A Map Written in Poems

These poems came to me like unexpected visitors. They arrived unannounced, often in the middle of the night, or in moments when life felt heavy and chaotic. I would be in a hospital waiting room, on a flight home from Kauai, or sitting in quiet meditation when a poem would press at my chest and ask to be written. I never planned this collection, but looking back, I can see it is a map; one that traces the shape of my own awakening.

They were written over seven years, but those years felt like lifetimes. In that time, I was brought to my knees by heartbreak, guided through visions by angels and plant teachers, and confronted with the shadows I had long tried to outrun. These poems are not just art, they are records of those moments. Each one is a timestamp of grace, a breadcrumb Spirit placed before me when I was ready to see more clearly.

Some poems came from pain. They hold the voice of a woman in grief, questioning her own worth, struggling to make sense of a noisy and divided world. Others carry the beauty of surrender, of visions too profound for words. I remember the golden trees I saw one night when my heart was breaking, their bark swirling with light; I remember the dolphin who appeared as a messenger, reflecting back love I could hardly accept at the time; I remember the presence of Seraphim, who felt like family, watching me as I stumbled toward remembering. These experiences were not stories I invented, they were gifts, each one a lesson in disguise.

This book is arranged as a journey because that is how it came to me. It begins in questioning: Who am I, beyond all these identities I’ve built? It moves through shadow, heartbreak, and the illusions of separation, before crossing thresholds into the mystical. There are poems about love as a crucible, about nature as a scripture, about visions that shook me awake. And then there are poems of stillness, of finally touching something that does not move, something eternal.

If you read this book, I invite you to read it slowly. Let each poem breathe. Some will feel like prayers; some will feel like riddles; some may open doors you didn’t expect. This is not a memoir in the traditional sense, but it is the truest record I could offer of my soul’s remembering.

Seven years taught me that awakening is not a single moment of clarity but a spiral, a rhythm of remembering and forgetting and remembering again. It taught me that everything is alive with meaning; the ocean tide, the shape of a tree, the soft hum of a spider’s web in the wind. And it taught me that beauty is not a luxury but a mirror of truth, one that deepens when we choose to really see.

I offer this collection as a companion for your own journey. May these poems remind you that nothing is wasted, that every shadow hides a teacher, and that truth is always present; quiet, unmoving, waiting for us to notice.