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I write about growth, kindness and taking a stand for the only home any of us will ever know. I believe we are all perfect in our imperfection.

Every path can lead you home

My shadow self, Purisima Open Space

I am no spiritual teacher
I am no wise woman sage
I am just me, full of messy contradictions
And glorious humanness

Fear and wonder in equal measure
Flying and stumbling through life
Full of starlight and nonsense
Tenderly saying all the wrong things

Reaching for Heaven, then falling back to Earth
Walking endless switchbacks in search of
The straightest path back home
Surrendering to the majestic aching glory of it all

I am me and you, and all the space between us
Yet, in the cold hours of the morning
When I cannot sleep and cannot dream
I am just me, perfect in my imperfection

Handwritten Letters are a Gift Photo by Freddy Castro on Unsplash

Today I read a letter my dad wrote to me over 40 years ago. I found it while cleaning out some files and the suddenness of it stopped me in my tracks. He died after a painful battle with cancer almost 30 years ago, yet here he was in this letter, alive again. It was like walking around a corner to find him there, watering his garden with a cold Coors in his hand.

Haltingly, almost reverently, I touched the words, my fingers feeling the slight indentation from the pen. He had been right here, hand on this paper, writing…

Poetry | Belief | Perspective

Well for today at least

Photo by George Pagan III on Unsplash

I believe in please and thank you
I believe many good deeds go unnoticed
I believe in the kindness of strangers
I believe we are all strangers until we’re not

I believe the sun will keep rising
Because the earth will keep spinning
I believe this will keep happening even after I die

I believe in the camaraderie of a belly laugh
I believe our bellies are too often maligned
I believe in giving the benefit of the doubt
I believe doubt has little benefit

I believe in long hikes through quiet forests
Because peace is found in Nature
I believe this…

Death | Perspective | Spirit

Death opens one door and closes another

Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash

I should have known
I do know about death
How it extinguishes everything
Opening, then closing invisible doors

But I was not prepared
For the utter absence of you

You vanished when I wasn’t looking
May even have been laughing
Or thinking of something else
When you slipped away peacefully

Only, you didn’t look peaceful
You just looked empty
As if you weren’t my mother
Full of love and regret

I watched eight decades of life
Zipped into your final garment
As two strangers wheeled you away
Just the shell of you, a husk

And although I was reeling
From the…


How her chaos enlightened me

Suki, photographed by the author

I have never had a dog of my own. I don’t even believe in the concept of “owning” another living thing, especially one with soulful brown eyes, and long gangly legs. But here she is, staring at me. She knows she’s my first; I can see it in that side eyed stare. She’s quietly calculating how far to push me, how to lure me into saying “Good girl!” in a silly falsetto exactly two seconds before she darts off to chase a bird she will never catch. But, I think the chase is the thing, not the capture…

I am…

Casey McClung

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