Walk In Beauty

Many years ago I was on a road trip through the American southwest and in a bookstore somewhere, stumbled across a small square book titled: Navajo, Walking in Beauty. It was then that I was first introduced to the Navajo word hózhó. Roughly translated into English as “beauty”, hózhó encompasses the concepts of harmony, balance, and reciprocal relations. Instantly, I fell in love. I was deeply moved by the possibility that beauty is an expression of harmony and profound spiritual realization—a perception that understands beauty to be both embodied aesthetic expression, as well as ineffable and transcendent sensibility.

Hózhó is realized by aligning one’s self with the forces of nature. It is a dynamic and ongoing process of harmonizing the self with the world and the entirety of the universe and existence. To “walk in beauty” is in essence, to live a life of harmony and peace.  

Following is the concluding refrain from a Navajo ceremonial song:

Beauty before me, I walk with.
Beauty behind me, I walk with.
Beauty above me, I walk with.
Beauty below me, I walk with.
Beauty all around me, I walk with.
In old age, the beautiful trail, I walk with.
It is I, I walk with.

Not only is one blessed to walk in a world of beauty, but in the end one becomes beauty itself. Hózhó. It is with this understanding of beauty by which I am most inspired to express myself in the world. Through my writing, photography, dance and poetry, I hope to invoke this world of hózhó. Whether on this website and blog, my social media pages or publications, I hope you will find inspiration and hózhó for your own journey through life. May you walk in beauty.

if today i die
may beauty be my only 
footprints in the sand

i am a lover

I did not come to teach you. I came to love you. Love will teach you.

Recently, I stumbled across the above quote, perchance or not, and like an ocean wave it swept me off my feet. I did not come to teach you. I came to love you. Love will teach you.
can i arrive?
each and every day, and
to each and every encounter
with each and every being,
simply as love itself?
can i surrender fully?
to this ocean,
realizing its depth is far wiser than my mind could ever fathom, and
its width is far more expansive than my heart could possibly divine……
love truly is all that we need
after all,
we truly are in essence
nothing other than love
Love itself
is the ocean.
I am not a teacher; I am love embodied.
i am a lover


this body

a temple
something divine

divinity itself
its beating heart
to the universe
yes, to the universe and beyond…
but most of all
a portal to
l o v e
let the doors wide open now
throw away the key
f l y


in silence i am
on this full lotus sitting
the new moon rises

Once upon a long, long time ago when I was stretching and working out a lot, I discovered almost by accident that I could sit in the full lotus pose. Up until then I had managed a half lotus pose without too much difficulty, but that pretzel of a full lotus pose had always eluded me. And to be honest, I didn’t particularly have my heart set on sitting full lotus. Yoga was a form of cross-training for dance, not spiritual nor meditation practice, for me. But, have you ever sat in full-lotus?!

In full lotus, I instantly realized why it was the meditator’s pose of choice. I was stable, rooted, and still. Silence came naturally, like breathing, and all the world was unperturbed. From this rock-like seat, everything else was light. Eureka! I felt like shouting out loud! This is why the yogis work so hard for years twisting and turning, bending and coaxing their bodies into a pretzel—they can finally sit still!🤣

The value of stillness and silence deepens over time and with age, particularly when we struggle. And now, all these years later, my body craves full lotus. Not by accident, but with acute awareness. My heart is now set on its world of light, and of grace. Maybe it is not too late to rise anew, like the moon.


What are you? They ask. 
A pink flower, i declare. 
And darkness dancing
into light waves of seashore. 
Jaguar’s soft skin, and heartbeat.

(tanka 5-7-5-7-7)

My cat passed away on March 28th, and on April 5th her ashes were returned to me in a small wooden urn engraved with unfurling flowers. When the man from the pet cremation company whose daughter’s name is Kimiko, close to but not Himiko, came to pick up my cat, I was told that her ashes would be returned sometime Monday through Friday, probably in the morning. Wednesday evening while still at work, I received a phone call from the man who, in his own words, was returning all the fur-babies back to their people. Albeit in ashes. Yes, I can be home later at night to receive my fur-baby’s ashes, I told him.

Cycling back to the house, I saw the bright and likely full moon, and thought to myself that it was just like Himichan to come back to me on a full moon. And she did. Back home I checked the internet and confirmed that yes indeed, it was a full moon night—and not just any full moon night either. It was the pink full moon!

My first name is written with the kanji (michiru), but when it is combined with the kanji for moon like this 満月 it is read all together as “mangetsu” meaning, full moon. I have always loved the moon, particularly the full moon. The night before I was born, my mother heard Beethoven’s moonlight sonata playing even though the music was not actually playing anywhere. The first haiku in Japanese that I ever wrote describes the full moon whispering over the sea in spring.

Even so, I had never heard of the pink moon before! According to timeanddate.com, April’s full moon is called the “pink moon” due to the abundance of pink wildflowers blooming in spring! And it’s true, there are pink flowers blossoming everywhere. And I think about my fur-baby Himichan every time I see them.

When I was a little girl, I adamantly disliked the color pink for its association with girlishness. Therefore, strawberry ice cream was not my favorite flavor; and part of my decision to give up ballet for gymnastics was my distaste for pink tights and leotards. Very sensible, I know. But many years later as an adult, I reclaimed pink. The rebellion was over. On the contrary, embracing pink became the revolution; I like strawberry ice cream and I wear pink. The poem at the top of this page, written several years ago, is a womanifesto of sorts. I am pink—with edge. I am pinx.

That night, that night of the pink full moon, that night my Himichan’s ashes were returned to me. I cried. Bittersweet. Too much magic and much too beautiful. My heart flooded with gratitude and pink moonlight. I crave jaguar’s soft skin, and heartbeat.

I love you, Himichan, to the moon and back.

“I love you to the moon and back” it says on the small disk hanging below.
This too, came to me with its own magic and synchronicity.

In Loving Memory

(June 20, 2004 ~ March 28, 2023)

In the summer of 2004, it must have been sometime in July, I went to the local farmers market and happened upon a man who had a cardboard box with two little kittens inside. One was the cutest girl-kitty, black and white with green eyes, and the other was the cutest boy-kitty, all grey with a little white spot on his chest. They were sister and brother, and moments later, my kitties. At home with my new little family, I thought about their names and was wondering, Kimiko? Himiko? What was the name of the ancient priestess-leader in Japan?? Himiko, not Kimiko. Okay. So she became my kitty Himiko.
Fast forward over eighteen and a half years later, and I call a pet cremation company after muttering to myself a million times, “You can do this, you can do this.” A man answers the phone and after a brief inquiry about pricing, procedure, etc. he asks me for my cat’s name. “Himiko” I reply, starting to cry. And then since it’s a Japanese name and I’m in the US, I start to spell it out for him but he stops me mid-sentence saying, “I know exactly how to spell Himiko—that’s my daughter’s name!” I start to explain that it’s Himiko, not Kimiko, being certain that his daughter would not be named Himiko, but the conversation moved on. The next day when he came to pick up my Himiko, I asked him about his daughter and he clarified that indeed, her name is Kimiko, not Himiko.

I share this story not only for its remarkable synchronicity, but also for how it exemplifies Himiko-chan’s magic. Her whole life was like that. She truly lived up to her name in both royalty and spirit. Himichan (her nickname) was friendly, feisty, intelligent, inquisitive, polite, caring and loving. She was my kitty-baby, my best friend, my travel companion, my heart, my kitty-soulmate. She was one tough kitty-cat and my shero—the one I still aspire to be when I grown up. 🖤🐾
“Death ends a life, but it does not end the relationship.”
Himichan will be in my heart forever and with me in spirit always.


Since March 4th, I’ve been focusing on my senior kitty who’s been with me forever (close to 19 years), and is now in need of intensive care. So we are taking a catnap together—from everything. From everything that is, except each other and sitting in the garden sunshine with chirping birds and the breeze.

I only know myself as her human.

Something will transpire, sometime and somehow, and some foreign future self unknown to me now, will resume weekly posts. In the meantime, perhaps I will share some old photos or stories of us… or perhaps just the silence.

Thank you for reading and I will be in touch again. 🐾🖤

forty seven

Photo: spiral galaxy NGC 1232, from European Southern Observatory

somewhere, some
forty seven layers down into the center
of earth
and somewhere, another
forty seven layers into the center
of the universe
we walk

hand in hand we walk
beneath the seabed
and along smoldering crevices
these ancient lungs breathing long rivers of fire
in the darkness

we walk on and on
all along these meandering trails
through tall fields of sunlight and pink wildflowers
we step into streams of cold crystal water

smooth around our ankles and cupped hands

and on top of these snow-covered mountain peaks
we walk
where the soaring blue sky is pierced
with song, and with long silver threads of one thousand swans

who like us, fly home

through layer after layer
on and on and into the jet black ink of night, we walk
holding hands here in this deep space brimming with bejeweled skies
we’re swirling and spiraling and dancing
we spin

we, spin and
we spin
our house of love



my Love is more
than even the wildest wild rose
an unrestrained, and
captivating beauty—the rarest

tumbling up into the sky, and freer
than the swiftest starling
but still, this singular flower is

firmly, deeply, ever inextricably
in this soil

in this rich and moist and black

rooted ever so deeply inside
this deep deep love


sounding board

Have you felt that too? Not singing, but being sung by the world? Body as sounding board for the swirling elements of air, water, light, and, soft soil? Like mist, song emerging from the slow steps and soft contours of a dance… each and every cell connected to wind and white feathers in flight?
One day, while practicing fue (a kind of traditional Japanese flute) and singing by the Kamo River in Kyoto, I felt that… that sensation of being saturated by the mist and the light. By wind and by love.

The photograph above was taken then, when I felt that. It’s not a particularly striking nor clear picture, but somehow it captured some airborne shimmering light, sparkles, and an egret… Somehow it captures something like being saturated by the light and the mist… something like being a sounding board for the world.