friend! Thank you so much for reflecting those poetic words back to me so that I could (indeed) see myself more clearly. And yes, it really does help all of us doesn't it? It's such a win-win situation, I hadn't quite seen until now. So many thanks again.
Whenever I meet a kindred spirit, one of the first things I notice is how fully themselves they are - often unapologetically so. They write (and dress!) with their own of wild wisdom, exploring all sides of who they are. Like Simone, they live in the multi-dimensionality of life and tend to meet it with less judgement that most.
And as for words - I can't tell you how many poems and stories I've written from just a single comment, a passing conversation. I call it 'soul whispering' because when the right connection forms, the conversation deepens, sometimes without us even realising. It heals, doesn't it? The way we read one another with fresh eyes.
Thank you so much for being here. I'll be heading off soon on my summer travels at the end of the months, so I'll ask now - how did your last day go? XO
That's the wish, right - that everyone could be fully themselves. Some do it better than others. That is for sure!! We absolutely should be ourselves, without apology and we should always be exploring our full selves, with the possibility of finding more treasure, more nuance, more mystery, more intrigue, and, hopefully, more love.
It does heal when you are able to latch onto a turn of phrase or something else that stands out. That IS the reason for its existence, to spark something within us that needs to be examined more closely. So then we dream, we create, we manifest, we write to turn that shiny penny over and over and to glean it's message and how we can apply it to our life, and what else accompanies it or butts up against it that needs to be seen and shined, to accommodate this newest piece. We just do it. We only realize after the fact what we just did and sometimes, that's a surprise to even us.
I have another post coming out on the 25th that accompanies or "completes" the last one, if such a thing can truly ever be complete. I wouldn't have changed one thing about the last day, even though it didn't turn out at all like I thought it would. Just when I thought it would go one way, it changed again. But, it was just right.
As for my feelings about it, I'm still processing. Read: all of the tears haven't fallen yet. The idea that it is summer hasn't quite yet sunk in. There is always a settling. Where I am waking up when I would have even though I needn't because it's habit. Not that I'd sleep a lot longer anyway, but you know what I mean. Yesterday, I had an all day thing, so I needed to get up and get going. Tomorrow, the same. Today is the first time since it ended that I don't have something happening-ish because I still have homework, so it feels like the same old thing. It makes it difficult to settle my mind, process all that baggage and fold it away neatly into the corners of my heart for storage. I quietly suspect this will go on for a few more days, as least, until I find some quiet moments to really let go and grab fully onto summer with open hands, rather than clenched fists. Thank you for asking!! I'll give you a sneak peek of my last day's thoughts, over on chat. You can read the rest at your leisure after it comes out! XO
“we write to turn that shiny penny over and over ...” Yes! That’s it, you’ve nailed it, Danielle!
Thank you so much for sprinkling your beauty, grace and wisdom and for letting me glimpse how a little of your last day went over in chat. No spoilers here from me, I promise. But, wow, talk about 'best laid plans' and all that jazz! I’ll look forward to part two of your second post in full in a couple of days.
To which I giggled out loud because yesterday I was busy writing a two-part chapter for my memoir - yep, all based on another shining penny that I couldn't stop turning over. Hopefully you'll get to read that one when I get back from my summer travels. I love it when synchronicity like this happens!
“There is always a settling”. So true, time for the particles to rearrange themselves as we move into, onto, a new path ... or rest a while at the crossroads, not because we're lost, just weary. Rest awhile dear Danielle, catch up with yourself! XO
Wow! I'm thinking, what did I miss, so very much looking forward to being surprised! I'm here (on Substack) till Sunday, so hopefully will catch the second part of your post. May it be so. 🙏🥰
Re, memoir. After reading a couple of how-to-write-a-memoir books, I've decided to ignore all traditional advice and plumb for a mosaic approach with the fragment (stories) making up a whole. XO
I agree with your approach. Were I to write one, it would very much be the same - essays and poems, coupled with my pictures, that make up the whole. I can't see any other way. And honestly, I kind of like these time captures, in a random, non-linear order. That is so much like the cyclic nature of life, really! Love ya, Sis! XO
This is truly exceptional. The way you've summarized so much of your life so briefly and yet, rather than feeling condensed, as if we're missing the punchline, it has only created a wide open space, such that it doesn't matter what we're missing because we're all holding our breath waiting for what joins you in the silence, in the wide open spaces.
You are such a gift, darling girl! The way you write and dream and think and poet and alchemize. It truly is breathtaking. Its not just that, but that you give all of us the space to be exactly who we are in this moment, too. Something to reflect on ourselves, a deeper knowing of our own self through your stories and poems and narratives. To write like you is lovely!!
And, I have to ask, because you mentioned the Wheel had turned again, is it your birthday?? XO
Wow, Danielle! You sure know how to set fire to a woman's heart. Thank you so much for the gift of your beautiful words - they moved me deeply. Let me start at the end: no, my birthday's not spring or summer. I'm a Scorpio woman, through and through - by name and nature, born in the flaming heart of late autumn.
In this 'Final Verse' I tried to weave together themes from other stories and bodies of work, including my 'Poetry of the Wheel' series, which now sleeps and dreams in my latest book 'Croneology' hence the mention of the Wheel (of the Year).
I love what you say about creating space, I honestly had no (conscious) idea I was doing that, whatsoever, so I'm ab-soul-utely thrilled to receive this feedback.
I almost never do this, but I want to briefly share something with you - a poem someone wrote about me a few years ago. It's stayed with me like a soft whisper at the back of my heart all these years. All the lines break will no likely disappear but never mind ... (post edit: I decided to remove the poem as it's deeply personal but thanks so much, Danielle, for reading!)
What a poem, what an extraordinary gift from one poet to another! I’ve read it again and again over the years, each time discovering a new breath tucked between the lines. It stirs something so deep and strange and true, and I feel both seen and summoned by it.
And Danielle, thank you so much again. Your beautiful, generous words have nestled into the corners of my heart and show me something extraordinary: that I'm the poet, looking back at myself. My heart is so full, the words can barely keep up but know this: I'm lit up from the inside. XO
It’s rare to witness a life so beautifully folded into words, each line carrying the weight of healing, memory, and return. I don’t know when my final verse will come, but reading this reminds me to live in a way that makes each chapter worth rereading.
Oh, that's such wonderful feedback! Thank you so much, Mohammed. Your words carry the grace of someone who listens deeply: to language, to life and to the quiet pulse beneath it all. May this chapter of your life unfold with intention, wonder and the kind of beauty that invites rereading. May it be so. 🙏
"We’re all stories I tell myself – written in tides, in wind, in the stillness between breaths. No chapter of our lives is ever wasted, no verse ever gets erased. Even those hardest moments are all part of our song."
I finally had a space to sink into your story, Deborah and, as soon as I began reading, it gentled me in, a welcome blanket comfort after a week of busyness.
You write with such grace and beauty. If this is the end wish, I hope your page turn promises new beginnings, perhaps somewhere, somewhen else, into other scenes that dance and flow and swirl and carry us with you. As much as a "symphony of the soul of love," I sensed it as moving swirls and sweeps of color on canvas, a prose-poem painting perhaps.
And then there's something there about the rhythm of the bee and its return that I can't quite identify in that painting I see in my mind's eye--a symbol of industriousness, freedom, flight and sweetness. And harmonic resonance with Nature. Life's connecting thread?
Oh, I love your beautiful waggle dance of words, Robin, most especially the way that bee threaded itself in. My name, Deborah, means bee, so of course I had to paint one into my final verse. And recently, inspired by a dear poet friend, Jamie, I recently wrote 'Pollen and Ink', a poetic response to a post he shared just a few days before. It's all interconnected, isn't it? It always is.
Thank you so much for making the space to read and for your kind and thoughtful words.
This is my twentieth short story in the mosaic memoir I've been crafting since I wandered into Substack nearly five months ago. There's still a few tender spaces to backfill, but I can't believe how inspiring this place has been to my creative fire.
Thanks for the "bee" clarification, Deborah. It looks like it's for the honey bee. I didn't know that was your name's meaning, but of course, in the Hebrew it is! My daughter's Hebrew name is Devorah--I will have to share that with her.
So much else to say--I love that you call your memoir a mosaic. Perhaps that's why it came to me as an image.
I'm writing an ancestor memoir about my grandmother Sophia's (wisdom, or chochma) coming to America in 1893 from the Pale of Settlement in Ukraine which also combines prose, poetry and narrative. I think of it as a tapestry, a la Chagall and my work is to pull that tapestry (the pieces) of her life--and following generations-- together, to "[re]member the world."
Tikkun Olam.
I've added pieces of it to my Substack, but reserving much of it as a performance piece.
So nice to be connected here. Thank you for subscribing!
Ah, your memoir feels like deep, rich, ancestral medicine. I'm really looking forward to reading the excerpts you've shared here in the weeks and months ahead. It'll be a joy to walk alongside another kindred spirit tending to her story ... healing, restoring and reweaving what's been lost in ourselves and our lineage. More than memory, a form of healing … a living act of repair. May it be so. 🙏
Oh Deborah, beautiful words have found you here, carried by the sounds of the sea, morning song of birds, humming of bees, and the resonant ding and dong of the hangdrum.
As synchrony would have it, I met a young woman at a party last Saturday who works as a tuner of hangdrums. I could feel the vibrations of the beautiful instrument murmur and shine through her sparkling eyes, radiant skin and warm smile. A fellow human reminding me of earlier turns of the Wheel of Life. Full of enthusiasm, but not without a natural undertone of anxiety, uncertainty, the eternal questions in the face of the fragile unknown.
I love how you have woven the threads together here, stitched into the tapestry, the mosaic of your living story. In love and wisdom 🩵🙏 🪶🦉
Thank you so much, Veronika, for letting me know my Final Verse resonated with you. I was sipping tea at 6am on Saturday when this thought came to me: this is where I’d like to die, outside in the garden, early in the day, with a warm cup in hand. So I reached for my pen and began writing how Father Sun was caressing each flower with kindness and the birds were singing an old song. And just like that, the words found their way in.
This is the twentieth story I've written for my memoir since arriving. What an inspiring place this garden of light (and delight!) is. There's still work to do and plenty of polishing ahead, but honestly, I'm thrilled to have written so much. Though I didn’t meet a soul friend (so very different from any other kind of connection) in the first half of my life, I’ve been blessed to meet a few in the second. Thank you for being one of them.
Oh, I love how synchronicity dances with us, how we meet ourselves in a thousand different guises over a lifetime. A hand-drum tuner of all people, wow! Just wow! I’ve been reflecting on those meetings a lot as I step into my croning years, hopeful that I've still got a few more to live, to write, to simply 'be'. 🩵🙏 🪶🦉
Powerful reflection. One we would all benefit to engage. A benediction to the end of a good good life. Thank you.
'a good good life' I love that, Muriel, thank you so much for reading and reflecting on my Final Verse.
I enjoyed this. Ty for sharing
That's so very kind of you. Thank you for reading.
"No chapter of our lives is ever wasted, no verse ever gets erased". Those words made me think of something that John Burroughs wrote in his 'Scheme of the Universe' - "This vital Nature out of which we came, out of which father and mother came, out of which all men come, and to which again we all in due time return, why should we fear it or distrust it? It makes our hearts beat and our brains think. When it stops the beating and the thinking, will it not be well also? It looked after us before we were born; it will look after us when we are dead. Every particle of us will be taken care of; the force of every heart-beat is conserved somewhere, somehow." These words, when I first discovered them, gave a great sense of comfort. They still do. Your wondrous words chime in similar fashion. Thank you.
Your mention of the bee as she hummed along the path of her routine got me thinking about bees again, I started thinking about drones and workers, and how they all fit into the story of Bee. It made for interesting reading.
If this is the final verse, may it be a long one! ☺️
Ralph, the gift of your kind, gentle words have wrapped themselves around me like a soft blanket. Thank you so much. Indeed, that passage by John Burroughs is deeply comforting and reading it alongside your reflections felt like being handed a lantern for the darker stretches of the path ahead.
“It looked after us before we were born; it will look after us when we are dead”. What a deeply moving line to carry close through our days. So much of what we fear about death is, I hope, far from the Truth.
And how wonderful that Bee led you into a deeper story of her own. Isn’t it amazing how even the hum of a single wing can awaken such wonder and reflection? Every spring, I find myself watching out for the first bee and quietly giving thanks. Now, I think of myself as a kind of bee, too - poet as gatherer, ink as pollen.
As for the final verse … yes, may it bee a long, luminous one that unfolds gently, with rhythm and resonance, right up until that early morning when I sit outside with a cup of tea and return to the stars. 🙏🌿🐝✨
Hi Deborah, the landscape of our soul paying homage to its ties to the earthy human existence before returning home on a whim and a whisper to, and from, the stars. Listening as earth's elementals bid you farewell — a gentle caress, a feathery whisp to float you to the realm we know in other dream like states of being. Whole, complete and perfected — before the earthy journey began, we remember. Home. Bliss 🙏 🌀 🌱 😊 💙
Thank you so much, Simone, for the beauty and grace of your soulful reply. I wasn't sure how this story was going to unfold, but sitting in the garden at 6am inspired me hugely. Flicking back and forward through the twenty stories I've written so far for my memoir - trying to find a thread to weave together - was no small challenge. And yet, here in this other garden of light and delight, in just 20 weeks, so many chapters have come to life.
How? With the love, friendship and generous support of kindred spirits like yourself.
I was especially moved by what you wrote about Mama Gaia's elementals bidding us farewell as we leave - those gentle caresses and feathery wisps guiding us home to the stars. It gave me such a beautiful image of returning to what I fondly now call (thanks to Marisol) the 'we-world' above. Whole, complete and perfected. Oh my goodness, my hands are buzzing as I'm typing this to you! May it be so. 🙏 🌀 🌱 😊 💙
Thank you Deborah, sweet ... because I felt the elementals whisper that to me as I wrote it. I agree, that the sharing of the writing and support keeps it flowing somehow, like its a collaboration, a buoyancy of love and light. Acceptance, and trust to be held in our vulnerability. Thank you and congrats re your writing achievement😊 ✍️ 💚
And just when you think the final story's been told, another begins to write itself. Hmm, I intuit a few more may rise before the year's out, filling in some tender spaces before this memoir closes. In Truth, it's all been soul herd magick, for I could've have written any of these stories without you, especially you Dear Fairy Crone. 🙏💖🧚♀️✒️
Lovely, there will always be another chapter 💜. It is all ‘soul herd magick’ … and thank you for your generous comment - received in a much needed ‘space’ today. Thank you Green Witch. Sending love your way 🙏🏼 🧚🏾 🌱🧙♀️💙
Thanks so much. Wishing you a lovely evening, Simone. 💜🙏🏼 🧚🏾 🌱🧙♀️💙
And you a lovely day beautiful soul 🥰
Deborah, this post greeted me this morning. The title drew me in close. I love the image of the poet returning to the stars, especially with the recent passing of my father from life to death. He always seemed close to the pulse of the universe and held on to the material things of this life lightly, more as accompaniments than as possessions.
The image of you listening, creating space, and being written by the words that found you along your way is so lovely.
Your naming the arrival not at a place, but at a way of being is a reminder, a stone to carry in the pocket, to remember that the journey on the paths of our own layered landscapes is a worthy one. A way of being is something that remains. A destination fades.
"I didn't break; I became". Written by the darkness you encountered. The spaciousness of silence, potential and full. Words waiting to be found on the inside. All pointing to innate wholeness, attention, and a life lived fully, intentionally, and with artistry. The artistry of creation and co-creation, being written and writing, holding the parts that were wounded and felt broken, offering up your treasures to be shared.
I feel a kinship to your words this morning and am holding them close.
At one point I had written and sung (to myself) about the heart. "We are not broken. Our hearts may be broken, but we are not broken. We are whole. We are whole. The cracks in our broken hearts let the light in. The instructions for our healing are inscribed on the walls of our hearts. We need light to see them, and once we can see them, we can hold them and know what we need. So let our hearts be broken. Let the light come in. Read what is written. Heal and hold our wholeness made of brokenness."
Your words about poetry not being something you created, but something waiting to be found on the inside echoes similarly for me.
I picture you and your long career as a psychotherapist, walking alongside people and their stories, finding the gems from each person's story. In bearing witness to life, you learned and healed. The wounded healer who knows they are wounded and imperfect but whole are the best kind, the ones that others can be with and find solace as well as strength.
Thank you Deborah for this beautiful writing on this fine morning with robin song and the promise of rain.
Wow, Susan! There’s no other way to begin but with a heartfelt thank you for your beautiful response to my story. The image you shared of your father - living so close to the pulse of the universe and holding life so lightly - will stay with me for days. What a gift to have that memory of him rise as you read this story; I’m deeply honoured my words met you in such a sacred moment.
Your own reflection on “a way of being” as something that remains, something we carry like a stone in the pocket, felt like a mirror held up to my own heart, a gift in itself. Because that’s exactly how I felt writing this - not a destination, but a rhythm I finally learned to live by.
And your song about the heart … ab-soul-utely exquisite. What powerful healing lives within those lines. “We are whole. We are whole.” Yes. Yes. And yes again. I cried whilst writing this post, and cried again reading your reply.
Thank you so much Susan for seeing into the marrow of these words, and for replying with such grace, generosity and soul. I feel the kinship, too - and I carry it with quiet, lasting gratitude. With love and deep thanks.
A chorus indeed, there were five birds singing at once at our door yesterday; your words and all departures a heart-beat, a drum-tune away.
Your words land with quiet beauty, Philip. That chorus at your door feels like a benediction, a reminder that all endings are thresholds. Thanks so much for reading. 🙏🐦
My heart is too full to speak…💗💚
So beautiful, Lila! Thank you so much. Apologies for my late reply, July swept me into travels and quiet reflection, but I'm here now, heart full and grateful. 💗💚
Welcome back Deborah. 💚
Oh, Deborah, I found this piece late last night as I was drifting into dreamtime—it came with me.
I had to wait to comment until I could offer due respect to this exquisite homecoming.
"Oh, Great Mother, marry me – take me to your family."
I will remember this now, and in another time. So many soul parallels: Jungian, archetypes, therapist, Curandera, the green witch, the cyclical dark underground journey. The darkness that does not steal from us but writes us—lives us whole and holy.
So much I love in your returning: “nothing is truly lost, only transformed.” Even the unseen, misunderstood, and unmoored is soul food.
Hand on heart: all my years have carried me to this way of being... roots twisting deep like memories, all folded inside of me.
This imprints deep:
“The Wheel turns again. I have walked through Imbolc’s hope, Beltane’s fire, Samhain’s shadow. And now, as the year folds inward, I step into the final season – the quiet return, the knowing that all things come back in time.
I take another sip of tea. The warmth lingers.
I smile as a familiar hum reaches me – soft, steady, golden. I notice the bee returning, retracing her path as I have, following those unseen rhythms, carrying the pollen of what remains.
I’m not leaving – I am becoming. I carry it inside me, woven into my words, my hands, the pause between footsteps.”
Just wow.
I had such a smile this morning in the final corpse pose in yoga. Bubbles of joy giggled, unfolded, rooted—always staying (even in the hard mess). I heard myself say, Aw, here I am. That is the one I have always known. Life was a bit hectic, and this return is here.
This piece is an invocation for all to relax with the whispers of the wind, and return again and again to Her.
Thank you. Deep bow
Prajna, your beautiful words wrap around me like moonlight on river stones, gentle and luminous. I feel the hum of your journey in mine, the knowing that what’s lived and lost becomes sacred rhythm. Thank you so much for weaving your soul-song with mine. It's such a joy to be back here in this garden of light and delight. Namaste my dear friend, namaste
Just gorgeous. "The past no longer calls me back. It hums gently – woven into the hush between heartbeats, whispered in the sigh of trees, whirling in the dance of wind." Yes! It's stunning to reach that time in life when the past is truly past and we are released from repeating it or longing for it. Instead we feel it as part of our journey and our gift of this lifetime.
Oh, I’m ab-soul-utely thrilled this one resonated with you, Elizabeth!
There have been so many points in my life when I asked myself, how will I ever move past the 'past'? And yet, here I am, writing about the day I'm going to die, realising that somehow ... I will. I don’t know how I know I'm going to heal in advance, I only know it’s waiting for me.
The release you speak of feels almost Divine, as if the Goddesses and Gods themselves have intervened ... and perhaps they have. There’s always a gift for the writer whenever we pick up our pens, and this, I now see, is another. Thanks so much for reflecting this gift back to me.
This is so beautiful Deborah. I felt myself falling into your words, being carried, soothed. I recognise them as my own words - my own story:
"The path was never straight. I fought my way through tangled forests, swam through dark waters, sat beside trees and stones that listened when no one else could. I was unseen, misunderstood, unmoored – but never lost for words. For even in silence they still found me.
The darkness of my life didn’t steal from me – it wrote me. Silence was never emptiness – it was always a space filled with things waiting to arrive."
Yes yes yes. 💜💜💜
Thank you so much, Jo, for letting me know how deeply my Final Verse spoke to you.
There’s always a gift for the writer, isn’t there? For me, it was this line: "The darkness of my life didn’t steal from me – it wrote me." I wept while writing many of the lines you've highlighted, but that one cracked me open completely.
Why? Because it's taken a lifetime to understand that the dark, chaotic times weren’t a curse, but a kind of alchemy – a forging, not a breaking. I’m still unpacking that Truth. I think I always will. For it holds such wonder. Such awe. 💜💜💜
"I’m dying – not suddenly, not in fear, but in quiet recognition as memories rise like shifting seasons" "I'm not leaving - I am becoming." Yes, that's the sense of the croning season. How deftly your words summarize the essences of a life mindfully lived. Your gift is a gift to me. Thank you. Jeanie
Dear Jeanie, thank you so much for letting me know my Final Verse spoke deeply to you. I wanted a story I could carry through the years - one to remind me how important it is to sit with a soft heart. And what better moment to root that Truth in than the day I die. Love and blessings, always, my dear friend. 💜🙏✨
I know nothing about Scorpios. It just now occurred to me that any knowledge, and it is very brief, of astrology, is concentrated solely on my own sign. Wow. That had never settled on me before, but that is not an ego thing, just wanting to know my own self more and more deeply. I should probably remedy that. However, having said that, I can attest that it seems fitting you were born in "the flaming heart of late autumn." I can see you as late autumn perfectly.
The poem was sublime! I love some of the lines like, "recoding recording mundane supermarket voyages." Isn't that the truth, though? When we are on autopilot doing the mundane things of life, is when life picks us up by the ankles and slaps us into "the now" with some message you wouldn't have expected where you were. "Voyager voyeur" so fitting! How you do voyage into other people and see them wholly and sometimes, as I said, it is seeing yourself so clearly that it guides us to do the same. And then "I cannot write like Deborah but I can write of Deborah." Ummm...amen. There is no body quite like you, lovely Sister, you are unique and special and gifted, just as we all are, but your way with words is enviable!! You and Simone, too, the way you see 'inside' of others, from different places and different things. Its beautiful!
There is something wonderful and timeless about words that you read and every time you read them, you see them with fresh eyes. Some statement that you 'skimmed' over before suddenly becomes more apparent, as if freshly written in bold. It's not that what was written has changed, but that you have and, at the time, it is that piece that you are seeing more clearly (as you know). It is kind of warm to see how your heart and Soul attune and grow in that way. One of the times where we get to see the desire of the heart so openly.
Thank you. Just...thank you!! XO
Oh, Danielle, what a blessing you are my dear friend! Thank you so much for reflecting those poetic words back to me so that I could (indeed) see myself more clearly. And yes, it really does help all of us doesn't it? It's such a win-win situation, I hadn't quite seen until now. So many thanks again.
Whenever I meet a kindred spirit, one of the first things I notice is how fully themselves they are - often unapologetically so. They write (and dress!) with their own of wild wisdom, exploring all sides of who they are. Like Simone, they live in the multi-dimensionality of life and tend to meet it with less judgement that most.
And as for words - I can't tell you how many poems and stories I've written from just a single comment, a passing conversation. I call it 'soul whispering' because when the right connection forms, the conversation deepens, sometimes without us even realising. It heals, doesn't it? The way we read one another with fresh eyes.
Thank you so much for being here. I'll be heading off soon on my summer travels at the end of the months, so I'll ask now - how did your last day go? XO
That's the wish, right - that everyone could be fully themselves. Some do it better than others. That is for sure!! We absolutely should be ourselves, without apology and we should always be exploring our full selves, with the possibility of finding more treasure, more nuance, more mystery, more intrigue, and, hopefully, more love.
It does heal when you are able to latch onto a turn of phrase or something else that stands out. That IS the reason for its existence, to spark something within us that needs to be examined more closely. So then we dream, we create, we manifest, we write to turn that shiny penny over and over and to glean it's message and how we can apply it to our life, and what else accompanies it or butts up against it that needs to be seen and shined, to accommodate this newest piece. We just do it. We only realize after the fact what we just did and sometimes, that's a surprise to even us.
I have another post coming out on the 25th that accompanies or "completes" the last one, if such a thing can truly ever be complete. I wouldn't have changed one thing about the last day, even though it didn't turn out at all like I thought it would. Just when I thought it would go one way, it changed again. But, it was just right.
As for my feelings about it, I'm still processing. Read: all of the tears haven't fallen yet. The idea that it is summer hasn't quite yet sunk in. There is always a settling. Where I am waking up when I would have even though I needn't because it's habit. Not that I'd sleep a lot longer anyway, but you know what I mean. Yesterday, I had an all day thing, so I needed to get up and get going. Tomorrow, the same. Today is the first time since it ended that I don't have something happening-ish because I still have homework, so it feels like the same old thing. It makes it difficult to settle my mind, process all that baggage and fold it away neatly into the corners of my heart for storage. I quietly suspect this will go on for a few more days, as least, until I find some quiet moments to really let go and grab fully onto summer with open hands, rather than clenched fists. Thank you for asking!! I'll give you a sneak peek of my last day's thoughts, over on chat. You can read the rest at your leisure after it comes out! XO
“we write to turn that shiny penny over and over ...” Yes! That’s it, you’ve nailed it, Danielle!
Thank you so much for sprinkling your beauty, grace and wisdom and for letting me glimpse how a little of your last day went over in chat. No spoilers here from me, I promise. But, wow, talk about 'best laid plans' and all that jazz! I’ll look forward to part two of your second post in full in a couple of days.
To which I giggled out loud because yesterday I was busy writing a two-part chapter for my memoir - yep, all based on another shining penny that I couldn't stop turning over. Hopefully you'll get to read that one when I get back from my summer travels. I love it when synchronicity like this happens!
“There is always a settling”. So true, time for the particles to rearrange themselves as we move into, onto, a new path ... or rest a while at the crossroads, not because we're lost, just weary. Rest awhile dear Danielle, catch up with yourself! XO
Oh, honey! It's not just my last day, but I'll let you be surprised!!
I love that you are writing a memoir. I need to do that, too.
Love you, Sis!!! XO 🥰
Wow! I'm thinking, what did I miss, so very much looking forward to being surprised! I'm here (on Substack) till Sunday, so hopefully will catch the second part of your post. May it be so. 🙏🥰
Re, memoir. After reading a couple of how-to-write-a-memoir books, I've decided to ignore all traditional advice and plumb for a mosaic approach with the fragment (stories) making up a whole. XO
I agree with your approach. Were I to write one, it would very much be the same - essays and poems, coupled with my pictures, that make up the whole. I can't see any other way. And honestly, I kind of like these time captures, in a random, non-linear order. That is so much like the cyclic nature of life, really! Love ya, Sis! XO
This is truly exceptional. The way you've summarized so much of your life so briefly and yet, rather than feeling condensed, as if we're missing the punchline, it has only created a wide open space, such that it doesn't matter what we're missing because we're all holding our breath waiting for what joins you in the silence, in the wide open spaces.
You are such a gift, darling girl! The way you write and dream and think and poet and alchemize. It truly is breathtaking. Its not just that, but that you give all of us the space to be exactly who we are in this moment, too. Something to reflect on ourselves, a deeper knowing of our own self through your stories and poems and narratives. To write like you is lovely!!
And, I have to ask, because you mentioned the Wheel had turned again, is it your birthday?? XO
Wow, Danielle! You sure know how to set fire to a woman's heart. Thank you so much for the gift of your beautiful words - they moved me deeply. Let me start at the end: no, my birthday's not spring or summer. I'm a Scorpio woman, through and through - by name and nature, born in the flaming heart of late autumn.
In this 'Final Verse' I tried to weave together themes from other stories and bodies of work, including my 'Poetry of the Wheel' series, which now sleeps and dreams in my latest book 'Croneology' hence the mention of the Wheel (of the Year).
I love what you say about creating space, I honestly had no (conscious) idea I was doing that, whatsoever, so I'm ab-soul-utely thrilled to receive this feedback.
I almost never do this, but I want to briefly share something with you - a poem someone wrote about me a few years ago. It's stayed with me like a soft whisper at the back of my heart all these years. All the lines break will no likely disappear but never mind ... (post edit: I decided to remove the poem as it's deeply personal but thanks so much, Danielle, for reading!)
What a poem, what an extraordinary gift from one poet to another! I’ve read it again and again over the years, each time discovering a new breath tucked between the lines. It stirs something so deep and strange and true, and I feel both seen and summoned by it.
And Danielle, thank you so much again. Your beautiful, generous words have nestled into the corners of my heart and show me something extraordinary: that I'm the poet, looking back at myself. My heart is so full, the words can barely keep up but know this: I'm lit up from the inside. XO
It’s rare to witness a life so beautifully folded into words, each line carrying the weight of healing, memory, and return. I don’t know when my final verse will come, but reading this reminds me to live in a way that makes each chapter worth rereading.
Oh, that's such wonderful feedback! Thank you so much, Mohammed. Your words carry the grace of someone who listens deeply: to language, to life and to the quiet pulse beneath it all. May this chapter of your life unfold with intention, wonder and the kind of beauty that invites rereading. May it be so. 🙏
"We’re all stories I tell myself – written in tides, in wind, in the stillness between breaths. No chapter of our lives is ever wasted, no verse ever gets erased. Even those hardest moments are all part of our song."
I finally had a space to sink into your story, Deborah and, as soon as I began reading, it gentled me in, a welcome blanket comfort after a week of busyness.
You write with such grace and beauty. If this is the end wish, I hope your page turn promises new beginnings, perhaps somewhere, somewhen else, into other scenes that dance and flow and swirl and carry us with you. As much as a "symphony of the soul of love," I sensed it as moving swirls and sweeps of color on canvas, a prose-poem painting perhaps.
And then there's something there about the rhythm of the bee and its return that I can't quite identify in that painting I see in my mind's eye--a symbol of industriousness, freedom, flight and sweetness. And harmonic resonance with Nature. Life's connecting thread?
Brava!
Oh, I love your beautiful waggle dance of words, Robin, most especially the way that bee threaded itself in. My name, Deborah, means bee, so of course I had to paint one into my final verse. And recently, inspired by a dear poet friend, Jamie, I recently wrote 'Pollen and Ink', a poetic response to a post he shared just a few days before. It's all interconnected, isn't it? It always is.
Thank you so much for making the space to read and for your kind and thoughtful words.
This is my twentieth short story in the mosaic memoir I've been crafting since I wandered into Substack nearly five months ago. There's still a few tender spaces to backfill, but I can't believe how inspiring this place has been to my creative fire.
Thanks for the "bee" clarification, Deborah. It looks like it's for the honey bee. I didn't know that was your name's meaning, but of course, in the Hebrew it is! My daughter's Hebrew name is Devorah--I will have to share that with her.
So much else to say--I love that you call your memoir a mosaic. Perhaps that's why it came to me as an image.
I'm writing an ancestor memoir about my grandmother Sophia's (wisdom, or chochma) coming to America in 1893 from the Pale of Settlement in Ukraine which also combines prose, poetry and narrative. I think of it as a tapestry, a la Chagall and my work is to pull that tapestry (the pieces) of her life--and following generations-- together, to "[re]member the world."
Tikkun Olam.
I've added pieces of it to my Substack, but reserving much of it as a performance piece.
So nice to be connected here. Thank you for subscribing!
Ah, your memoir feels like deep, rich, ancestral medicine. I'm really looking forward to reading the excerpts you've shared here in the weeks and months ahead. It'll be a joy to walk alongside another kindred spirit tending to her story ... healing, restoring and reweaving what's been lost in ourselves and our lineage. More than memory, a form of healing … a living act of repair. May it be so. 🙏